Thursday, November 23, 2017



I've yet to see, read or own a Michael McCurdy book, or a book
illustrated by McCurdy, that wasn't greatly enhanced by having McCurdy's
wood engravings — none more finer than in his own reading of Walden —
an A-to-Z showcase with McCurdy referring to Henry's world
and updating it to McCurdy's own, also a Massachusetts boy.
Balance is beauty.

Charlesbridge Books
Watertown, MA.

Wednesday, November 22, 2017


New Year 2013

windows be damned!

I want the whole-hearted panorama of sky

fire of morning

                                        ice blue moon

the hovering bulk of

the live oak

                            the hulking barn-studio

                             red looking black in the half-light

the streetlights


                                            the buttery yellow light of

                                            neighbor's porchlight

                                            a rectangle breath house dark

                                            and morning red-orange blaze

I want

the full 360 of self and world and wonderment


Jim La Villa-Havelin
Poems of a Place
Wings Press 2017


Tuesday, November 21, 2017

Monday, November 20, 2017



Away from the road

Off into the high edge

Of a field, unless I

Looked carefully you

Would never have been seen

Picking wildflowers

Growing in folds of sunlight

Among the tall grass

Each snipped by hand

At the same height, then

Gathered inside a pail

Of shallow water

The world seems weightless

Watching you work

If this is work —

You call it a prize

Saved for the last

Hour of the afternoon

Taking away what this

Plot of land has to give —

Flowers for the kitchen table

Brightened windowsills


Beneath rain clouds

She wheelbarrows

Loose black soil

Of daylilies

From the brook

To plant around

A ledge of stone

And in a month

She will smell like

The yellow blossoms


Apple, poplar, ash

Cherry, red maple

Pine, basswood, oak

These are the woods

That we sawed today

In two hours of thinning

Selecting, we made a cord —

Trampled branches on snow

Worked without words —

Simple thoughts, like picking

Up these sticks — back and

Forth in the mind — until we

Stop to rest together against

The pile, brushing off woodchips

Shedding hats and gloves

And because we kiss, I warm

My hands beneath your blouse

Winter Day

I swore if you laid

Your cheek, wind

Blown red as any

Soft maple leaf

Onto the pond

And looked down through

The half-foot of

Ice, the rest was

Water flowing clear

Way back up to you —

The scales of depth

Catching your breath


I'm In Love With You
Who Is In Love With Me
Longhouse 2012

Friday, November 17, 2017