Shine the light back down into the well--
this is the noon time sun that sees
all, that notices with wide-eyed wisdom
the once and future dark secrets crouched
low leaning against the wall.
Sound the bell back along the streets of the town
this is the vibration that brings
frequency to friendship and modulates meditation
when blessings fall from heaven in a shower.
Shut the wide wooden doors of the stone-framed gate
this is the simmering, lying in wait
of splinters for skin...
as lonely thunder rolls looking for clouds to touch
as summer storms begin.
1.2.2008
Monday, February 28, 2011
The Lightest Touch
The angel's kiss lingers
And then she is gone.
I wonder if she knew
that I knew that she was here.
It started not long after she
died.
I know that is her
I know that it was her
who was here just now.
who was her just now.
She visits me
in the thin times
Late night/ early morning
Usually always no she
comes to me
when the seasons change
But our kisses are more
than solstices and equinioxes
(to coin a phrase, buy a vowel)
Our kisses are lightning
Light that is waiting on the
thunderclap from far away,
lightning that has rushed too far ahead of the storm,
and lost the protection of well-muscled clouds.
I can feel that the other angels are jealous
they dance before my eyes
like the shimmer of heat
laughing, they cut me down to size
in their frail faithless minds.
My life is divided now between the kisses
and waiting for the kiss.
Her lips would be ruby-red if they could be seen
Parting with the moist anticipation
I can only remember in my dreams.
She has just left me
but I am waiting already
with hands and heart
a little unsteady
As the sounds
of a storm
echo from across the sea...
9.14.1998
The River
It flows so wide... too wide, too wide.
I must make it across to the other side.
It makes men from boys and can
Always take from those men all joys.
It is life to some and my path
To freedom. I see it more as a
Road and these two arms my car.
My pain is great and the shore
Just might be too far.
I am in the middle now, for better
Or worse, it is in the Lord's hands.
I heard somewhere that all the
World is in His hands... His
Great omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent,
Hands. It is not the truth, though,
The river runs not in the course of
Heaven, and hell runs close below.
Alas! It is the only word I know
And down is the only place.
My arms like lead, and listless,
The numbing cold I feel no more.
A limb! A passing corpse of wood--
Deadwood, driftwood; can't reach it...
Can't help... can't save myself...
I am alone in the river
My body starts to shiver;
But when seconds pass this river-cold
Will cease to touch my soul.
No date given= 1997ish?
I must make it across to the other side.
It makes men from boys and can
Always take from those men all joys.
It is life to some and my path
To freedom. I see it more as a
Road and these two arms my car.
My pain is great and the shore
Just might be too far.
I am in the middle now, for better
Or worse, it is in the Lord's hands.
I heard somewhere that all the
World is in His hands... His
Great omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent,
Hands. It is not the truth, though,
The river runs not in the course of
Heaven, and hell runs close below.
Alas! It is the only word I know
And down is the only place.
My arms like lead, and listless,
The numbing cold I feel no more.
A limb! A passing corpse of wood--
Deadwood, driftwood; can't reach it...
Can't help... can't save myself...
I am alone in the river
My body starts to shiver;
But when seconds pass this river-cold
Will cease to touch my soul.
No date given= 1997ish?
Friday, February 25, 2011
. Under the Falcon's Wing
My steps are light as i begin the journey
to another where, to another when.
The ground crests and swells as if it were
waves sweeping about me
pulling me down the river of dirt and forever.
I do not want to stop. I do not want to.
I do not want. I do not. I do.
But at the same time: i do not want to keep going.
Keep going, move forward.
How far have i come?
What time is it?
That is the real question.
Even when i am a mile above the mile-high city
on a trail that takes me away from it all
i am still on the same train as everyone else...
Time is a one-way ticket.
(and don't you forget it)
Pausing to rest a moment along
the western bend of Devil's Elbow,
i see an ant carrying a ladybug, no,
dragging a ladybug across three feet of stone.
The ladybug doesn't seem to mind.
I look out across the hills and miles and
measure the beauty of you.
All the grandeur of God's grand design
touches me in a way i never noticed before.
The rolling pine-filled valleys and high timberline rises
are measured in my mind as some portion of rules
i have never seen,
knowledge i will never need.
At some even points in the trail i run.
I run out of the intractable joy of the run.
And I run as ships that run up the mainsail
and fly before a wind that takes them away from the night
as they (or i) could find any protection from the sun.
But the night always comes.
The night comes with clouds of hazy thoughts,
feelings and fears that i brought with me.
And under the cover of dark
the spells of ancient hells writhe unbroken;
i try to hide from what follows me,
things better left unspoken.
And i face something that i have always known:
that my legs are tired, my feet are sore;
it is time to go home.
9.1.1997
A Natural Beginning
The green wood is thick with the sickly sweet odor of fruit lying like meat rotting in the sun. The sound like a small explosion shatters the silence and puts a murder of crows to flight. In flashes of red and whispers of brown the smaller birds flee from the trees as singed leaves settle earthward. The tree closest to where the explosion took place is shaken from its space by rough paws and sharp claws. The bear finishes off the 50 year old tree by leaning all of his weight into cedar sending it to the ground with a thud muffled by branches snapping revealing the red-purple veins in the wood. He felt the first flutterings of an instinctual fear when he began to notice the humming noise...
5.10.2010
5.10.2010
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Three Thousand Days
Just about an inch and a half below the skin
On the left side of my chest
near the sternum, there is a hole
where my soul used to be.
A churchful of candles can't erase
from memory the look on your face
when I told you,
what you had suspected all along.
Stealing hearts is the worst kind of thievery:
A shy look, a soft word spoken
at just the right moment, a should to lean on
at just the right time
and you're mine.
And ten years of my life the price.
I would gladly give you
back the love you gave to me
in exchange for all the time I've wasted on
you.
But I(it) am(is) older(colder) now.
And the hole is finally full.
Finding your soul again is like raising the dead
like giving voice to the words I should have said.
Where once eyes looked at me with scorn
now eyes gaze at me with kind regard.
Where once my wounds were left untreated
now soft fingers trace scars long since healed.
Where once a gaping silence ached like my heart
now tender words of kindness settle on my ears.
And my soul is finally full.
11.28.1998
On the left side of my chest
near the sternum, there is a hole
where my soul used to be.
A churchful of candles can't erase
from memory the look on your face
when I told you,
what you had suspected all along.
Stealing hearts is the worst kind of thievery:
A shy look, a soft word spoken
at just the right moment, a should to lean on
at just the right time
and you're mine.
And ten years of my life the price.
I would gladly give you
back the love you gave to me
in exchange for all the time I've wasted on
you.
But I(it) am(is) older(colder) now.
And the hole is finally full.
Finding your soul again is like raising the dead
like giving voice to the words I should have said.
Where once eyes looked at me with scorn
now eyes gaze at me with kind regard.
Where once my wounds were left untreated
now soft fingers trace scars long since healed.
Where once a gaping silence ached like my heart
now tender words of kindness settle on my ears.
And my soul is finally full.
11.28.1998
Spirit Whispers
Savage in their independence,
They are sitting in the snow.
All they are wearing are the simple robes
which denote their faith.
The monks patiently wait for inspiration...
Nirvana.
Sweat steams off their bodies
as they find a deeper state
of meditation.
11.30.1998
They are sitting in the snow.
All they are wearing are the simple robes
which denote their faith.
The monks patiently wait for inspiration...
Nirvana.
Sweat steams off their bodies
as they find a deeper state
of meditation.
11.30.1998
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Through the Lookingaway-Glass
Looking in the mirror I like to think I know
How the moon feels in its sick yellow glow
And the temptation is so strong to shut my eyes
Or at least to look away and not ‘see through darkly.’
I know that when I close my eyes it seems to me
That the world disappears…
And I wonder if you all run and hide
At the exact moment I close my eyes,
Because your voices seem a little distant,
Maybe that is merely my intent—
To shut out all that is you:
Your new hair-do
and all your talks of love and trouble
they’re just messages in bottles
Washed upon the shore of my eye-lids;
And this tan sand fades into the blue
of seas and the hue of the deep sky,
and the air is so warm that it is
no longer cool to ask “Why?”
So I shut my ears against the din,
and against the sight
of myself
I shut my eyes.
2.23.2011
Colorado Moon
Waiting for a white Celica
my gaze shifts from the black pavement
of the ground to the blacker night above.
I see the moon that sees me.
She regards me with casual insistence
like the eyes of a portait which seem
to follow you across the room.
She knows that I am cold, but
if she cared at all she could burn
a hole through gathering Nimbus
with a little stolen sunlight. But
that is not allowed. She is not the sun
nor pretends to be. She is but a face
in the mirror: full of seas and mystery.
What does she see at earth-rise,
when the earth crests the horizon
of her dark side? Nothing.
While daylight tickles the continents
a dividing line is forged at the zenith.
Nothing. Then azure aswirl with verdant life
assails the sensibilities of the lady of the night.
Earth has come to spin above then below again.
Slowly the vision fades as a cloud passing
over moonlight, and it is time to go home.
2.22.1997
my gaze shifts from the black pavement
of the ground to the blacker night above.
I see the moon that sees me.
She regards me with casual insistence
like the eyes of a portait which seem
to follow you across the room.
She knows that I am cold, but
if she cared at all she could burn
a hole through gathering Nimbus
with a little stolen sunlight. But
that is not allowed. She is not the sun
nor pretends to be. She is but a face
in the mirror: full of seas and mystery.
What does she see at earth-rise,
when the earth crests the horizon
of her dark side? Nothing.
While daylight tickles the continents
a dividing line is forged at the zenith.
Nothing. Then azure aswirl with verdant life
assails the sensibilities of the lady of the night.
Earth has come to spin above then below again.
Slowly the vision fades as a cloud passing
over moonlight, and it is time to go home.
2.22.1997
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Shudders and Gutters
Cedar trees sway with the weight of ice and
snow blown by stage whispers and raging wind.
Branches break and scatter like splinters
before the rattling cough of aging winters.
And shivering we cluster together in a loose
band like arrows quivering on the back of God
waiting to be touched by rough hands
and drawn for war.
We stand staring at the steam of our breaths
shaking off the cold and the dreams of our deaths.
Icicles rain down from grey heavens
stinging like fingers of fire reaching
down to teach people like us a lesson.
Cautious words spoken like a blessing bourne
on winds of wisdom digging through thick coats
and into the skin
searing like guilt through souls too thin.
We never heed the warnings of winter coming,
for some reason. Lovers shiver under
bare-branched trees but feeling warm
in spite of the season.
They whisper while the sky empties
snow and ice across the frozen landscape.
Until spring comes and hearts are broken
there is no escape:
The wind picks up speed, gusts,
like hungry hands nibbling at us, pushing us,
like touches from someone we no longer trust.
And when we are finally home
stripping off wet clothes in front of the fireplace,
if we are not careful,
we may find our true selves lying somewhere beneath
those
clothes,
like the land lying beneath the snow.
Someone mutters from a drunk delirium:
"Something's broken..."
and just like that
we snap
like the brittle branches that
break under the weight
of too much ice.
12.4.2002
snow blown by stage whispers and raging wind.
Branches break and scatter like splinters
before the rattling cough of aging winters.
And shivering we cluster together in a loose
band like arrows quivering on the back of God
waiting to be touched by rough hands
and drawn for war.
We stand staring at the steam of our breaths
shaking off the cold and the dreams of our deaths.
Icicles rain down from grey heavens
stinging like fingers of fire reaching
down to teach people like us a lesson.
Cautious words spoken like a blessing bourne
on winds of wisdom digging through thick coats
and into the skin
searing like guilt through souls too thin.
We never heed the warnings of winter coming,
for some reason. Lovers shiver under
bare-branched trees but feeling warm
in spite of the season.
They whisper while the sky empties
snow and ice across the frozen landscape.
Until spring comes and hearts are broken
there is no escape:
The wind picks up speed, gusts,
like hungry hands nibbling at us, pushing us,
like touches from someone we no longer trust.
And when we are finally home
stripping off wet clothes in front of the fireplace,
if we are not careful,
we may find our true selves lying somewhere beneath
those
clothes,
like the land lying beneath the snow.
Someone mutters from a drunk delirium:
"Something's broken..."
and just like that
we snap
like the brittle branches that
break under the weight
of too much ice.
12.4.2002
Middlemorning
Sunlight smacks the wet leaves
at the topmost of the trees
and splinters into shards of glory
more colors than the eye can catch
a story of the sun sliding toward
heaven in an arc of triumph.
In a moment, a breath, the light
will bury my blues in a searing flash
pounding soft tissue into tears.
I should be back among the eaves
trading safety for freedom, from...?
The story goes on and I can almost
see my way-- the way back--the trail.
The story becomes a song sung by a ghost:
the lay is a tale of the track.
2002
at the topmost of the trees
and splinters into shards of glory
more colors than the eye can catch
a story of the sun sliding toward
heaven in an arc of triumph.
In a moment, a breath, the light
will bury my blues in a searing flash
pounding soft tissue into tears.
I should be back among the eaves
trading safety for freedom, from...?
The story goes on and I can almost
see my way-- the way back--the trail.
The story becomes a song sung by a ghost:
the lay is a tale of the track.
2002
Winters
I
The eyes stare out of gray sockets
at those who pass by, but those
who dare to look at the needy ones
at those who look up in desperation
mumbling in hushed tones
words that once had meaning,
words that once had force;
they look away from the needy ones
they try to be distracted by some distant object
they pretend to notice something in the sky.
"Need help-- Hungry" reads the sign
held by the needy one on the corner of
Main and 24th street. His name is Ernest
and for most his life he believes that
he has done the best that he could do.
He dreams most of his days away
about this and that
about the time that he was in the Navy,
the feeling of
how the wind rifled through his chestnut hair
how a day's work won him a day's wages
how everything was different, exciting, new.
Ernest waits near the bus stop.
When the people get off the bus some of them
give him money. He notices that the people
who give him a dollar or two
are often the men, roughly his own age
and maybe they were in the service too.
He is careful not to wait too
close to the bus stop because they might make
him move.
II
Laura moves down 24th street looking for
Meridian Boulevard. She knows that this is
her last chance or maybe just one of her last
chances. If she does not get this job she will
not be able to send money back to her aunt.
We all live under the clouds
We all lie in the grave
We all did whatever was allowed
We all were strong and brave.
She did not know if that was a song that
perhaps she heard on the radio or in
church maybe.
Suddenly a chill settled on her skin
and she pulled her brown sweater closer
down from her shoulders. She worried about
reaching the interview on time.
She wondered why she had felt so moved
to give the bum on the street half her money,
now she might not have enough to lunch.
But he looked so sad sitting there,
and not to have any legs!
Laura shuddered involuntarily
thinking for a moment what life would be like
for her (and for her aunt) if she had no legs.
The wind picked up as the dark-haired girl
walked along the east sidewalk of Meridan
Boulevard. A soft blue shade took to the sky
in the waning hours of light. The fact that
this was even day to begin with had to be guessed at
in Manhatten. A slate gray bank of clouds
surrounded the island kingdom swallowing
the twin towers like a pair of hungry white giants.
III
We stand away from the crowds
We choose not to be slaves
We fight from ships run aground
We fight for whatever is left to save.
Ernest was back on the deck of the U.S.S. Nimitz
humming a happy tune to himself.
Where his left leg would have come down from
his hip began to itch,
and he scratched at it absently.
The lower clouds on the horizon began to part
to let in the even blacker onset of night.
IV
We wonder where the world went when we
Wake and see the blanket of snow that has
enveloped the city. Somewhere in the city
a phone rings. This will be news that she did
not want to hear-- news that will change her
life forever. And snuggled under the blanket
the streets of downtown Denver wait
patiently for spring.
The slowness of the season pulls at you
making you want to lie down and sleep.
But there is a voice deep inside that you
can hear plainly, but hardly ever heed
telling you to worry. We seem
to think that if we pause for just a moment
that it will all come rushing back to us:
The old tax bills are due
The credit card debt is piling up
The dog needs to go to the vet
The children need to be picked up from school
The car will not start.
We are running before a wave that is always
cresting just right above,
And we are afraid. We know that if
we just hurry we can make it through;
that we can make it if
we just hurry.
And it will happen sooner than you
realize
thoughts will fall into your mind
One-part truth and two parts lies,
like words forced into rhyme by
Pharisees and scribes
running out of time.
Those wise ones pray aloud
in the marketplace,
they pray
so loud that the villagers
at the far end of the street
can hear:
They say that the end is coming
They say that the Lord will come
with His legions of angels and
avenge the misdeeds done to
the children of Israel,
They say that the end is near,
They read aloud from the prayer
scrolls folded one by one
into their robes.
Some of us want to believe them,
believe that they can play nice;
We want to believe that we can
do
nothing
That we are helpless against all we fear.
But if we make it out to the other side
we can come to a healthy hate of our own
doubts
our own weakness
then we can celebrate the solstice
in fire and ice.
1992
The eyes stare out of gray sockets
at those who pass by, but those
who dare to look at the needy ones
at those who look up in desperation
mumbling in hushed tones
words that once had meaning,
words that once had force;
they look away from the needy ones
they try to be distracted by some distant object
they pretend to notice something in the sky.
"Need help-- Hungry" reads the sign
held by the needy one on the corner of
Main and 24th street. His name is Ernest
and for most his life he believes that
he has done the best that he could do.
He dreams most of his days away
about this and that
about the time that he was in the Navy,
the feeling of
how the wind rifled through his chestnut hair
how a day's work won him a day's wages
how everything was different, exciting, new.
Ernest waits near the bus stop.
When the people get off the bus some of them
give him money. He notices that the people
who give him a dollar or two
are often the men, roughly his own age
and maybe they were in the service too.
He is careful not to wait too
close to the bus stop because they might make
him move.
II
Laura moves down 24th street looking for
Meridian Boulevard. She knows that this is
her last chance or maybe just one of her last
chances. If she does not get this job she will
not be able to send money back to her aunt.
We all live under the clouds
We all lie in the grave
We all did whatever was allowed
We all were strong and brave.
She did not know if that was a song that
perhaps she heard on the radio or in
church maybe.
Suddenly a chill settled on her skin
and she pulled her brown sweater closer
down from her shoulders. She worried about
reaching the interview on time.
She wondered why she had felt so moved
to give the bum on the street half her money,
now she might not have enough to lunch.
But he looked so sad sitting there,
and not to have any legs!
Laura shuddered involuntarily
thinking for a moment what life would be like
for her (and for her aunt) if she had no legs.
The wind picked up as the dark-haired girl
walked along the east sidewalk of Meridan
Boulevard. A soft blue shade took to the sky
in the waning hours of light. The fact that
this was even day to begin with had to be guessed at
in Manhatten. A slate gray bank of clouds
surrounded the island kingdom swallowing
the twin towers like a pair of hungry white giants.
III
We stand away from the crowds
We choose not to be slaves
We fight from ships run aground
We fight for whatever is left to save.
Ernest was back on the deck of the U.S.S. Nimitz
humming a happy tune to himself.
Where his left leg would have come down from
his hip began to itch,
and he scratched at it absently.
The lower clouds on the horizon began to part
to let in the even blacker onset of night.
IV
We wonder where the world went when we
Wake and see the blanket of snow that has
enveloped the city. Somewhere in the city
a phone rings. This will be news that she did
not want to hear-- news that will change her
life forever. And snuggled under the blanket
the streets of downtown Denver wait
patiently for spring.
The slowness of the season pulls at you
making you want to lie down and sleep.
But there is a voice deep inside that you
can hear plainly, but hardly ever heed
telling you to worry. We seem
to think that if we pause for just a moment
that it will all come rushing back to us:
The old tax bills are due
The credit card debt is piling up
The dog needs to go to the vet
The children need to be picked up from school
The car will not start.
We are running before a wave that is always
cresting just right above,
And we are afraid. We know that if
we just hurry we can make it through;
that we can make it if
we just hurry.
And it will happen sooner than you
realize
thoughts will fall into your mind
One-part truth and two parts lies,
like words forced into rhyme by
Pharisees and scribes
running out of time.
Those wise ones pray aloud
in the marketplace,
they pray
so loud that the villagers
at the far end of the street
can hear:
They say that the end is coming
They say that the Lord will come
with His legions of angels and
avenge the misdeeds done to
the children of Israel,
They say that the end is near,
They read aloud from the prayer
scrolls folded one by one
into their robes.
Some of us want to believe them,
believe that they can play nice;
We want to believe that we can
do
nothing
That we are helpless against all we fear.
But if we make it out to the other side
we can come to a healthy hate of our own
doubts
our own weakness
then we can celebrate the solstice
in fire and ice.
1992
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Space Travel
I find myself trading my imagination for a
shorter attention span;
but I only worry about it
a few seconds at a time.
Thoughts of
violence begetting violence
buzz
around my head and the only defense
I have is
memories of good times past
memories of good times to come...
Like climbing over the rocks and onto
the beach of Jekyll Island half a lifetime ago.
Transfixed by
more stars than I had ever dreamed possible.
And the shrimp-boats trawling along past the breakers,
lazily racing dawn back to the shore, with lights set high on the masts,
lights bouncing up and down on the water.
Then all the stars of heaven and earth surrounded me.
Though my feet never left the sand my soul was sent
soaring
spinning into the cosmos...almost.
Like when you look at me.
I see what I can be, where I can be.
And on the heels of that thought:
What we can be, where we can be.
We can stand on the shores of midnight
watching the stars of earth and heaven
waiting for tomorrow
when the sun scatters the stars
with blue sky and covers them with clouds of white.
8.4.1996
Note about lineation: This poem is best read centered on the page.
shorter attention span;
but I only worry about it
a few seconds at a time.
Thoughts of
violence begetting violence
buzz
around my head and the only defense
I have is
memories of good times past
memories of good times to come...
Like climbing over the rocks and onto
the beach of Jekyll Island half a lifetime ago.
Transfixed by
more stars than I had ever dreamed possible.
And the shrimp-boats trawling along past the breakers,
lazily racing dawn back to the shore, with lights set high on the masts,
lights bouncing up and down on the water.
Then all the stars of heaven and earth surrounded me.
Though my feet never left the sand my soul was sent
soaring
spinning into the cosmos...almost.
Like when you look at me.
I see what I can be, where I can be.
And on the heels of that thought:
What we can be, where we can be.
We can stand on the shores of midnight
watching the stars of earth and heaven
waiting for tomorrow
when the sun scatters the stars
with blue sky and covers them with clouds of white.
8.4.1996
Note about lineation: This poem is best read centered on the page.
The River, Jordan
Jordan...that is what we were going to name him.
He had no inordinate expectations placed upon him,
no less than any unborn child:
Be all that your parents were not.
Go farther; accomplish more.
Be the glue that would save a union that was better
left undone in the first place.
He was going to have dark brown hair and hazel eyes.
That boy gave me more hope in seven weeks
than he could have ever realized.
He talks to me now. Asking me questions.
Not why-questions like you might think,
but how-questions
How machines work, and what does it matter anyway.
He would not be given to sudden action,
And he would keep his thoughts from scattering
so far afield like his father is famous for and
he would make his father almost healed.
And for all that I would want more.
I would want him to succeed, in spades.
I would push for him to score more
points in basketball and get better grades.
A strong chin and a sharp gaze
A heart-breaker; a mover and a shaker
He had more than just my hopes to raise.
I read to him at night... Aesop's Fables mostly.
Now my heart is worn like that bookcover.
And within me lie the seeds of children
I will have with other lovers.
I carry those seeds with me throughout each day.
As I carry his spirit with me.
His slight weight I can bear.
I hold him in my hands and lift with my legs.
I hold him in my heart day after day.
I know the way.
Fate is a cruel mistress. She gives a little
then takes all that you have.
Before him I had no need;
another little mouth to feed.
But just a few inches tall
He stood in the very center of my heart,
next to a place called Regret,
and pushed like Samson at the end
taking three thousand giants with him
leaving me feeling small,
leaving me with a hole in my soul
too big to fill...
leaving me.
And even as he wishes that he were here
I wish for another child.
My heart trembles with cold fear
And my hand shakes as it reaches for a beer.
I think that he has been here.
Been here all the while,
whispering to me, telling me his story.
And even though there is no sound outside
I can feel the rain
pouring down....an unexpected flow.
become Cascading.
with angels and unborn children wading
Drops of water run down my face,
salty
like sweat, like tears, like blood.
Thunder echoes out of thick black space
The night is full of stars in hiding:
Brilliance ashamed of its own light.
And still he calls my name.
11.30.1998
He had no inordinate expectations placed upon him,
no less than any unborn child:
Be all that your parents were not.
Go farther; accomplish more.
Be the glue that would save a union that was better
left undone in the first place.
He was going to have dark brown hair and hazel eyes.
That boy gave me more hope in seven weeks
than he could have ever realized.
He talks to me now. Asking me questions.
Not why-questions like you might think,
but how-questions
How machines work, and what does it matter anyway.
He would not be given to sudden action,
And he would keep his thoughts from scattering
so far afield like his father is famous for and
he would make his father almost healed.
And for all that I would want more.
I would want him to succeed, in spades.
I would push for him to score more
points in basketball and get better grades.
A strong chin and a sharp gaze
A heart-breaker; a mover and a shaker
He had more than just my hopes to raise.
I read to him at night... Aesop's Fables mostly.
Now my heart is worn like that bookcover.
And within me lie the seeds of children
I will have with other lovers.
I carry those seeds with me throughout each day.
As I carry his spirit with me.
His slight weight I can bear.
I hold him in my hands and lift with my legs.
I hold him in my heart day after day.
I know the way.
Fate is a cruel mistress. She gives a little
then takes all that you have.
Before him I had no need;
another little mouth to feed.
But just a few inches tall
He stood in the very center of my heart,
next to a place called Regret,
and pushed like Samson at the end
taking three thousand giants with him
leaving me feeling small,
leaving me with a hole in my soul
too big to fill...
leaving me.
And even as he wishes that he were here
I wish for another child.
My heart trembles with cold fear
And my hand shakes as it reaches for a beer.
I think that he has been here.
Been here all the while,
whispering to me, telling me his story.
And even though there is no sound outside
I can feel the rain
pouring down....an unexpected flow.
become Cascading.
with angels and unborn children wading
Drops of water run down my face,
salty
like sweat, like tears, like blood.
Thunder echoes out of thick black space
The night is full of stars in hiding:
Brilliance ashamed of its own light.
And still he calls my name.
11.30.1998
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Resurrection
Combing the depths of dream-state
my mind is clouded with a million
tiny pressures of the day before.
Revenge and resentment: predators
lurking near the reef of remembering.
Schools of good thought flash across
my mind's eye in hues of green and blue.
I am touched. A hand on my arm,
then fingers on my shoulder.
At the slumbering depths I am stirred.
Burning. Lungs full of hot air--
spirit full of hope.
I almost see anger and acquiessence away
in the distance, and just for a while.
I can hear dolphins chittering away
in half-lucidity, whispering last-minute
instructions.
My soul reaches the surface,
then rushes up into the light of my lover's eyes.
And she meets mine with a smile.
2.13.1995
my mind is clouded with a million
tiny pressures of the day before.
Revenge and resentment: predators
lurking near the reef of remembering.
Schools of good thought flash across
my mind's eye in hues of green and blue.
I am touched. A hand on my arm,
then fingers on my shoulder.
At the slumbering depths I am stirred.
Burning. Lungs full of hot air--
spirit full of hope.
I almost see anger and acquiessence away
in the distance, and just for a while.
I can hear dolphins chittering away
in half-lucidity, whispering last-minute
instructions.
My soul reaches the surface,
then rushes up into the light of my lover's eyes.
And she meets mine with a smile.
2.13.1995
The Heaven in My Mind
Ever-present when I close my eyes,
the Palace of Ebony... come to claim me.
Shorn of light and life, I approach the gate.
No more doubts of wondering if I've
run out of time,
if I came to late.
An unseen hand rises
(unbidden)
from my body to rap upon
the door
I know is there.
If I open my eyes I will see
my hand reaching nothing but air.
Gone are the words of comfort in grief.
The veil has been lifted.
I am on the other side.
I am beyond my own reach.
Time runs rampant
I am old, young, and old again.
Smooth tight skin then a beard
blowing in the wind.
The Palace is this and more.
But arriving is not surviving,
and if I'm here there must be others.
Must be others who have
shut their sight against a world so blind.
They have already begun to climb
the steps under a moonless, starless
night of black.
I am resolved to stand firm then feel
myself moving toward the high walls.
I smile as the cracks of light appear
on the horizon, in the corner of my eyes
and I wonder when
I will come back.
11.14.1996
Note on lineation: This poem is to be centered on the page to be read effectively.
the Palace of Ebony... come to claim me.
Shorn of light and life, I approach the gate.
No more doubts of wondering if I've
run out of time,
if I came to late.
An unseen hand rises
(unbidden)
from my body to rap upon
the door
I know is there.
If I open my eyes I will see
my hand reaching nothing but air.
Gone are the words of comfort in grief.
The veil has been lifted.
I am on the other side.
I am beyond my own reach.
Time runs rampant
I am old, young, and old again.
Smooth tight skin then a beard
blowing in the wind.
The Palace is this and more.
But arriving is not surviving,
and if I'm here there must be others.
Must be others who have
shut their sight against a world so blind.
They have already begun to climb
the steps under a moonless, starless
night of black.
I am resolved to stand firm then feel
myself moving toward the high walls.
I smile as the cracks of light appear
on the horizon, in the corner of my eyes
and I wonder when
I will come back.
11.14.1996
Note on lineation: This poem is to be centered on the page to be read effectively.
Refractions
Shards of someone he knew, shot through
him like pieces of glass (they passed
in the street with a flurry of scurrying feet)
and he felt like kicking someone's ass.
Emily is brewing tea (he can see her
shirtsleeve and steaming Earl Gray).
The light of a cold, musty day streams in
columns of blue, purple, scheming rays,
throwing his vision askew.
The shattered frame is a geometric jungle,
all panes and planes. The angled pieces and
glittering dust prick his conscience and
he wonders if any glass fell out the other side.
He sits there amidst the burnt sand;
he could be a shell on the beach,
with the waters of salvation
only slightly out of reach.
A knock at the door, sharp and defined.
He knows who is there; knows that she knows.
Later, a maid will seep up his broken windows,
the windows that show him more of himself
than of the street below.
1992
him like pieces of glass (they passed
in the street with a flurry of scurrying feet)
and he felt like kicking someone's ass.
Emily is brewing tea (he can see her
shirtsleeve and steaming Earl Gray).
The light of a cold, musty day streams in
columns of blue, purple, scheming rays,
throwing his vision askew.
The shattered frame is a geometric jungle,
all panes and planes. The angled pieces and
glittering dust prick his conscience and
he wonders if any glass fell out the other side.
He sits there amidst the burnt sand;
he could be a shell on the beach,
with the waters of salvation
only slightly out of reach.
A knock at the door, sharp and defined.
He knows who is there; knows that she knows.
Later, a maid will seep up his broken windows,
the windows that show him more of himself
than of the street below.
1992
Monday, February 14, 2011
Better Than Never
Kiss the stones before you skip them across the water.
Turn and run and run and run until you trip and fall
Sprawling face first hands stick into the mud,
Torn shirt and a scratch you think you've seen blood.
How bright the sun did shine this day, and hot.
Steam from sweat on bodies that shiver
Set down like the sun on legs newly hollow,
And talk in the dark like we used to.
Two voices rising like the full moon full
Of cadence and caution, our minds
Running as fast as our legs carrying us
Away from the lake, two days from a bad mistake.
And if we follow from afar, then we should see
The moon, or at least a star rising in the north.
We know where we have been. I can see you
Listening to the whispers on the wind.
We know we should leave this place soon.
We know we should not wait.
Why get up so early and leave in June;
When in your eyes I see our love and know
That we were better than never late.
10.28.2001
Turn and run and run and run until you trip and fall
Sprawling face first hands stick into the mud,
Torn shirt and a scratch you think you've seen blood.
How bright the sun did shine this day, and hot.
Steam from sweat on bodies that shiver
Set down like the sun on legs newly hollow,
And talk in the dark like we used to.
Two voices rising like the full moon full
Of cadence and caution, our minds
Running as fast as our legs carrying us
Away from the lake, two days from a bad mistake.
And if we follow from afar, then we should see
The moon, or at least a star rising in the north.
We know where we have been. I can see you
Listening to the whispers on the wind.
We know we should leave this place soon.
We know we should not wait.
Why get up so early and leave in June;
When in your eyes I see our love and know
That we were better than never late.
10.28.2001
The Holy, The Saints, & The Souls
This spell is written to praise the light
To draw three and raise them from the night.
To bind our arms each in the shield
To find in us all wounds have healed.
With words I set these columns afire
To grant me energy and fuel desire
To burn the ropes that hung us high
To greet the winter with a long autumn sigh
Shifting logic makes the reasons burn, as
Sifting through the tragic takes seasons to learn
All of the elements with brothers and sisters share. And
we do not worship the Prince of the Power of the Air
To the moon we look with an elegant stare,
Gazing after the flag they left up there.
Stars and stripes among the stars swaying in low gravity.
I craft this spell for the three and three.
For the Holy and the Sacred stones never spent
Heads bowed in prayer and reverent,
The gods move slow and move away
Making way for man and his day.
For the Saints who waged war for truth
Who fought the lies and found no proof,
Martyrs, they were murdered in fires now cold,
With eyes full of tears and spirits low.
For the Souls and for the saving grace.
Like fires that keep us warm in the place.
Sail with care from the shore, steer from the shoals,
Visit the wondrous land full of rabbits and holes.
For the Prince, the Child of Colorado
Where mountains high and winds blow cold.
Mistakes are made and prices paid
Yet in the end a firm foundation is laid.
For Queens robed in beauty, crowned in mist
Soft lips and bright eyes, I cannot resist.
Mystery and love, hands to hold near;
Like light from above when I am not here.
For the King, the good, and the misunderstood
Feet on the path, through the distant wood.
Blue eyes that long to see the rain
Shoulders his burden, smiling through the pain.
In six cases the treasures slept
Instincts lay quiet and their power kept
Now with magic in open release
I labor in love and hope and peace.
By the power of three and three more
So mote it be for evermore.
10.29.2001
To draw three and raise them from the night.
To bind our arms each in the shield
To find in us all wounds have healed.
With words I set these columns afire
To grant me energy and fuel desire
To burn the ropes that hung us high
To greet the winter with a long autumn sigh
Shifting logic makes the reasons burn, as
Sifting through the tragic takes seasons to learn
All of the elements with brothers and sisters share. And
we do not worship the Prince of the Power of the Air
To the moon we look with an elegant stare,
Gazing after the flag they left up there.
Stars and stripes among the stars swaying in low gravity.
I craft this spell for the three and three.
For the Holy and the Sacred stones never spent
Heads bowed in prayer and reverent,
The gods move slow and move away
Making way for man and his day.
For the Saints who waged war for truth
Who fought the lies and found no proof,
Martyrs, they were murdered in fires now cold,
With eyes full of tears and spirits low.
For the Souls and for the saving grace.
Like fires that keep us warm in the place.
Sail with care from the shore, steer from the shoals,
Visit the wondrous land full of rabbits and holes.
For the Prince, the Child of Colorado
Where mountains high and winds blow cold.
Mistakes are made and prices paid
Yet in the end a firm foundation is laid.
For Queens robed in beauty, crowned in mist
Soft lips and bright eyes, I cannot resist.
Mystery and love, hands to hold near;
Like light from above when I am not here.
For the King, the good, and the misunderstood
Feet on the path, through the distant wood.
Blue eyes that long to see the rain
Shoulders his burden, smiling through the pain.
In six cases the treasures slept
Instincts lay quiet and their power kept
Now with magic in open release
I labor in love and hope and peace.
By the power of three and three more
So mote it be for evermore.
10.29.2001
The Hunt
The myriad smells (from the stale of dead leaves to the must of loam and bark) greet my nose like a stranger that I believe I like, but not quite yet. The woods rush at me, trees like a herd of buffalo. Firs and pines whiz past me as my limbs slish and slash...deeper...into the heart of the forest. The farms and the plains fade from sight as well as memory. The sly, sneaky stars peek at me though lead-laden limbs.
The night. The night covers me like a blanket of fur, stealing over me with chills and whispers. And still my wingless body flies through the forest. My breath rasps and aches in heaving sighs. Love, hate, life, and death catch in my throat like something too big to swallow or eaten too fast. My ebony eyes glisten with both the rushing wind and the knowledge of the mission (destination). The tears cascade in tiny rivulets around my proud nose. Sides of my nose itch, flaring like lightning in August, but my paws scratch the hard earth instead.
As fast as the trees blur by, sound flushes past my pointed ears: here, then gone. The twittering, chittering mouse scurries homeward. A wild pig shrieks his general displeasure. An owl moans a slow warning. The soft splash of an eagle digging into a passive trout sifts in from the lake. A duck squeals her long, laborious, melodious complaint. The frogs bloat their chins and croak their sins, as the minnows and flies could forgive them.
Suddently the sweet scent smashes me square in the face. My tail jerks upward once in recognition, and my legs pump even faster. The sky falls and my chest rises. The stars assail the night with piercing points of far-away fire. My tongue lolls out the side of my mouth in a desperate plan to cool myself. The moon pounds above me all the long night, and still the sky falls on me in tons of black and pounds of gray. The night oozes darkness from every secret pore. My nostrils flare. Closer...almost there. Another sound crowds my mind: the sweet, softness of frightened rabbit steps. Almost as fast as me. Faster? The night stretches submissively as my legs reach their stride. The feast calls to me as it careens down the ebony, evergreen tunnel. The pangs of hunger crack in my belly like the snapping of a whip. My own heart pounds a drumming, thrumming sound. Too soon my gaping maw catches the little gray and white fluff and takes food for my belly (and my pride) in a wicked, obliterating osmosis.
4.27.1993
The night. The night covers me like a blanket of fur, stealing over me with chills and whispers. And still my wingless body flies through the forest. My breath rasps and aches in heaving sighs. Love, hate, life, and death catch in my throat like something too big to swallow or eaten too fast. My ebony eyes glisten with both the rushing wind and the knowledge of the mission (destination). The tears cascade in tiny rivulets around my proud nose. Sides of my nose itch, flaring like lightning in August, but my paws scratch the hard earth instead.
As fast as the trees blur by, sound flushes past my pointed ears: here, then gone. The twittering, chittering mouse scurries homeward. A wild pig shrieks his general displeasure. An owl moans a slow warning. The soft splash of an eagle digging into a passive trout sifts in from the lake. A duck squeals her long, laborious, melodious complaint. The frogs bloat their chins and croak their sins, as the minnows and flies could forgive them.
Suddently the sweet scent smashes me square in the face. My tail jerks upward once in recognition, and my legs pump even faster. The sky falls and my chest rises. The stars assail the night with piercing points of far-away fire. My tongue lolls out the side of my mouth in a desperate plan to cool myself. The moon pounds above me all the long night, and still the sky falls on me in tons of black and pounds of gray. The night oozes darkness from every secret pore. My nostrils flare. Closer...almost there. Another sound crowds my mind: the sweet, softness of frightened rabbit steps. Almost as fast as me. Faster? The night stretches submissively as my legs reach their stride. The feast calls to me as it careens down the ebony, evergreen tunnel. The pangs of hunger crack in my belly like the snapping of a whip. My own heart pounds a drumming, thrumming sound. Too soon my gaping maw catches the little gray and white fluff and takes food for my belly (and my pride) in a wicked, obliterating osmosis.
4.27.1993
Friday, February 11, 2011
Star Charts
Midnight music dances about
My ears, while light-years above
Myriads of stars turn my
Memories to a pale reflection.
Of love unrequited.
Oranges, reds, blues, greens;
Or maybe it's a pitch cloak
On some prodigious lamp.
Low, pale clouds follow obediently,
Leaning into the wind. Maybe
Living with grief means
Learning how to love you again.
10.11.1989
My ears, while light-years above
Myriads of stars turn my
Memories to a pale reflection.
Of love unrequited.
Oranges, reds, blues, greens;
Or maybe it's a pitch cloak
On some prodigious lamp.
Low, pale clouds follow obediently,
Leaning into the wind. Maybe
Living with grief means
Learning how to love you again.
10.11.1989
Sounds of a Night Up
The train is roaring as the
bathroom light is flicked on.
As the rumbling drifts
Down the tracks the hot
Air from the vent
at my knee huddles in.
As I turn off the light
The bathroom door creaks open.
I huddle, hurry, against the wall
trying to find my room.
Can hear the restless sleep
Of Dad, weary from lack of life.
The small desk lamp will
Click off soon, and I'll
Recall the scratching noise:
The sound of writing.
3.25.1990
bathroom light is flicked on.
As the rumbling drifts
Down the tracks the hot
Air from the vent
at my knee huddles in.
As I turn off the light
The bathroom door creaks open.
I huddle, hurry, against the wall
trying to find my room.
Can hear the restless sleep
Of Dad, weary from lack of life.
The small desk lamp will
Click off soon, and I'll
Recall the scratching noise:
The sound of writing.
3.25.1990
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Dead Giveaway
I heard them before they came into view.
There was more to this island paradise
Than postcards and pinacoladas.
Compassion and exasperation met on the
Battlefield of a four-lane road. The law
Said: "Go!" but traffic said: "Stop."
They waited for red lights and swarmed
Over the vehicles with need too deep
For tears and too strong for words.
At least a score scurried away at the first
sign of the local policia. One window in a hundred
rolled down and the hand that
reached out and offered dinero.
And then I knew that I would not recall the
Waterfalls and night life, or even the beaches;
But I would remember the beggars of Pueto Rico.
12.5.1989
There was more to this island paradise
Than postcards and pinacoladas.
Compassion and exasperation met on the
Battlefield of a four-lane road. The law
Said: "Go!" but traffic said: "Stop."
They waited for red lights and swarmed
Over the vehicles with need too deep
For tears and too strong for words.
At least a score scurried away at the first
sign of the local policia. One window in a hundred
rolled down and the hand that
reached out and offered dinero.
And then I knew that I would not recall the
Waterfalls and night life, or even the beaches;
But I would remember the beggars of Pueto Rico.
12.5.1989
Extradition
The drops of sweat trickled down
Creating a salty pool in his shirt;
They could not be stopped.
All the years spent in pursuit, in vain.
It would end soon. His mind shuffled
through ideas and half-plans.
His extended, distant (distended?) family
would never know of his courage in hopeless
despair. He was over-extended.
Down the street he walked, grim
With the urgency of his pain; he
Stumbled but could not fall.
All the fears and all the tears
Couldn't put him back together again
Could not release the captive within.
Sights and sounds buzzed around him
like a swarm of hungry locusts:
A loud horn and the grumbling of cars and trucks,
then rough hands clasp his arms and wrists.
1991
Creating a salty pool in his shirt;
They could not be stopped.
All the years spent in pursuit, in vain.
It would end soon. His mind shuffled
through ideas and half-plans.
His extended, distant (distended?) family
would never know of his courage in hopeless
despair. He was over-extended.
Down the street he walked, grim
With the urgency of his pain; he
Stumbled but could not fall.
All the fears and all the tears
Couldn't put him back together again
Could not release the captive within.
Sights and sounds buzzed around him
like a swarm of hungry locusts:
A loud horn and the grumbling of cars and trucks,
then rough hands clasp his arms and wrists.
1991
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Facing the Shadow
Leaning against this wall
With my back to the light
In the kitchen I am filled
With pangs of no particular reason.
My hand moves to the
Beat of a blues tune from
My portable stereo and somehow
The chocolate in my milk gets stirred.
My silhoette glares back at me,
As I rehearse this verse--
My breakfast is getting cold...
Somehow it all makes sense.
10.6.1989
With my back to the light
In the kitchen I am filled
With pangs of no particular reason.
My hand moves to the
Beat of a blues tune from
My portable stereo and somehow
The chocolate in my milk gets stirred.
My silhoette glares back at me,
As I rehearse this verse--
My breakfast is getting cold...
Somehow it all makes sense.
10.6.1989
Miracles Will
The nearness of our souls could be
Felt across time. No? Well,
at least across the room?
The sun, moon, and stars attended
Our first meeting... or maybe
That was the sparkle in my soda glass.
I knew it was love at first sight,
Saw it with my second sight.
Nervous as a schoolboy that night.
Now I realize you probably did not
Even recognize me but my imagination
Took your politeness and ran riot.
Success has taken me while the
Years have ravaged your dreams.
Predator and prey: an odd symbiosis.
I barely recognized you today after
All this time. From the time I
Saw you until you spoke chills leapt
Up and down my spine. After a few
Brief words I realized I only thought
I had a crush on you. And you only
Thought you didn't like me...
10.22.1989
Felt across time. No? Well,
at least across the room?
The sun, moon, and stars attended
Our first meeting... or maybe
That was the sparkle in my soda glass.
I knew it was love at first sight,
Saw it with my second sight.
Nervous as a schoolboy that night.
Now I realize you probably did not
Even recognize me but my imagination
Took your politeness and ran riot.
Success has taken me while the
Years have ravaged your dreams.
Predator and prey: an odd symbiosis.
I barely recognized you today after
All this time. From the time I
Saw you until you spoke chills leapt
Up and down my spine. After a few
Brief words I realized I only thought
I had a crush on you. And you only
Thought you didn't like me...
10.22.1989
Drifts
Christmas day came and went
Like a precious wafting scent
Sad were they with terrible fright
Who sought a purpose in the lights.
Dinner was good and dessert sweet
Laid on the altar at the jolly man's feet.
Living in danger, fleeing from woes,
Chasing the kiss in the mistletoe.
Children wake, dreams at an end,
Enduring til the madness begins again.
From his warm hovel atop the pole
He chuckles to himself at the hope he stole.
1989
Like a precious wafting scent
Sad were they with terrible fright
Who sought a purpose in the lights.
Dinner was good and dessert sweet
Laid on the altar at the jolly man's feet.
Living in danger, fleeing from woes,
Chasing the kiss in the mistletoe.
Children wake, dreams at an end,
Enduring til the madness begins again.
From his warm hovel atop the pole
He chuckles to himself at the hope he stole.
1989
The Lazy Shore
Life breathes in deep:
And lonely children play
All around the tireswing
One sunny summer day.
I relax because the work
is done, and watch the children
Who play as if they will never
Grow enough to have their hearts broken.
The sun goes down
In a passionate, hard summerset.
This day will fade from memory;
This sun they will soon forget.
One day I will be old and
In need of a wake.
But I will neither wake nor stir,
Sleeping all the more.
I tip my Fedora, just like that
to the woman in the water.
The lady of the lake paddles
her wood canoe along the lazy shore.
1988
And lonely children play
All around the tireswing
One sunny summer day.
I relax because the work
is done, and watch the children
Who play as if they will never
Grow enough to have their hearts broken.
The sun goes down
In a passionate, hard summerset.
This day will fade from memory;
This sun they will soon forget.
One day I will be old and
In need of a wake.
But I will neither wake nor stir,
Sleeping all the more.
I tip my Fedora, just like that
to the woman in the water.
The lady of the lake paddles
her wood canoe along the lazy shore.
1988
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Sparrow
My wings rest for now I perch
High atop this tender birch.
Sending forth into the wind
I rise above this world again.
Soaring ever higher above,
I revel in the sights my heart loves.
Like an arrow piercing the sky
I shoot toward the fiery sunrise.
Clouds split and light transcends
Glories that will never end.
Golden arms of the sun reach down
Breathing life into the town.
1989
High atop this tender birch.
Sending forth into the wind
I rise above this world again.
Soaring ever higher above,
I revel in the sights my heart loves.
Like an arrow piercing the sky
I shoot toward the fiery sunrise.
Clouds split and light transcends
Glories that will never end.
Golden arms of the sun reach down
Breathing life into the town.
1989
One
One candle, one winter,
Science is magic turned inside out,
making plain the rough path of doubt.
There is only one way in
and one way out.
2000
Science is magic turned inside out,
making plain the rough path of doubt.
There is only one way in
and one way out.
2000
And Share Alike
Wearing freckles and a grin that's reckless,
She hides baby-blues under the greensheet.
While she is buy princessing
i am carelessly caressing
Underneath
deep sleep.
Too fast in finishing and talking,
in the end she is wishing that she did
The sooner walking;
But those are
Actions regretted
Promises to selves forgetted
Words unheard in the rush of wind
Whispers along the lines of far-fetching
And in a wrongish kind of place
Bar-fly-catching...
Be here,
In this place where children play in the streets
In this place where posers play their anger loud
It seems,
The only heaven to be found
Three stories over ground
Is to count the freckles on her face
In this rightish sort of place.
Daring greatly
We make our plans
Building on stones
In an ocean of sands
We three together
In the midst of alones;
Erring lightly
We take our pains
To roll up our windows
When it rains, and drive
Our cars,
Steering by only the bravest of stars;
Sharing lately
More love than life,
As it should be
When the time is right
Night yields to another day,
Reminds me of something my brother might say...
Underneath greensheets,
i wonder at my sleep:
Deep and distant
Disturbed and pleasant.
Like the inner circle of a massive hell
surrounded by a Christmas wreath.
I have this weird feeling that we just may win,
i dress up my hope and wear it well:
i am none the worse for being cursed
And almost better for being blessed;
While she wears her freckles and a grin.
6.23.2002
She hides baby-blues under the greensheet.
While she is buy princessing
i am carelessly caressing
Underneath
deep sleep.
Too fast in finishing and talking,
in the end she is wishing that she did
The sooner walking;
But those are
Actions regretted
Promises to selves forgetted
Words unheard in the rush of wind
Whispers along the lines of far-fetching
And in a wrongish kind of place
Bar-fly-catching...
Be here,
In this place where children play in the streets
In this place where posers play their anger loud
It seems,
The only heaven to be found
Three stories over ground
Is to count the freckles on her face
In this rightish sort of place.
Daring greatly
We make our plans
Building on stones
In an ocean of sands
We three together
In the midst of alones;
Erring lightly
We take our pains
To roll up our windows
When it rains, and drive
Our cars,
Steering by only the bravest of stars;
Sharing lately
More love than life,
As it should be
When the time is right
Night yields to another day,
Reminds me of something my brother might say...
Underneath greensheets,
i wonder at my sleep:
Deep and distant
Disturbed and pleasant.
Like the inner circle of a massive hell
surrounded by a Christmas wreath.
I have this weird feeling that we just may win,
i dress up my hope and wear it well:
i am none the worse for being cursed
And almost better for being blessed;
While she wears her freckles and a grin.
6.23.2002
Hell and Gone
One land, one sky,
One son, one daughter,
One long shoreline
and a world full of water.
3.22.1997
One son, one daughter,
One long shoreline
and a world full of water.
3.22.1997
Seasons
The sun bleeds hot rays of low-level radiation
down the dirty window-pane of humanity.
And if blood flows like the Mississippi,
then it must be the river we can see from
the south side of the house.
The heat makes people crazy,
some almost ready to kill in a
frightened sweating frenzy.
But my mind goes
back
to the winter of last year
the winter of my soul:
Sobs and half-words knock
at the door of my ears as dream recedes.
The light is on in the bathroom
and I am in bed alone.
My stomach clenches
as if I had swallowed stone.
My feet are running before they hit the floor.
For all the words I've heard and forgotten before,
these words will remain forever,
"I'm not pregnant anymore."
1993
down the dirty window-pane of humanity.
And if blood flows like the Mississippi,
then it must be the river we can see from
the south side of the house.
The heat makes people crazy,
some almost ready to kill in a
frightened sweating frenzy.
But my mind goes
back
to the winter of last year
the winter of my soul:
Sobs and half-words knock
at the door of my ears as dream recedes.
The light is on in the bathroom
and I am in bed alone.
My stomach clenches
as if I had swallowed stone.
My feet are running before they hit the floor.
For all the words I've heard and forgotten before,
these words will remain forever,
"I'm not pregnant anymore."
1993
Monday, February 7, 2011
A Nocturnal Doctrine
With wild words I weave the truth of you
What you do not know cannot guess have not a clue
You can not keep yourself for me or from me;
I will have what is mine rightfully.
Feel steam from a long hot shower
Shatter and scatter what is real
And what is dream...
Licking tasting skin smelling flower--
Rake me over the coals of your love
With embers glowing like eyes...
Bright burns blend with freckles and scars
Clench and stretch/ touching near, reaching far...
Let us quench fell fires with love like oceans;
Slate hazel Hell and make of it a mild meadow.
Then back we come to find our Heaven fast
Burning every grain of sand into glass.
The sun seeks us, the morning light finds you and me
Drawing toward day as if to land at the edge of the sea...
Let's make a bowl of the crescent moon
And eat up stars with silver spoons...
5.4.2006
What you do not know cannot guess have not a clue
You can not keep yourself for me or from me;
I will have what is mine rightfully.
Feel steam from a long hot shower
Shatter and scatter what is real
And what is dream...
Licking tasting skin smelling flower--
Rake me over the coals of your love
With embers glowing like eyes...
Bright burns blend with freckles and scars
Clench and stretch/ touching near, reaching far...
Let us quench fell fires with love like oceans;
Slate hazel Hell and make of it a mild meadow.
Then back we come to find our Heaven fast
Burning every grain of sand into glass.
The sun seeks us, the morning light finds you and me
Drawing toward day as if to land at the edge of the sea...
Let's make a bowl of the crescent moon
And eat up stars with silver spoons...
5.4.2006
Verily
Be vain for me
Be a cloud and rain on me
Arraign me arrest me lean on me test me
Corner me in the cell
Beat a confession out of me
I will prevail.
At blessed sunset we sail.
Shake me wake me with bright lights
Be an elegant earthquake of daybreak.
There is still warm darkness under my skin
And a delicate delicious darkness in my mind.
I will rise.
On Saturday I will kiss flesh and wet eyes.
Be not tame for me
Be wild, vicious, and insane for me
Disobey me with lies sly and sweet...
Push me down; your weight on me keep.
I will fight.
Our wild war is a cliff with steep sides.
Take me make me your own:
Your trinket your possession a ticket to concession.
Always the choice: a stranger to us.
Our love lies in wait: dark, delicious, dangerous.
I will stand.
Call me Father-Lover-Friend-Husband.
Stake me on an anthill.
Impose vengeance and your will.
Close your eyes and dance, until...
We kiss, make up-- and find love is what we make of it.
I will bend.
But I will not break.. I have strength enough to lend.
Sink white teeth into my skin.
Throw white rose petals and caution to the wind.
Hike with fingers and feet the landscape of my limbs.
Never close enough to you, the distance insane and insistent.
I will dance.
We move in step to music then stop to hold/kiss-- a stable stance.
Feel the sensation of synergy.
Eternal and vernal, spring sends energy.
Back and forth is our ebb and flow...
Then gently your wishes and will bend with me.
I will touch.
I hold you like a thought, a secret guarded as such.
Feel wonder and warm in the midst of a spring storm.
Lightning divides the sky with sheets of heat and light--
Angels shouting at each other... thunder.
See. Read. Believe what I write.
I will stay.
We will give and survive to live another day.
5.2.2006
Be a cloud and rain on me
Arraign me arrest me lean on me test me
Corner me in the cell
Beat a confession out of me
I will prevail.
At blessed sunset we sail.
Shake me wake me with bright lights
Be an elegant earthquake of daybreak.
There is still warm darkness under my skin
And a delicate delicious darkness in my mind.
I will rise.
On Saturday I will kiss flesh and wet eyes.
Be not tame for me
Be wild, vicious, and insane for me
Disobey me with lies sly and sweet...
Push me down; your weight on me keep.
I will fight.
Our wild war is a cliff with steep sides.
Take me make me your own:
Your trinket your possession a ticket to concession.
Always the choice: a stranger to us.
Our love lies in wait: dark, delicious, dangerous.
I will stand.
Call me Father-Lover-Friend-Husband.
Stake me on an anthill.
Impose vengeance and your will.
Close your eyes and dance, until...
We kiss, make up-- and find love is what we make of it.
I will bend.
But I will not break.. I have strength enough to lend.
Sink white teeth into my skin.
Throw white rose petals and caution to the wind.
Hike with fingers and feet the landscape of my limbs.
Never close enough to you, the distance insane and insistent.
I will dance.
We move in step to music then stop to hold/kiss-- a stable stance.
Feel the sensation of synergy.
Eternal and vernal, spring sends energy.
Back and forth is our ebb and flow...
Then gently your wishes and will bend with me.
I will touch.
I hold you like a thought, a secret guarded as such.
Feel wonder and warm in the midst of a spring storm.
Lightning divides the sky with sheets of heat and light--
Angels shouting at each other... thunder.
See. Read. Believe what I write.
I will stay.
We will give and survive to live another day.
5.2.2006
A-Lura-Bye
Sleep little angel to your fill
Wakeful wind is silent still
Dream of moonlight on green hills
Dream of starlight and a meadow mill.
Nothing but starlight and fireflies in the air.
No worry no care can find you there.
Tomorrow we will wake and run and play
Tomorrow is another day.
No matter how long how far you roam
Your Mother's voice you call your own and
The yellow light will guide you home.
4.18.2006
Wakeful wind is silent still
Dream of moonlight on green hills
Dream of starlight and a meadow mill.
Nothing but starlight and fireflies in the air.
No worry no care can find you there.
Tomorrow we will wake and run and play
Tomorrow is another day.
No matter how long how far you roam
Your Mother's voice you call your own and
The yellow light will guide you home.
4.18.2006
Friday, February 4, 2011
In the Leantime
An angel asked for one more kiss, just...
Dr. Seuss said, "Our troubles will have troubles with us..."
She bends her wings down almost touching the floor
feathers so white...
Are we any stranger than angels?
Ask me anything when I am lost in the light--
Find out what it cost me... and why I fight:
All along the fallen flower
Pods prance around the stems' edge
A seance for seeds seeking, calling power:
To cover highways with hedges.
Claws find purchase as talons lance, and
Little bird feet dance on concrete ledges.
Hope floods the valley, dappled,
Spilling puddles filling pools:
She lives her dreams... as water rises.
Eyes alight with fire burns liquid into steam
Twin hazel suns from the daughter's irises.
Strain your ears to listen, then
Listen well... listen slow...
Stand next to the tallest tree
As high as the sky, as wide as the wind,
All around the forest, sunlight falls like snow.
4.27.2006
Dr. Seuss said, "Our troubles will have troubles with us..."
She bends her wings down almost touching the floor
feathers so white...
Are we any stranger than angels?
Ask me anything when I am lost in the light--
Find out what it cost me... and why I fight:
All along the fallen flower
Pods prance around the stems' edge
A seance for seeds seeking, calling power:
To cover highways with hedges.
Claws find purchase as talons lance, and
Little bird feet dance on concrete ledges.
Hope floods the valley, dappled,
Spilling puddles filling pools:
She lives her dreams... as water rises.
Eyes alight with fire burns liquid into steam
Twin hazel suns from the daughter's irises.
Strain your ears to listen, then
Listen well... listen slow...
Stand next to the tallest tree
As high as the sky, as wide as the wind,
All around the forest, sunlight falls like snow.
4.27.2006
Ending's Edge
The word on the sign is 'welcome'
Written in lilting Celtic letters...
And you know you are in Avalon
Wise to the Way
Alive to the time of day:
The slate of twilight fades
Into dusk
Into gray...
Set your weight against the stone:
Then fear the pain of being alone.
Bid a final farewell to the fearing, the envy, and the wrath.
I am a wolf at the clearing at the end of the path
Already bathed in the steady gaze of the moon
Consumed... lapped up by liquid light,
Fur aflame with wicked silver.
Throat open with a howl; teeth bared in a grin.
The Grail is seduction and salvation, redemption and sin,
A Challenge and a Chalice...
We toast with wine...drink deep of our love.
Should I smile or cry a million tears
For all the long miles and for all the years.
My call is answered by angels and amber
Ears up/ my heart resonates with the timbre.
Insert the Key into the lock we thought we lost;
The Door is the wood of the cross
Hands shaking, handfasted, hands inter-wound
Folding each in each on the forest floor
And on the forest floor we are found
Promises are sown
Rose petals are strewn
All across the ground...
This is another place
Another when.
To find so much peace here at the end
Should be some kind of sin...
Here there is depth and stillness
There is no rain or wind
No pain... no illness... not in Avalon.
Ever and always the moon, she shines like the sun.
After dinner the gleaming is done
Another beginner, the dreaming has begun.
Two lives become
One
(Never forget).
The wolf is me and I am he
Through his yellow eyes I see the moonset
Gray streaks stretch reaching across the sky
Do I disturb the sky... His blue eye; do I dare?
From a delicate devastation: a distant dawn,
Shining silver on smooth fur and white hair.
On the deep green grass we lay, the predator prays,
To a wild-God full of truth both real and rare.
Into sweet sleep weternal pass, and night fades
Into one year and a day.
4.10.2006
Written in lilting Celtic letters...
And you know you are in Avalon
Wise to the Way
Alive to the time of day:
The slate of twilight fades
Into dusk
Into gray...
Set your weight against the stone:
Then fear the pain of being alone.
Bid a final farewell to the fearing, the envy, and the wrath.
I am a wolf at the clearing at the end of the path
Already bathed in the steady gaze of the moon
Consumed... lapped up by liquid light,
Fur aflame with wicked silver.
Throat open with a howl; teeth bared in a grin.
The Grail is seduction and salvation, redemption and sin,
A Challenge and a Chalice...
We toast with wine...drink deep of our love.
Should I smile or cry a million tears
For all the long miles and for all the years.
My call is answered by angels and amber
Ears up/ my heart resonates with the timbre.
Insert the Key into the lock we thought we lost;
The Door is the wood of the cross
Hands shaking, handfasted, hands inter-wound
Folding each in each on the forest floor
And on the forest floor we are found
Promises are sown
Rose petals are strewn
All across the ground...
This is another place
Another when.
To find so much peace here at the end
Should be some kind of sin...
Here there is depth and stillness
There is no rain or wind
No pain... no illness... not in Avalon.
Ever and always the moon, she shines like the sun.
After dinner the gleaming is done
Another beginner, the dreaming has begun.
Two lives become
One
(Never forget).
The wolf is me and I am he
Through his yellow eyes I see the moonset
Gray streaks stretch reaching across the sky
Do I disturb the sky... His blue eye; do I dare?
From a delicate devastation: a distant dawn,
Shining silver on smooth fur and white hair.
On the deep green grass we lay, the predator prays,
To a wild-God full of truth both real and rare.
Into sweet sleep weternal pass, and night fades
Into one year and a day.
4.10.2006
Floe
Snow breaks, melts apart
We go, we leave
Love bends, then breaks
a heart.
Ocean waves, waters flow
We come, we go
Love mends, then makes
a heart.
4.6.2006
We go, we leave
Love bends, then breaks
a heart.
Ocean waves, waters flow
We come, we go
Love mends, then makes
a heart.
4.6.2006
Still
Like the light of love in the form of a slender ribbon
Swimming deep in dark matters, through ebony,
Bending, then rending the plane of the real...
One truth outshines a thousand lies of the enemy.
See tears from a porcelain face flow
Witness majesty bleeding
Embrace mercy exceeding
Mystery whispered into believing
Melody known then shown through singing...
Extend the limbs of your spirit to the ceiling.
Two things in life don't ever doubt
His love for you...and mine.
When all the stars in the night sky
Fade, blink, then go out forever
And all of heaven is full of a
Quiet and restful emptiness...
And eternity escapes;
I will still hold you and keep you
Warm...safe; a fireplace in December.
Our love will accept no less.
Within infinity memory is a midnight blue,
But remember me and I will remember you.
4.6.2006
Swimming deep in dark matters, through ebony,
Bending, then rending the plane of the real...
One truth outshines a thousand lies of the enemy.
See tears from a porcelain face flow
Witness majesty bleeding
Embrace mercy exceeding
Mystery whispered into believing
Melody known then shown through singing...
Extend the limbs of your spirit to the ceiling.
Two things in life don't ever doubt
His love for you...and mine.
When all the stars in the night sky
Fade, blink, then go out forever
And all of heaven is full of a
Quiet and restful emptiness...
And eternity escapes;
I will still hold you and keep you
Warm...safe; a fireplace in December.
Our love will accept no less.
Within infinity memory is a midnight blue,
But remember me and I will remember you.
4.6.2006
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Neverest
Surrender to the death we flirt with:
The devourer, the carrion bird
Is what the warrior heard.
A nail pounded into wood hurt
The hand that healed
And from the cross grounded in dirt
A wrecked destiny unreeled
Half as good, Holy-Spirited,
Breathe in His incense, His insistence,
His followers and mental patients
Both wholly committed.
Few knew how to find me
And fewer still were even kind to me
But we
See the line, and
Know the law of the line--
You are authentic, hectic, and eclectic
But you are not mine
We are borrowed from our Lord
Who made us
Who made us for each other
You are not mine to own
We will return each other one day to home
Our bodies to the earth
Our spirits to the sky
You are not mine.
But love is ours... bending
Blending spending time
Feet finding the dirt, grass and gravel
Taking time... taking a class
Healing hurt... feeling heart.
Finding our way past our past we unravel.
Fight fear with the flames of faith
Out of the woods and into the fire we go
Never let me go
My finger is ring-ing
My heart is singing
My arms flung wide
Hope is alive somewhere inside.
This is the joy of the time:
Kissing the drops of sweat on your back
A song of sodium
An elegant antidote to tedium:
Skin glistens bright fire flashing in little lines
Stars in a stack on blankets
Red, gold, and fine.
Throw off the blanket, legs in a sweat
The dregs of bad dreams fading yet
Risking release we forgive, forget.
Fear's fingers brush skin that's wet:
Webs from a fibrous fever
looking for the switch, the lever.
Density is done as done
A glass filled to the top
surface tension.
Your cup overfloweth
with
a gentle breath.
4.6.2006
The devourer, the carrion bird
Is what the warrior heard.
A nail pounded into wood hurt
The hand that healed
And from the cross grounded in dirt
A wrecked destiny unreeled
Half as good, Holy-Spirited,
Breathe in His incense, His insistence,
His followers and mental patients
Both wholly committed.
Few knew how to find me
And fewer still were even kind to me
But we
See the line, and
Know the law of the line--
You are authentic, hectic, and eclectic
But you are not mine
We are borrowed from our Lord
Who made us
Who made us for each other
You are not mine to own
We will return each other one day to home
Our bodies to the earth
Our spirits to the sky
You are not mine.
But love is ours... bending
Blending spending time
Feet finding the dirt, grass and gravel
Taking time... taking a class
Healing hurt... feeling heart.
Finding our way past our past we unravel.
Fight fear with the flames of faith
Out of the woods and into the fire we go
Never let me go
My finger is ring-ing
My heart is singing
My arms flung wide
Hope is alive somewhere inside.
This is the joy of the time:
Kissing the drops of sweat on your back
A song of sodium
An elegant antidote to tedium:
Skin glistens bright fire flashing in little lines
Stars in a stack on blankets
Red, gold, and fine.
Throw off the blanket, legs in a sweat
The dregs of bad dreams fading yet
Risking release we forgive, forget.
Fear's fingers brush skin that's wet:
Webs from a fibrous fever
looking for the switch, the lever.
Density is done as done
A glass filled to the top
surface tension.
Your cup overfloweth
with
a gentle breath.
4.6.2006
Tuesday
She is a book but you can not read her;
You must be silent and strong as cedar...
A tree with teeth, more bite than bark
(Part not parcel of a pantheistic god)
A canyon at night dancing with starlight
The essence of ebony but not as dark.
And while driving I am driven
my eyes shine silver in the mirror
They are slate gray stars on a cloudy day...
Find heaven in a circle, an Anasazi Kiva,
The Ancient Ones worshipped the Goddess
by the river
with songs and the lyre:
She stands in the center next to the altar
Facing the fire
Her heart full of everything we had to offer;
Her eyes see through the smoke and ashes of the
Unheavened dead;
Her soul revels in the odor and the smell of
Unleavened bread;
Her thoughts are notions of potions and spells--
Untended thread;
Dressed in robes of stone and earth and wind:
When wishes get twisted you cannot stop them.
Stand hand in hand at the bend
At the end.
She put a folding wall up behind her desk
To keep him away from her
Now the only change is he asks a question
Instead of leaning on the side of her desk
And staring at her...
(Yellow coyote eyes glaring at her)
Magic doesn't change the real
It just gives it flesh and feet.
It is the spiritual world we feel
Like prayers in the air or a seal on the arm
We are driven by spirits and efreets to find Golden Street.
My God is One...(Three, yes, but still One)
....Trinity...Infinity...and, Unity.
Creation is an expression of His loneliness
Creating little people and homes to bless.
For we are lovely, fore-lonely, and revolt-ing--
In His Image I am one of a revolution.
And from the revolution I began, I run...
I run to the Goddess Who is She and is Us.
My God works in Ways mysterious:
His Ways are prayer, peyote, people, and power:
He is King of the wide awake and dreams delirious.
She turns Her gaze upon me, solemn and serious.
"It's the song...that burns. It's the wheel...that turns..."*
Turn down the volume, turn down the side path.
"A gentle answer turneth away wrath."**
At the end
We help; we heal; we learn; we laugh.
In the wind
I wrap two arms and one blanket around your shoulders...
We are one...(two, yes, but still one)
Remember that and feel warm
On days when the weather seems colder...
3.28.2006
* from "All Over You" by LIVE
** from Proverbs 15:1 (KJV)
You must be silent and strong as cedar...
A tree with teeth, more bite than bark
(Part not parcel of a pantheistic god)
A canyon at night dancing with starlight
The essence of ebony but not as dark.
And while driving I am driven
my eyes shine silver in the mirror
They are slate gray stars on a cloudy day...
Find heaven in a circle, an Anasazi Kiva,
The Ancient Ones worshipped the Goddess
by the river
with songs and the lyre:
She stands in the center next to the altar
Facing the fire
Her heart full of everything we had to offer;
Her eyes see through the smoke and ashes of the
Unheavened dead;
Her soul revels in the odor and the smell of
Unleavened bread;
Her thoughts are notions of potions and spells--
Untended thread;
Dressed in robes of stone and earth and wind:
When wishes get twisted you cannot stop them.
Stand hand in hand at the bend
At the end.
She put a folding wall up behind her desk
To keep him away from her
Now the only change is he asks a question
Instead of leaning on the side of her desk
And staring at her...
(Yellow coyote eyes glaring at her)
Magic doesn't change the real
It just gives it flesh and feet.
It is the spiritual world we feel
Like prayers in the air or a seal on the arm
We are driven by spirits and efreets to find Golden Street.
My God is One...(Three, yes, but still One)
....Trinity...Infinity...and, Unity.
Creation is an expression of His loneliness
Creating little people and homes to bless.
For we are lovely, fore-lonely, and revolt-ing--
In His Image I am one of a revolution.
And from the revolution I began, I run...
I run to the Goddess Who is She and is Us.
My God works in Ways mysterious:
His Ways are prayer, peyote, people, and power:
He is King of the wide awake and dreams delirious.
She turns Her gaze upon me, solemn and serious.
"It's the song...that burns. It's the wheel...that turns..."*
Turn down the volume, turn down the side path.
"A gentle answer turneth away wrath."**
At the end
We help; we heal; we learn; we laugh.
In the wind
I wrap two arms and one blanket around your shoulders...
We are one...(two, yes, but still one)
Remember that and feel warm
On days when the weather seems colder...
3.28.2006
* from "All Over You" by LIVE
** from Proverbs 15:1 (KJV)
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Evertheless
Filled with the Holy Spirit we are enraptured,
We watch time with a watch, and we forget that
We cannot capture the time that has us captured...
Filled with manna, filled with money, the basket
Is passed from short hand to long hand (abandoned)
Floating as if on a river, Moses in a blanket.
Take up a collection for collective protection
Bargain for a piece, a part, a slice of peace...
How do you reach a cold heart?
How do you breach the bitter surface?
(Does it just take luck?)
How do you start?
Stab the ice and break it up.
But sometimes the better part of valor
Is a perilous predilection...discretion.
"Oh, what fools these mortals be!"
A wish so bold and strong (like a cold dream)
Rings through with truth and ardor.
The only blue is in my eyes and the sky
God is greedy with His colors.
What is white and hides
Beside the sky?
A clever cloud hovers low along the horizon.
If she wants to leave you, let her.
Do not wonder, "Where is the third wish...
the one that I can use to make it all better...?"
The mind is a terrible thing and tragic
Ending in resistance, distance, and violence.
What we don't understand we call magic;
What we think we do know we call science.
We polish the onyx of our knowledge:
Dust and small chips look black and sick.
At the edge we almost fall
Then run back quick.
We call magic.
To the Father, the farmer, and the fisher
And some angels, prayer is just a rumor
Wishes turned against the wisher
By a god with a wicked sense of humor.
But my God is the God of love:
The Maker of Earth and Heaven
Has made us wander and wonder, made us late,
Too late to escape from the fear, the pain...
We fly to the future on the tracks of fate
Our lot in life is a boxcar on a train.
The train moves faster and faster
We try to crank our lives up to an eleven
Serving the pain that is not our master.
God has given me healing, love, and a friend:
As the river of blood flows past him past her...
The river reaches the mouth of a lake and blends
With the homes of mermaids, divers, dancers.
We only start to live if love finds us when
We are bare and bend, a delicate disaster.
From wide windows we see golden streets and a glen,
Green skies hold silver linings that were
Once clouds full, white, and wet.
There you are, God's Princess in a grass skirt...
We hold each other, kiss, whisper, then listen;
There are no more questions, only answers,
And there is no wind, only rain in heaven.
3.27.2006
We watch time with a watch, and we forget that
We cannot capture the time that has us captured...
Filled with manna, filled with money, the basket
Is passed from short hand to long hand (abandoned)
Floating as if on a river, Moses in a blanket.
Take up a collection for collective protection
Bargain for a piece, a part, a slice of peace...
How do you reach a cold heart?
How do you breach the bitter surface?
(Does it just take luck?)
How do you start?
Stab the ice and break it up.
But sometimes the better part of valor
Is a perilous predilection...discretion.
"Oh, what fools these mortals be!"
A wish so bold and strong (like a cold dream)
Rings through with truth and ardor.
The only blue is in my eyes and the sky
God is greedy with His colors.
What is white and hides
Beside the sky?
A clever cloud hovers low along the horizon.
If she wants to leave you, let her.
Do not wonder, "Where is the third wish...
the one that I can use to make it all better...?"
The mind is a terrible thing and tragic
Ending in resistance, distance, and violence.
What we don't understand we call magic;
What we think we do know we call science.
We polish the onyx of our knowledge:
Dust and small chips look black and sick.
At the edge we almost fall
Then run back quick.
We call magic.
To the Father, the farmer, and the fisher
And some angels, prayer is just a rumor
Wishes turned against the wisher
By a god with a wicked sense of humor.
But my God is the God of love:
The Maker of Earth and Heaven
Has made us wander and wonder, made us late,
Too late to escape from the fear, the pain...
We fly to the future on the tracks of fate
Our lot in life is a boxcar on a train.
The train moves faster and faster
We try to crank our lives up to an eleven
Serving the pain that is not our master.
God has given me healing, love, and a friend:
As the river of blood flows past him past her...
The river reaches the mouth of a lake and blends
With the homes of mermaids, divers, dancers.
We only start to live if love finds us when
We are bare and bend, a delicate disaster.
From wide windows we see golden streets and a glen,
Green skies hold silver linings that were
Once clouds full, white, and wet.
There you are, God's Princess in a grass skirt...
We hold each other, kiss, whisper, then listen;
There are no more questions, only answers,
And there is no wind, only rain in heaven.
3.27.2006
Winterain
Love lays flat upon my finger
Burned upon my flesh with dark color...
In this place
In this time
Stark terror becomes sublime.
A serpent singeing pain:
again the needle is poised, ready to strike.
I think I know why they might call it a ring,
it rings out singing to faith and doubt alike.
I have thrown my heart on the tracks
In the path of the oncoming train of your affection.
Tempt me brush me touch me crush me
with slight soft fingers or steel wheels.
I am bound to the path bound to the tracks
Bound to you in a wish as strong as winter's will.
Now when clouds darken a silver sky, cracks
Between clouds of gray are lined with a shine of hope.
Maybe rain will fall soft and slow as we march
in yellow boots toward a shining spring of green and blue
in a field before the cathedral and the arch
Filled with wind and flowers and endless hours
Spent with two who love: me and you...
We enter through
the transept, swept away with the breath of God
onward
on toward a long summer day instead...
God has given us this time and this place
The scent of white roses mixes with the smell of bread:
God the Mother feeds us, clothes us with clover,
Shelters us with the stars of distant planets, far suns.
Come running through the meadow, an argent angel
The White God bleeds sparkling snow and is done.
God the Father kisses our eyes blessing our sight
With a dream (we are stirred with the gift of His Son.)
Through a glass darkly we see heaven, a blurry vision.
Almost too late we find the glass is a mirror
Dark not with filth or stain
But with our own grief, a wilting pain, and terror.
Only now can we make it clean
With the elements of winter and rain
And a hundred happy angels felt but never seen.
The greatest fallen angel has no one to blame;
He is a sidewalk stalker with no name
Pulling a black coat close against wind and cold.
Winter and rain have merged, have become
one
A delicate downpour.
He trades anonymity for fame.
Filled with youth, yearning and a yielding
We have come undone.
Only time will tell what the mirror shows
When it is washed by tears of rain and snow.
Only time will tell when our well is filled.
'my cup runneth over' our joy is spilled,
an intimate drowning of us
and more...
3.20.2006
Burned upon my flesh with dark color...
In this place
In this time
Stark terror becomes sublime.
A serpent singeing pain:
again the needle is poised, ready to strike.
I think I know why they might call it a ring,
it rings out singing to faith and doubt alike.
I have thrown my heart on the tracks
In the path of the oncoming train of your affection.
Tempt me brush me touch me crush me
with slight soft fingers or steel wheels.
I am bound to the path bound to the tracks
Bound to you in a wish as strong as winter's will.
Now when clouds darken a silver sky, cracks
Between clouds of gray are lined with a shine of hope.
Maybe rain will fall soft and slow as we march
in yellow boots toward a shining spring of green and blue
in a field before the cathedral and the arch
Filled with wind and flowers and endless hours
Spent with two who love: me and you...
We enter through
the transept, swept away with the breath of God
onward
on toward a long summer day instead...
God has given us this time and this place
The scent of white roses mixes with the smell of bread:
God the Mother feeds us, clothes us with clover,
Shelters us with the stars of distant planets, far suns.
Come running through the meadow, an argent angel
The White God bleeds sparkling snow and is done.
God the Father kisses our eyes blessing our sight
With a dream (we are stirred with the gift of His Son.)
Through a glass darkly we see heaven, a blurry vision.
Almost too late we find the glass is a mirror
Dark not with filth or stain
But with our own grief, a wilting pain, and terror.
Only now can we make it clean
With the elements of winter and rain
And a hundred happy angels felt but never seen.
The greatest fallen angel has no one to blame;
He is a sidewalk stalker with no name
Pulling a black coat close against wind and cold.
Winter and rain have merged, have become
one
A delicate downpour.
He trades anonymity for fame.
Filled with youth, yearning and a yielding
We have come undone.
Only time will tell what the mirror shows
When it is washed by tears of rain and snow.
Only time will tell when our well is filled.
'my cup runneth over' our joy is spilled,
an intimate drowning of us
and more...
3.20.2006
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
StilLove
Glancing up through the dirty windshield
(Dancing with you has made me thirsty)
Lost and found, blind but healed.
Clouds cover the sky in wide circles of light
Still reflecting what God sees...
What would I do if I were me?
Mountains of cumulus spread heaven over blue:
Silver-lined and filled with white,
Then you and me become we and move
Back and forth in a cadence smooth and tight;
We flex and stretch, alive with this rhythm,
With kisses both tender and fierce, almost a bite,
We hear bagpipes on the wind with a hymn
The sound surrounds us as silence takes flight.
Still we extend love into and around each other:
Time bends and twists and at the end starts to fray
Into lines of black ink that binds one lover to another.
Our celtic pride and love lingers on our fingers like rings
Encircling drawing us close she beneath and he above her.
(The scents on the air blend jasmine, lavender, and rose.)
This is the biggest decision of our lives...
Still no reason to panic or be afraid,
As we carpet the floor with our clothes--
Opening the door of St. Patrick's Day and more...
3.17.2006
(Dancing with you has made me thirsty)
Lost and found, blind but healed.
Clouds cover the sky in wide circles of light
Still reflecting what God sees...
What would I do if I were me?
Mountains of cumulus spread heaven over blue:
Silver-lined and filled with white,
Then you and me become we and move
Back and forth in a cadence smooth and tight;
We flex and stretch, alive with this rhythm,
With kisses both tender and fierce, almost a bite,
We hear bagpipes on the wind with a hymn
The sound surrounds us as silence takes flight.
Still we extend love into and around each other:
Time bends and twists and at the end starts to fray
Into lines of black ink that binds one lover to another.
Our celtic pride and love lingers on our fingers like rings
Encircling drawing us close she beneath and he above her.
(The scents on the air blend jasmine, lavender, and rose.)
This is the biggest decision of our lives...
Still no reason to panic or be afraid,
As we carpet the floor with our clothes--
Opening the door of St. Patrick's Day and more...
3.17.2006
Stone
You found me in a coven of wicked minerals
Where all we need is a flint to strike
And throw a spark.
We are little mountains and hills that look alike.
Suns setting in spring make us dream
Of glowing in the dark.
As my brothers and sisters watched
with silent anticipation shimmering in gray eyes,
you lifted me against the brittle slate of late winter skies;
you looked at me for a second then turned me in your hand.
One palm one thumb plumbing the depths of ridges and cracks
that bristle along my broken surface:
am I too short, too long, too fat, too thin--
at a second pass would you find me again?
I don't sparkle or glow...don't change your mind;
Do not let me go...not until I am in the flow...
Not until I'm sinking below. Your arm whips and
I am slipping from your fingers and I am sailing...
Without a canvas without a mast;
Not even a crew to tell how brave I flew.
The shore leaves me, full of rocks and my family and
my past stories. I touch the water lightly then skip
to the next center of future ripples.
There I flip, finding flight to my liking
What waits is even better: all glories
And beautiful breathing where even
the air is wetter.
How hard it is for a person to be cold, wet, and alone,
But how wonderful for a stone.
3.16.2006
Where all we need is a flint to strike
And throw a spark.
We are little mountains and hills that look alike.
Suns setting in spring make us dream
Of glowing in the dark.
As my brothers and sisters watched
with silent anticipation shimmering in gray eyes,
you lifted me against the brittle slate of late winter skies;
you looked at me for a second then turned me in your hand.
One palm one thumb plumbing the depths of ridges and cracks
that bristle along my broken surface:
am I too short, too long, too fat, too thin--
at a second pass would you find me again?
I don't sparkle or glow...don't change your mind;
Do not let me go...not until I am in the flow...
Not until I'm sinking below. Your arm whips and
I am slipping from your fingers and I am sailing...
Without a canvas without a mast;
Not even a crew to tell how brave I flew.
The shore leaves me, full of rocks and my family and
my past stories. I touch the water lightly then skip
to the next center of future ripples.
There I flip, finding flight to my liking
What waits is even better: all glories
And beautiful breathing where even
the air is wetter.
How hard it is for a person to be cold, wet, and alone,
But how wonderful for a stone.
3.16.2006
Time Will Tell
Your face as fair as summer, smooth, serene;
Your eyes as broad and bright as the sky
Stare, flash forward, and flare blue and green
As you watch me surrender to slumber and fade:
I sleep with thoughts of you and me
Somewhere here, somewhere far away
A slender finger of stone points steady toward
Heaven with a chance, a chalice, a chimney,
A dance-- a dream of us and distance,
By time's river we step then wade...
The sight of someone seeing me
makes me suddenly shiver
yellow blinking light by the water
could be from September fireflies
but making me slightly shake.
I see it could be from wolves' eyes.
Our love is a river found by a lake
Still with a screaming silence
A riot of calm
Movement below a smooth surface:
Sharp and blue and quick
Your kiss lingers on my lips
Trembling with the timbre of music
from sailors and from singers
Bound with ropes from distant ships
Hold my heart in your palm and fingers
Bend me twist me into something new
Rose petals sail on the wind with blood-red wings--
I am powerless to resist you...
And I who set pain against it to bar the door
Fell under the sway of a gentle rain
Solid cedar swings in and pain scars the floor.
Your eyes glow green and bold in low light
Promising kisses, bite-marks and more...
I yield to an avalanche of love, a gentle attack
This battle rages without blows, a welcome war;
I let go of the pain I held (that held me back).
Light from candles bends shadows sending them
Pooling like ink along the floors of the cabin.
Through dawn or darkness we find our way
During the nights and days that find us
Making love again and again.
3.6.2006
Your eyes as broad and bright as the sky
Stare, flash forward, and flare blue and green
As you watch me surrender to slumber and fade:
I sleep with thoughts of you and me
Somewhere here, somewhere far away
A slender finger of stone points steady toward
Heaven with a chance, a chalice, a chimney,
A dance-- a dream of us and distance,
By time's river we step then wade...
The sight of someone seeing me
makes me suddenly shiver
yellow blinking light by the water
could be from September fireflies
but making me slightly shake.
I see it could be from wolves' eyes.
Our love is a river found by a lake
Still with a screaming silence
A riot of calm
Movement below a smooth surface:
Sharp and blue and quick
Your kiss lingers on my lips
Trembling with the timbre of music
from sailors and from singers
Bound with ropes from distant ships
Hold my heart in your palm and fingers
Bend me twist me into something new
Rose petals sail on the wind with blood-red wings--
I am powerless to resist you...
And I who set pain against it to bar the door
Fell under the sway of a gentle rain
Solid cedar swings in and pain scars the floor.
Your eyes glow green and bold in low light
Promising kisses, bite-marks and more...
I yield to an avalanche of love, a gentle attack
This battle rages without blows, a welcome war;
I let go of the pain I held (that held me back).
Light from candles bends shadows sending them
Pooling like ink along the floors of the cabin.
Through dawn or darkness we find our way
During the nights and days that find us
Making love again and again.
3.6.2006
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