Existential Blues
Maybe I am,
Maybe I am not
Existing only perhaps
In the vacuum of love
Monday, June 27, 2011
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Behind Blue Stars
Sail away with me the harvest light fading over the water
To begin a day half way around the world where our dreams
Hold no truth, no secrets in the eyes of those about to awake
But wait patiently for us to find sleeping behind blue stars
Sail away with me the harvest light fading over the water
To begin a day half way around the world where our dreams
Hold no truth, no secrets in the eyes of those about to awake
But wait patiently for us to find sleeping behind blue stars
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
To Wait The Wind
You turned a corner,
left me behind
as the fog rolled in from the Pacific
into Topanga, flooding a canyon,
clouding my mind,
leaving me to wait the wind,
for a Santa Ana to clear a path,
to go on without you.
You turned a corner,
left me behind
as the fog rolled in from the Pacific
into Topanga, flooding a canyon,
clouding my mind,
leaving me to wait the wind,
for a Santa Ana to clear a path,
to go on without you.
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Where You Ran
In a grey room,
A bluestone fireplace
Cold compared to outside's summer sun,
Where you ran, a little girl in tomboy clothes,
Away from your mother, a wife well on her way to becoming a widow,
Out to edge of Lake Ontario whose white noise waves' wash
Drowned out the sound of your young father dying inside
Lying prone upon a black embroidered couch
In a grey room,
A bluestone fireplace
Cold compared to outside's summer sun,
Where you ran, a little girl in tomboy clothes,
Away from your mother, a wife well on her way to becoming a widow,
Out to edge of Lake Ontario whose white noise waves' wash
Drowned out the sound of your young father dying inside
Lying prone upon a black embroidered couch
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Already Gone
Already gone
Though memories linger
Of a life of anticipation I left
For one where I contemplate my thoughts
Beyond the limitations of what will come
That can't be seen and only believed
Once it disappears to be replaced
By pointless reverie of what was
While today walks on
With or without
Our consent
Already gone
Though memories linger
Of a life of anticipation I left
For one where I contemplate my thoughts
Beyond the limitations of what will come
That can't be seen and only believed
Once it disappears to be replaced
By pointless reverie of what was
While today walks on
With or without
Our consent
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Walks On
She walks on with me these intuitions
that have hovered above intellect,
beholden only to gut feelings
raw whimsy, naked emotion
and not to the gravity
that holds others
firmly bound to
circumstance.
She walks on with me these intuitions
that have hovered above intellect,
beholden only to gut feelings
raw whimsy, naked emotion
and not to the gravity
that holds others
firmly bound to
circumstance.
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Where Love Can Never Live Without Your Touch
Hold my heart
When its beat grows faint
From the fatigue of gestures
Toward those I have no intention
To really ever know beyond
A glance, a glare, a given moment
Where love can never live
Without your touch
Hold my heart
When its beat grows faint
From the fatigue of gestures
Toward those I have no intention
To really ever know beyond
A glance, a glare, a given moment
Where love can never live
Without your touch
Friday, June 24, 2011
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Last Blues
Relationships slowly broken apart across a crawl of decades
into a scatter of pieces - a brother here, a sister there -
distant and indistinct shards that cut, gouged, slashed
a sensitive soul quietly making his own distinct mark
with an unquiet mind amid the cries of last blues.
Relationships slowly broken apart across a crawl of decades
into a scatter of pieces - a brother here, a sister there -
distant and indistinct shards that cut, gouged, slashed
a sensitive soul quietly making his own distinct mark
with an unquiet mind amid the cries of last blues.
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
In The Wake Of
Tequila on our tongues, drunk with laughter,
our fumbling flesh finds its sleep at last
in the wake of salt-kissed lips parting,
leaving passion passed out between us.
Tequila on our tongues, drunk with laughter,
our fumbling flesh finds its sleep at last
in the wake of salt-kissed lips parting,
leaving passion passed out between us.
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
A Life Without Sun
Look no further, love smiles in the face of being found
though it was never lost, only looking as well for a knowing grin
to let its guard down, allowing it at last to come out from the shadows
a life without sun somehow still casts upon a lonely heart.
Look no further, love smiles in the face of being found
though it was never lost, only looking as well for a knowing grin
to let its guard down, allowing it at last to come out from the shadows
a life without sun somehow still casts upon a lonely heart.
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
100 Years From Now (Long Dead And Gone)
Somewhere,
100 years from now,
my son, an old man,
sitting on a porch,
face turned toward
a setting sun
thinking of
his father,
long dead
and gone.
Somewhere,
100 years from now,
my son, an old man,
sitting on a porch,
face turned toward
a setting sun
thinking of
his father,
long dead
and gone.
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Atlantis
Dance me across this water
no longer rising, not yet receding,
with the rhythm of the waves own
rise, crest, and break until we breach
the sands that lie in wait for us
on the other side of a sea
that holds the ruins
of our lives without love.
Dance me across this water
no longer rising, not yet receding,
with the rhythm of the waves own
rise, crest, and break until we breach
the sands that lie in wait for us
on the other side of a sea
that holds the ruins
of our lives without love.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Flowers Between The Fallout
Walking the debris field
in the aftermath of
everything,
eyes combing the chaos
of purposeful destruction
for sense among the senseless,
a reason in the absence of rhyme,
flowers between the fallout.
Walking the debris field
in the aftermath of
everything,
eyes combing the chaos
of purposeful destruction
for sense among the senseless,
a reason in the absence of rhyme,
flowers between the fallout.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Perfume
The perfume of you
still lingers on air
you parted when you left.
The perfect of you
still haunts the room
you left a week now gone.
The presence of you
still spirits the lost soul
you lifted but then left behind.
The perfume of you
still lingers on air
you parted when you left.
The perfect of you
still haunts the room
you left a week now gone.
The presence of you
still spirits the lost soul
you lifted but then left behind.
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Orleans
The sway of you, in arms moving like the breeze
on this street, pulled close from either side
by the ancient art of its own architecture,
resolved to its history, to the open air,
where we breathe her gilded night,
where we dance with old Orleans.
The sway of you, in arms moving like the breeze
on this street, pulled close from either side
by the ancient art of its own architecture,
resolved to its history, to the open air,
where we breathe her gilded night,
where we dance with old Orleans.
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
The Ways Of Love
the ways of love breaking wide open/
the pomegranate hitting the ground
the cinnamon on your tongue tingling
the bouquet caught upon the wind
/the time before time began/
the dance between touch and touched
the light kissing summer's shoulders
the rhythm of the days making music
/the time after time again/
the ways of love breaking wide open
the ways of love breaking wide open/
the pomegranate hitting the ground
the cinnamon on your tongue tingling
the bouquet caught upon the wind
/the time before time began/
the dance between touch and touched
the light kissing summer's shoulders
the rhythm of the days making music
/the time after time again/
the ways of love breaking wide open
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Lines 1-24
Make a church
of the woods
Make rivers
into sacraments
Make a catechism
from humility
* * *
Offer confession
to the wind
Pray to
the sky
Kneel before
the ocean
* * *
Believe
in now
Believe
in instinct
Believe in
love
* * *
Coincidence
is for the pagan
Convenience
is for the infidel
Contrition
is for the martyr
Make a church
of the woods
Make rivers
into sacraments
Make a catechism
from humility
* * *
Offer confession
to the wind
Pray to
the sky
Kneel before
the ocean
* * *
Believe
in now
Believe
in instinct
Believe in
love
* * *
Coincidence
is for the pagan
Convenience
is for the infidel
Contrition
is for the martyr
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Too Far Gone
Too far gone from where I don't know now
but then again upon reflection it seems
to me I was not there for very long
before I left and found I was
further away from
wherever it was
you were not.
Too far gone from where I don't know now
but then again upon reflection it seems
to me I was not there for very long
before I left and found I was
further away from
wherever it was
you were not.
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Laughing (The Music Of It All)
laughing
at myself,
with myself,
in spite of myself
the music of it all,
pure ozone after the rain,
informing the air
with its not so silent
smile
laughing
at myself,
with myself,
in spite of myself
the music of it all,
pure ozone after the rain,
informing the air
with its not so silent
smile
Blooms Amid The Debris / new poems 2011
Before The Ocean Forgets Your Name
Raise a hand above the waterline
beyond broken love, no love,
and so love goes
though she still sings
from the rocks her siren songs -
Tearing at sails, breaking masts
Tearing at souls, breaking hearts
A captain can't always go down
with the ship,
so swim or die trying,
but raise a hand,
and make like hell for shore -
Kissing salt of water, embracing the tide
Kissing panic on the lips, embracing fear
Reach beyond yourself to reach the one
who'll save you,
drag you from the waves,
lay you upon the sand,
before the ocean forgets your name -
Raise a hand above the waterline
beyond broken love, no love,
and so love goes
though she still sings
from the rocks her siren songs -
Tearing at sails, breaking masts
Tearing at souls, breaking hearts
A captain can't always go down
with the ship,
so swim or die trying,
but raise a hand,
and make like hell for shore -
Kissing salt of water, embracing the tide
Kissing panic on the lips, embracing fear
Reach beyond yourself to reach the one
who'll save you,
drag you from the waves,
lay you upon the sand,
before the ocean forgets your name -
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
Where Nowhere Becomes Somewhere In The Name Of Moving On
The motion of my emotions carrying me along,
scattering the best of my intentions to the wind,
leaving a trail of convictions winding out behind me
where nowhere becomes somewhere in the name of moving on.
The motion of my emotions carrying me along,
scattering the best of my intentions to the wind,
leaving a trail of convictions winding out behind me
where nowhere becomes somewhere in the name of moving on.
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
Just Another Hitchhiker
A quarter million miles away from faces changed forever,
as unrecognizable to me as I am now to each of them,
awaiting the next ride to take me further on down
the road I wander as just another hitchhiker.
A quarter million miles away from faces changed forever,
as unrecognizable to me as I am now to each of them,
awaiting the next ride to take me further on down
the road I wander as just another hitchhiker.
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
From The Colors
Time fades away
into the foggy grey
of our almost memories,
where we build our history
from the colors we still recall.
Time fades away
into the foggy grey
of our almost memories,
where we build our history
from the colors we still recall.
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
Another Me
out beyond
myself
another me
already hard at work
fashioning a face from experience,
inventing a new language from reflection,
designing desire all over again from scratch
out beyond
myself
another me
only I will recognize
out beyond
myself
another me
already hard at work
fashioning a face from experience,
inventing a new language from reflection,
designing desire all over again from scratch
out beyond
myself
another me
only I will recognize
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
Jigsaw
Where can I put the pieces of a dream
that I no longer desire to puzzle together?
My pockets are full of the wind blowing off the water.
My hands are full of the rain falling from the clouds.
My heart is full of the sunlight shining from the sky.
How can I carry the pieces of a dream
that I no longer care at all to fit together?
Where can I put the pieces of a dream
that I no longer desire to puzzle together?
My pockets are full of the wind blowing off the water.
My hands are full of the rain falling from the clouds.
My heart is full of the sunlight shining from the sky.
How can I carry the pieces of a dream
that I no longer care at all to fit together?
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
More Than Moments
You cannot mask the madness
you carry like a clock,
wear like a watch.
In dim-lit rooms it casts
an untimely shadow
larger than your own.
It speaks when not spoken to,
listens only long enough
to know when to interrupt
thought,
feeling,
more than moments,
but in fact the very ticking
of collective time forced out of time
across a life without rhythm.
You cannot mask the madness
you carry like a clock,
wear like a watch.
In dim-lit rooms it casts
an untimely shadow
larger than your own.
It speaks when not spoken to,
listens only long enough
to know when to interrupt
thought,
feeling,
more than moments,
but in fact the very ticking
of collective time forced out of time
across a life without rhythm.
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
We Will Not Outrun The End
Set in motion
with a gasp, a cry-broken breath,
upon a path leading to the same destination
to walk along and wonder at
with every new horizon holding
the reoccurring revelation
we will not outrun the end,
but in the end run out of breath
around the last bend of the path
we have strode and stumbled along.
Set in motion
with a gasp, a cry-broken breath,
upon a path leading to the same destination
to walk along and wonder at
with every new horizon holding
the reoccurring revelation
we will not outrun the end,
but in the end run out of breath
around the last bend of the path
we have strode and stumbled along.
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
To Cup Rain
Thankful
for a second chance
to cup rain in the same hand
I waved a final, long goodbye with
when the clouds first hovered overhead
Thankful
for a second chance
to cup rain in the same hand
I waved a final, long goodbye with
when the clouds first hovered overhead
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
Knowing
Dreams collapse
in the sting of a new morning
that dawns upon you
with the pain of what was
and what has become in the decay
of a life you left behind,
taking only your heart along
and not the presence of mind
to know the difference between
wanting and having.
Dreams collapse
in the sting of a new morning
that dawns upon you
with the pain of what was
and what has become in the decay
of a life you left behind,
taking only your heart along
and not the presence of mind
to know the difference between
wanting and having.
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
In A Hum No One Hears (for C.M.A.)
He stands in silence
on the western edge
of the continent
content to hold the ocean
in his thoughts,
the white noise of her
in a hum no one hears,
a lament for the drowning sun,
still unsure it will rise again
upon eastern shoulders
he once laid his
unquiet mind upon.
He stands in silence
on the western edge
of the continent
content to hold the ocean
in his thoughts,
the white noise of her
in a hum no one hears,
a lament for the drowning sun,
still unsure it will rise again
upon eastern shoulders
he once laid his
unquiet mind upon.
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
Walk On
Walk beside me, my son,
not in my footsteps,
together until
you let go of my hand
and walk on without me.
Walk beside me, my son,
not in my footsteps,
together until
you let go of my hand
and walk on without me.
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
Skin
You covered me in your skin,
disguised my shortcomings,
camouflaged my misgivings,
while my own blood pulsed
beneath with unabated fear
for days turned end over end
tattooing the years to come
with a certain uncertainty
until I was ready to shed
my anxieties and insecurities
and step naked into the sun.
You covered me in your skin,
disguised my shortcomings,
camouflaged my misgivings,
while my own blood pulsed
beneath with unabated fear
for days turned end over end
tattooing the years to come
with a certain uncertainty
until I was ready to shed
my anxieties and insecurities
and step naked into the sun.
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
Summer After Summer
Slip away with me into summer after summer,
hidden on our shore that ends abruptly
with a palisade of shale and clay
eroding above our heads
as our two hearts
fill up year after year
with these sediments of sentiment,
a foothold, a beach head all our own
where we endure winter's inevitable weather
Slip away with me into summer after summer,
hidden on our shore that ends abruptly
with a palisade of shale and clay
eroding above our heads
as our two hearts
fill up year after year
with these sediments of sentiment,
a foothold, a beach head all our own
where we endure winter's inevitable weather
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
Down The Road
Down the road,
the hard decisions
behind us in a fading
but not forgotten landscape
we carved with our own bare hands.
Down the road,
the hard decisions
behind us in a fading
but not forgotten landscape
we carved with our own bare hands.
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
Ragged Debris
Time betrays our best intentions,
Leaves the ragged debris of regret
Clogging veins and blocking arteries
Below the smoke and smolder of fallout,
Of falling out with our own expectations.
Time betrays our best intentions,
Leaves the ragged debris of regret
Clogging veins and blocking arteries
Below the smoke and smolder of fallout,
Of falling out with our own expectations.
Monday, June 20, 2011
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
The Fog Of Us
The water, wide, tired and slowly wandering
while holding up a horizon hung with the weight of haze
for the fog of us here upon the uncertainty of sand's shores
to prop up along with the slipping confidence of a reluctant sunset.
The water, wide, tired and slowly wandering
while holding up a horizon hung with the weight of haze
for the fog of us here upon the uncertainty of sand's shores
to prop up along with the slipping confidence of a reluctant sunset.
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
Whittled
When no one was looking I whittled a new face
From the forest for the trees where I hid out
Waiting for a recognition which never found me
When no one was looking I whittled a new face
From the forest for the trees where I hid out
Waiting for a recognition which never found me
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
All The Suns, So Far
I never saw
any of it
coming
The two broken baby teeth lying bloodied in a snowy road
A red balloon slipping into the sky from a little boy hand
My misguided drives through a haze of chemical hubris
Leaving childhood behind for an entwine of lust's legs
A grey wedding day masquerading as a lasting love
The pale saint of me fading like an old photograph
Her saving grace offering more than moments
The wilderness of days becoming a decade
A blessing of a beautiful boy for us both
The light above, upon wide open water
Promises never made but still kept
The changing shoreline below us
The sky without rain for now
Whatever is yet to come
All the suns, so far
I never saw
any of it
coming
The two broken baby teeth lying bloodied in a snowy road
A red balloon slipping into the sky from a little boy hand
My misguided drives through a haze of chemical hubris
Leaving childhood behind for an entwine of lust's legs
A grey wedding day masquerading as a lasting love
The pale saint of me fading like an old photograph
Her saving grace offering more than moments
The wilderness of days becoming a decade
A blessing of a beautiful boy for us both
The light above, upon wide open water
Promises never made but still kept
The changing shoreline below us
The sky without rain for now
Whatever is yet to come
All the suns, so far
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
The Weight Of Without You
the weight of without you
carried across cold shoulders
like an empty wind holding me back
the weight of without you
carried across cold shoulders
like an empty wind holding me back
All The Suns, So Far / new poems 2011
The World Is Not Enough
Don't turn away,
the world is not enough
with her blue Eden,
her black-eyed beauty
hiding her betrayals
better than I can my own.
Safe and sound,
hold the ocean
while I rest a while
upon sand we ground together
with our bare hands,
blood palm hearts.
Stretch, reach the sky
and its foggy stars
before the morning breaks
the sunset's fading promise
of never-ending night,
again.
Seek my shadow
hidden somewhere
in the dim of a hardwood stand,
where young love once
carved a cardinal song
for us to hum.
Bury our dream
beneath the path worn
by our unintended pursuit
of something beyond the tangle
of want, where need lies down
to sleep between our souls.
Don't turn away,
the world is not enough
with her blue Eden,
her black-eyed beauty
hiding her betrayals
better than I can my own.
Safe and sound,
hold the ocean
while I rest a while
upon sand we ground together
with our bare hands,
blood palm hearts.
Stretch, reach the sky
and its foggy stars
before the morning breaks
the sunset's fading promise
of never-ending night,
again.
Seek my shadow
hidden somewhere
in the dim of a hardwood stand,
where young love once
carved a cardinal song
for us to hum.
Bury our dream
beneath the path worn
by our unintended pursuit
of something beyond the tangle
of want, where need lies down
to sleep between our souls.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Better Days (Year Of The Horse, 2014)
Fifty years beyond the Year Of The Dragon
I will ride the wild horse alongside better days
that had once run free before the Year Of The Rat.
Fifty years beyond the Year Of The Dragon
I will ride the wild horse alongside better days
that had once run free before the Year Of The Rat.
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Take The Reins
Take the reins and bind my useless hands,
drag me these final hours turned miles,
home to where the sun heals scars,
to where the rain washes tears,
to where the wind rides on.
Take the reins and bind my useless hands,
drag me these final hours turned miles,
home to where the sun heals scars,
to where the rain washes tears,
to where the wind rides on.
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Reluctant Widows
Scatter the ashes
of a man I met
just once -
Prayers
can't find a voice
inside the wind -
An ocean
swallows the salt
of tears -
His name remains
and walks on
alone -
We bury the past
when present tense
slips away -
Scatter the ashes
of a man I met
just once -
Prayers
can't find a voice
inside the wind -
An ocean
swallows the salt
of tears -
His name remains
and walks on
alone -
We bury the past
when present tense
slips away -
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Burn Down The Arcade
Burn down the arcade,
the games of youth
have no more use
to an aging man
who risked all
to win love.
Burn down the arcade,
the games of youth
have no more use
to an aging man
who risked all
to win love.
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Don't Spook The Horse
Quietly now,
tread ever so lightly
across creaking timbers.
Leave your shadow
outside to wait behind
in the white-loud sun.
Our love, still wild, spooks easily
from its sleep where our dreams
ride wind like whispers slipping
through slats in stalls
where time reminds memories
of not only the muddy rumble
of all those endless quarter miles,
but of the silence of dust settling
through the last shafts of low light
as meadows draw dark and our aging desires
finally sigh in reflection, in mum recognition
that the race is not to the swift,
but to those who know the odds against them
and still run without fanfare,
without need of exhortations to stir the soul
to finish what the heart has started.
Quietly now,
tread ever so lightly
across creaking timbers.
Leave your shadow
outside to wait behind
in the white-loud sun.
Our love, still wild, spooks easily
from its sleep where our dreams
ride wind like whispers slipping
through slats in stalls
where time reminds memories
of not only the muddy rumble
of all those endless quarter miles,
but of the silence of dust settling
through the last shafts of low light
as meadows draw dark and our aging desires
finally sigh in reflection, in mum recognition
that the race is not to the swift,
but to those who know the odds against them
and still run without fanfare,
without need of exhortations to stir the soul
to finish what the heart has started.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Kissing Desert, Swooning By The Sea
California,
kissing desert,
swooning by the sea,
lying in defiance of geology,
of eventual, inevitable mutability,
of time ticking beneath shifting sand,
her own unwilling, temperamental bedrock,
eschewing the sanctuary of the Rocky Mountains,
leaving the prairies to time left standing still
in favor of a march to the shining sea,
to glimpse the sun's curtain call
while she can, at last again
despite the dark visage
descending on palms
without promise
of return.
California,
kissing desert,
swooning by the sea,
lying in defiance of geology,
of eventual, inevitable mutability,
of time ticking beneath shifting sand,
her own unwilling, temperamental bedrock,
eschewing the sanctuary of the Rocky Mountains,
leaving the prairies to time left standing still
in favor of a march to the shining sea,
to glimpse the sun's curtain call
while she can, at last again
despite the dark visage
descending on palms
without promise
of return.
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Asleep, Within Us All
Sleep away the last summer
beneath a grey sky;
no,
instead
search the unseasonably cold wind
for more/other/new answers
concerning
love
and its correlation
to the cosmos,
to self-actualization,
to patience
and its connection to the prosperity of the soul
and its fortune, its promise of simple pleasures
to be mined
in search of a wealth beyond riches
found in the discovery of a sun hidden
behind all of the grey skies of summers
not yet seen,
awaiting to be awakened
days, years, decades on from now
asleep, within
us all.
Sleep away the last summer
beneath a grey sky;
no,
instead
search the unseasonably cold wind
for more/other/new answers
concerning
love
and its correlation
to the cosmos,
to self-actualization,
to patience
and its connection to the prosperity of the soul
and its fortune, its promise of simple pleasures
to be mined
in search of a wealth beyond riches
found in the discovery of a sun hidden
behind all of the grey skies of summers
not yet seen,
awaiting to be awakened
days, years, decades on from now
asleep, within
us all.
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
The Sea's Melody
Let the night and its music
swallow my love in breaking waves,
tones of droning hardingfele drowning her
beneath the wake of an unfathomable dream,
she divines to surface by first light, dawn's song,
leaving the rhythm of the sea's melody for her to hum.
Let the night and its music
swallow my love in breaking waves,
tones of droning hardingfele drowning her
beneath the wake of an unfathomable dream,
she divines to surface by first light, dawn's song,
leaving the rhythm of the sea's melody for her to hum.
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
So Strange Beyond
I no longer visit the shallow graves of my dead, but blood, brothers
still walking the waking world, their disembodied voices falling muted
upon my deaf mind's eye no longer able to recognize faces so strange
beyond familiarity, more anecdotal than familial, and no longer immortal.
I no longer visit the shallow graves of my dead, but blood, brothers
still walking the waking world, their disembodied voices falling muted
upon my deaf mind's eye no longer able to recognize faces so strange
beyond familiarity, more anecdotal than familial, and no longer immortal.
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
With The Wind Of Them
The dead are quiet, wait like ice,
melt slowly into memories,
cottoning the cold room
with the wind of them.
The dead are quiet, wait like ice,
melt slowly into memories,
cottoning the cold room
with the wind of them.
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
A Veil Of Memories
The year beyond brings
a blur of what is to come;
our impatient deja vu
triggered by anticipation,
not a veil of memories
of all that we yet will do.
The year beyond brings
a blur of what is to come;
our impatient deja vu
triggered by anticipation,
not a veil of memories
of all that we yet will do.
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Tired Eyes
Your tired eyes
close the sky
and stars go cold.
I hear your soul
in our son's
first fragile words.
All this waiting
on Heaven
is for the birds.
Here is now
and where we live
in place of if and when.
The sun crows
our morning awake
with no need for dreams.
A notion dawns
that we are all we have
when the world spins away.
Your tired eyes
reflect the struggle
between alive and living.
Your tired eyes
close the sky
and stars go cold.
I hear your soul
in our son's
first fragile words.
All this waiting
on Heaven
is for the birds.
Here is now
and where we live
in place of if and when.
The sun crows
our morning awake
with no need for dreams.
A notion dawns
that we are all we have
when the world spins away.
Your tired eyes
reflect the struggle
between alive and living.
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Times Square (Dirty Nostalgia)
Broadway jitters I've left behind
for glitter gutters where I crawl,
scrawl my own makeup
over a death masked man
forever staging a comeback,
stumbling the dirty nostalgia
of Times Square streets
where love once lived,
defiled, desperate and real;
a Picasso, not a plastic reminder
of all we have forsaken:
The Art of Life.
Broadway jitters I've left behind
for glitter gutters where I crawl,
scrawl my own makeup
over a death masked man
forever staging a comeback,
stumbling the dirty nostalgia
of Times Square streets
where love once lived,
defiled, desperate and real;
a Picasso, not a plastic reminder
of all we have forsaken:
The Art of Life.
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Year Of The Horse (1990)
No red money broke dreams,
it was a blind bet on a blue mare
without conscience, without conviction,
her wild eyes sowing oats of deceit, denial;
all costing me an unending debt of days
wandering a fenced-in wilderness
well after the year of the horse.
No red money broke dreams,
it was a blind bet on a blue mare
without conscience, without conviction,
her wild eyes sowing oats of deceit, denial;
all costing me an unending debt of days
wandering a fenced-in wilderness
well after the year of the horse.
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Tears Rust Love (Don't Cry)
Flog our dreams until they bleed, scarring our soft souls.
Tears rust love, decay the heart beyond its own blood weather.
Crawl inside the shadows of the mind that only conceives the sun.
Don't cry for me as I carry the burden of our dreams beyond shoulders.
Flog our dreams until they bleed, scarring our soft souls.
Tears rust love, decay the heart beyond its own blood weather.
Crawl inside the shadows of the mind that only conceives the sun.
Don't cry for me as I carry the burden of our dreams beyond shoulders.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Long Shot (for C. Maxwell Anderson)
Deny, defy,
don't ask, don't get
An empty pocket full of regrets
is the price you'll pay instead
if you pull your punches
Remember then as you whip the horse blind
the odds are what keep it even in the end,
so ride your long shot until it drops dead
Deny, defy,
don't ask, don't get
An empty pocket full of regrets
is the price you'll pay instead
if you pull your punches
Remember then as you whip the horse blind
the odds are what keep it even in the end,
so ride your long shot until it drops dead
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Naive Melody
Erik Satie
sits in a tree outside my window
notes, acorns
on the ground
I will gather
from the frost-bit grass
In sullen anticipation of another
northern winter
freezing all five of the Great Lakes,
leaving me to rely
upon
the movement of naive melody
when all else resolves itself
to stasis
Erik Satie
sits in a tree outside my window
notes, acorns
on the ground
I will gather
from the frost-bit grass
In sullen anticipation of another
northern winter
freezing all five of the Great Lakes,
leaving me to rely
upon
the movement of naive melody
when all else resolves itself
to stasis
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
This Misbegotten Gallery
They tried to kill me;
brothers, sisters, lovers, wives,
supposed saints, obvious infidels,
blood relatives and vampire friends
But I ran like hell
down an unending hall,
on fire,
waving a pistol
All unsure
if my intent was to shoot myself
or them
A rhetorical notion
considering this misbegotten gallery
were all long dead to me
already
They tried to kill me;
brothers, sisters, lovers, wives,
supposed saints, obvious infidels,
blood relatives and vampire friends
But I ran like hell
down an unending hall,
on fire,
waving a pistol
All unsure
if my intent was to shoot myself
or them
A rhetorical notion
considering this misbegotten gallery
were all long dead to me
already
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Two Glass Hands
my heart
out of tune,
at times
distant,
trapped beneath the ice
you will shatter
with your two glass hands
breaking us both
apart
but leaving us again
connected
by our beating hearts
my heart
out of tune,
at times
distant,
trapped beneath the ice
you will shatter
with your two glass hands
breaking us both
apart
but leaving us again
connected
by our beating hearts
Year Of The Horse / new poems 2011
Today/Tomorrow (Tempus Fugit)
Leaves clung to wet streets
Trembling -
Much the same as they do
Today -
Skies split, rumbled, cracked,
Tore -
Raining the struggle across
Time -
Heart strings weathered pulled
Taut -
Tempus Fugit in the face of
Tomorrow -
Leaves clung to wet streets
Trembling -
Much the same as they do
Today -
Skies split, rumbled, cracked,
Tore -
Raining the struggle across
Time -
Heart strings weathered pulled
Taut -
Tempus Fugit in the face of
Tomorrow -
Friday, May 27, 2011
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
To A Sea Uncertain
I gave myself to the river,
walked out of the rushes,
waded deep the rush,
laid myself supine
in her currents
never pulled
by the moon
but led along
by instinct alone,
afraid no more to let
nature take her course
and me to a sea uncertain
I gave myself to the river,
walked out of the rushes,
waded deep the rush,
laid myself supine
in her currents
never pulled
by the moon
but led along
by instinct alone,
afraid no more to let
nature take her course
and me to a sea uncertain
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
The Stars Hold No Rain
Grow 'til tall.
I will carry you
even after you are.
The trees protect us,
so climb, reach for the clouds,
the stars hold no rain for saplings to suckle.
Stand on my shoulders
and pocket the open sky
to keep in your cedar box.
Even the sun sleeps,
so close your eyes and dream,
the night holds the tomorrows you awake older.
Grow 'til tall.
I will carry you
even after you are.
The trees protect us,
so climb, reach for the clouds,
the stars hold no rain for saplings to suckle.
Stand on my shoulders
and pocket the open sky
to keep in your cedar box.
Even the sun sleeps,
so close your eyes and dream,
the night holds the tomorrows you awake older.
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
All Animals (I-VII)
All animals,
fossil futures'
muffled humming beneath the weight
of sediment and stone, quietly churned
to oil
Our lamps light landscapes,
the dark of day broken
by a bowl of starlight -
the missing mass of matter
found in filaments of galaxies -
dead and buried we join the soil,
a final bedrock resting place
To lie down
with a thousand dead horses
in the fields of Little Big Horn,
To sink down
with remnants of mastodons
in the asphaltum of La Brea's pits,
To fall down
with the weakest of an elk herd
in the dead, dark of Alaskan winter
Burn the last of what is left,
tall stands, hardwood mausoleums
of organic communion where
the time of Christ is marked
with rings,
just the same as yours or mine
The birds know no religion,
but fly closer to Heaven
than those who pray,
tame the beasts
for burden,
though a name for all
enslaves not even a single one
Our songs,
our books,
our tools,
our science,
our religion,
our progress
All impermanent,
as all animals succumb to time,
and we are only one of many
despite our imagined dominance
All animals,
fossil futures'
muffled humming beneath the weight
of sediment and stone, quietly churned
to oil
Our lamps light landscapes,
the dark of day broken
by a bowl of starlight -
the missing mass of matter
found in filaments of galaxies -
dead and buried we join the soil,
a final bedrock resting place
To lie down
with a thousand dead horses
in the fields of Little Big Horn,
To sink down
with remnants of mastodons
in the asphaltum of La Brea's pits,
To fall down
with the weakest of an elk herd
in the dead, dark of Alaskan winter
Burn the last of what is left,
tall stands, hardwood mausoleums
of organic communion where
the time of Christ is marked
with rings,
just the same as yours or mine
The birds know no religion,
but fly closer to Heaven
than those who pray,
tame the beasts
for burden,
though a name for all
enslaves not even a single one
Our songs,
our books,
our tools,
our science,
our religion,
our progress
All impermanent,
as all animals succumb to time,
and we are only one of many
despite our imagined dominance
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
The River Before Me
To ford the river before me
I must consider
the boy who comes after me
His eyes wide, reflecting the great Western Expansion
His features betraying an amalgam of Old World relatives
- Swedes, Germans, Irish, Austrians, Russians, Scots, Brits -
All of whom forded an ocean broad, upon sail and upon steam
Upon the dreams emanating from the headwaters of imagination
A stream of consciousness
I must consider
With this river before me
To ford the river before me
I must consider
the boy who comes after me
His eyes wide, reflecting the great Western Expansion
His features betraying an amalgam of Old World relatives
- Swedes, Germans, Irish, Austrians, Russians, Scots, Brits -
All of whom forded an ocean broad, upon sail and upon steam
Upon the dreams emanating from the headwaters of imagination
A stream of consciousness
I must consider
With this river before me
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
Shining Like Discovery
Jamestown found me,
a lost soul looking for a lost colony
"To belong, to belong, only to belong."
Round and round I had once gone
only to find, to face me again left alone
"To belong, to belong, only to belong."
Until westward ho I went
beyond rain worn memories soaking a soul
"To belong, to belong, only to belong."
The spirit of her auburn sun
shining like discovery for a lost explorer
Jamestown found me,
a lost soul looking for a lost colony
"To belong, to belong, only to belong."
Round and round I had once gone
only to find, to face me again left alone
"To belong, to belong, only to belong."
Until westward ho I went
beyond rain worn memories soaking a soul
"To belong, to belong, only to belong."
The spirit of her auburn sun
shining like discovery for a lost explorer
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
A Rhyme, A Round (Rain, Rain Come Again)
Rain, rain comes
then goes away
Souls swim the sky
in its damp aftermath
Green beyond green soaked
and almost glowing
From a covered porch
we wait for last lightning
Thunder heading on and up
the unsuspecting coast
Sun finds her smile
and squints upon thick air
Spirits sing a rhyme, a round
of rain, rain come again
Rain, rain comes
then goes away
Souls swim the sky
in its damp aftermath
Green beyond green soaked
and almost glowing
From a covered porch
we wait for last lightning
Thunder heading on and up
the unsuspecting coast
Sun finds her smile
and squints upon thick air
Spirits sing a rhyme, a round
of rain, rain come again
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
Up Upon Air
I have walked on and on
until levitation took my heels
and lifted them up upon air without
weight or any inference I did not belong
amidst the wings, wind, mountains, and souls
I once found myself earthbound below grounded by
mortality, gravity and a confidence hidden by the clouds
I have walked on and on
until levitation took my heels
and lifted them up upon air without
weight or any inference I did not belong
amidst the wings, wind, mountains, and souls
I once found myself earthbound below grounded by
mortality, gravity and a confidence hidden by the clouds
Thursday, May 26, 2011
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
Map Of My Blood (A Sanguine Atlas)
Lost somewhere in the map of my blood
forming memories from farm landscapes -
The Upper Peninsula's
Apple orchards picked before frost's kiss,
Cotton fields' soft white
in the fading, insect-bit light of Arkansas,
Pecan trees shook empty
in the dusty broom sweep of West Texas
Florida's citrus handpicked
by weathered, worn hands of immigrants
- Fruits found in their labors somehow
informing the folds of a sanguine atlas
Lost somewhere in the map of my blood
forming memories from farm landscapes -
The Upper Peninsula's
Apple orchards picked before frost's kiss,
Cotton fields' soft white
in the fading, insect-bit light of Arkansas,
Pecan trees shook empty
in the dusty broom sweep of West Texas
Florida's citrus handpicked
by weathered, worn hands of immigrants
- Fruits found in their labors somehow
informing the folds of a sanguine atlas
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
Mercy's Kiss
I break beyond me,
I break wide open -
my bloodied, swollen tongue dragging
back roads that lead to dark, damp woods
where the bodies lie dead beneath dirty leaves
their ghosts still begging, bartering for mercy's kiss
- I turn a deaf ear,
I turn a blind eye
I break beyond me,
I break wide open -
my bloodied, swollen tongue dragging
back roads that lead to dark, damp woods
where the bodies lie dead beneath dirty leaves
their ghosts still begging, bartering for mercy's kiss
- I turn a deaf ear,
I turn a blind eye
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
A Body of Water Evaporating
... fog emotions;
you cannot see what
I have hidden
between skin and bone,
between blood and the beating
that keeps these feelings
alive and willing
to wander alone
landscapes
I have carved from intuition,
where haze burns slowly off
above a body of water
evaporating...
... fog emotions;
you cannot see what
I have hidden
between skin and bone,
between blood and the beating
that keeps these feelings
alive and willing
to wander alone
landscapes
I have carved from intuition,
where haze burns slowly off
above a body of water
evaporating...
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
Reaching For A Heaven We Already Hold In Our Wandering Hearts
A pilgrimage across
strange topography,
unnamed,
uncharted,
unbeknownst
to your bright eyes,
to my curiosity's survey.
Jaguar shadows
follow our bushwhacked,
beaten back, Braille deer paths -
they inform the light breaking above, upon, beyond
the ridge our compass thoughts desire to reach before dusk.
The trees stand with their crucified limbs before us
reaching for a heaven we already hold in our wandering hearts.
A pilgrimage across
strange topography,
unnamed,
uncharted,
unbeknownst
to your bright eyes,
to my curiosity's survey.
Jaguar shadows
follow our bushwhacked,
beaten back, Braille deer paths -
they inform the light breaking above, upon, beyond
the ridge our compass thoughts desire to reach before dusk.
The trees stand with their crucified limbs before us
reaching for a heaven we already hold in our wandering hearts.
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
Map The Stars By Counting Birds
map the stars
by counting birds
your night eyes nest
beneath a blanket
the moon lights
the day's last flight
map the stars
by counting birds
your night eyes nest
beneath a blanket
the moon lights
the day's last flight
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
Sudden Ridges, Certain Valleys (To Begin Again And Again)
up ahead,
a rest stop,
a scenic overlook,
the sign in a shutter of light
going by at seventy-five miles an hour
says so
we are tired,
light is falling orange
out our back window
and we want only the
absence of color
sleep can bring
but on we go,
miles revealing themselves
in sudden ridges,
certain valleys,
in our desire to get back
to where you and I began,
to begin again and again
up ahead,
a rest stop,
a scenic overlook,
the sign in a shutter of light
going by at seventy-five miles an hour
says so
we are tired,
light is falling orange
out our back window
and we want only the
absence of color
sleep can bring
but on we go,
miles revealing themselves
in sudden ridges,
certain valleys,
in our desire to get back
to where you and I began,
to begin again and again
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
Follow The Geography
Mt. Ranier rained fog
on my parade
San Diego blew, blustered,
flustered my best instincts
Pine Ridge poisoned my prairie footsteps
across bad lands bleeding Hepatitis C
Charlotte left lust not lipstick on my collar
as I lay in dawn's gutter
Dallas offered redemption
too wide to embrace for my sling-slung arms
Boston bled me of all my naiveté,
the Charles River flowing between who I was, who I would become
Mt. Ranier rained fog
on my parade
San Diego blew, blustered,
flustered my best instincts
Pine Ridge poisoned my prairie footsteps
across bad lands bleeding Hepatitis C
Charlotte left lust not lipstick on my collar
as I lay in dawn's gutter
Dallas offered redemption
too wide to embrace for my sling-slung arms
Boston bled me of all my naiveté,
the Charles River flowing between who I was, who I would become
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
An Absolom, Not An Abraham, Am I
Swallowed the endless sands
for a son.
The deserts of my dreams
run wild with the rivers I have waded,
weighted.
Arriving
by surviving
cancerous light
carried from another corner
of a universe unaware
I am holding him up
not in sacrifice,
but in adulation.
An Absolom, not an Abraham,
am I.
Swallowed the endless sands
for a son.
The deserts of my dreams
run wild with the rivers I have waded,
weighted.
Arriving
by surviving
cancerous light
carried from another corner
of a universe unaware
I am holding him up
not in sacrifice,
but in adulation.
An Absolom, not an Abraham,
am I.
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
Unmapped
i wander a mirage of geography
ghost cities, phantom landscapes
run my hands through opaque rivers
flush my face in the rouge of urban rust
blacken my palms with the rush of prairie oil
each and every tree a witness to feeling, to thought
boise, bethesda, birmingham
orlando, omaha, oakland
yakima, ypsilianti, yuma
the land runs red beneath my pale skin
the skin turns black beneath a cold sun
lay down with your dead
climb a cloud collapsing
sin can never follow a saint's apparition
walking unmapped in others' memories
i wander a mirage of geography
ghost cities, phantom landscapes
run my hands through opaque rivers
flush my face in the rouge of urban rust
blacken my palms with the rush of prairie oil
each and every tree a witness to feeling, to thought
boise, bethesda, birmingham
orlando, omaha, oakland
yakima, ypsilianti, yuma
the land runs red beneath my pale skin
the skin turns black beneath a cold sun
lay down with your dead
climb a cloud collapsing
sin can never follow a saint's apparition
walking unmapped in others' memories
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
Faits Accomplis
rock broke away from the coast,
tossed in the teeth of gunmetal waves
- here, then there -
until I lost sight of it
the moment left time behind
and all that remained
was the stone-dead-silence
of billions of years
and their aeonian snapshots
of time at a stand-still
marching me all the same toward death,
with no malice, only another moment
awaiting recognition before it too is lost
to the grey, endless fluidity
of geological time,
nothing more profound in store
for similar, inevitable fates
rock broke away from the coast,
tossed in the teeth of gunmetal waves
- here, then there -
until I lost sight of it
the moment left time behind
and all that remained
was the stone-dead-silence
of billions of years
and their aeonian snapshots
of time at a stand-still
marching me all the same toward death,
with no malice, only another moment
awaiting recognition before it too is lost
to the grey, endless fluidity
of geological time,
nothing more profound in store
for similar, inevitable fates
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
As Mutable As
the lake churning outside
below/beyond the bluff,
metaphor stitched surgically
from the inside out
to my internal organs,
where the grind and retreat
of its glacial origins,
the indifference and absoluteness
of its storms,
the vast fog-shrouded infinities
of its horizons,
lie in wait, mimicking movements
of curl, crest, break, collapse
where mood meets emotion
as mutable as quicksilver
framed by panes of glass
the lake churning outside
below/beyond the bluff,
metaphor stitched surgically
from the inside out
to my internal organs,
where the grind and retreat
of its glacial origins,
the indifference and absoluteness
of its storms,
the vast fog-shrouded infinities
of its horizons,
lie in wait, mimicking movements
of curl, crest, break, collapse
where mood meets emotion
as mutable as quicksilver
framed by panes of glass
Monday, May 23, 2011
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
The Raw Of The World
Outside a window,
in the raw of the world
The wind,
a rustle of razors
through new leaves
And spring's
warm rain
waiting to explode
in the wake of thunder applause
Beneath
the ionized air
hovering above,
across green grass, more green
in contrast to a proscenium of grey
As a fox plays the silk light
for its better than even odds
against a rabbit no longer able
to outrun its shadow
Outside a window,
in the raw of the world
The wind,
a rustle of razors
through new leaves
And spring's
warm rain
waiting to explode
in the wake of thunder applause
Beneath
the ionized air
hovering above,
across green grass, more green
in contrast to a proscenium of grey
As a fox plays the silk light
for its better than even odds
against a rabbit no longer able
to outrun its shadow
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea / 2011
The Rivers I Have Hidden From The Sea
Night,
don't end.
Don't
leave me
here,
to face the day
alone.
I paint myself,
in varying colors -
scream red
from a lost mother tongue
of my German blood
buried below layers
of liver-spotted skin,
scar tissue,
and choking veins.
I swallow blue,
spit back the salt of oceans
beyond my understanding -
the black of water yielding
only a scribble of stuttering white
to even the fullest moon.
The eyes of my wife
hold more secrets
than all the depths
with their bone armies
at ease,
mute beneath the rhythm
of the waves' unending lament.
She sleeps,
I dream
and try to fathom the rain
outside falling through darkness,
steady and slow,
but enough to fill a heart
by morning, the suffocation of sleep
stealing night again
from my imagination
full with chalk effigies
of puddled moons
and submerged stars.
Clouds come
cover the sun,
dusk waits impatient
at my wet feet
for the deluge of dark
where art is free to follow
the rivers I have hidden from the sea.
Night,
don't end.
Don't
leave me
here,
to face the day
alone.
I paint myself,
in varying colors -
scream red
from a lost mother tongue
of my German blood
buried below layers
of liver-spotted skin,
scar tissue,
and choking veins.
I swallow blue,
spit back the salt of oceans
beyond my understanding -
the black of water yielding
only a scribble of stuttering white
to even the fullest moon.
The eyes of my wife
hold more secrets
than all the depths
with their bone armies
at ease,
mute beneath the rhythm
of the waves' unending lament.
She sleeps,
I dream
and try to fathom the rain
outside falling through darkness,
steady and slow,
but enough to fill a heart
by morning, the suffocation of sleep
stealing night again
from my imagination
full with chalk effigies
of puddled moons
and submerged stars.
Clouds come
cover the sun,
dusk waits impatient
at my wet feet
for the deluge of dark
where art is free to follow
the rivers I have hidden from the sea.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Beyond Belief
I'm amazed by your love,
a spring in a perennial bloom,
a beauty so beyond belief it begs
the question, "Maybe this is heaven?"
I'm amazed by your love,
a spring in a perennial bloom,
a beauty so beyond belief it begs
the question, "Maybe this is heaven?"
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Buried Our Own
She knows my four brothers,
they have moved in shadow
all of this time we have
danced the sunlight,
moonlight together,
their faces pale
beyond woods
where we
buried
our own
for coyotes,
wild, lost dogs
to scavenge flesh
that looks so familiar
but is only ever skin deep
and devoid of all connection
to a true genealogy of the soul
She knows my four brothers,
they have moved in shadow
all of this time we have
danced the sunlight,
moonlight together,
their faces pale
beyond woods
where we
buried
our own
for coyotes,
wild, lost dogs
to scavenge flesh
that looks so familiar
but is only ever skin deep
and devoid of all connection
to a true genealogy of the soul
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Without Absolutes
The tight knot came undone,
left me without absolutes
to anchor myself upon,
condemned my soul
to a future fully
bound with
failure.
Instead
I stepped
from my shoes,
the deadly weight
of staying stationary,
moved on and well beyond
failure and beside good fortune.
The tight knot came undone,
left me without absolutes
to anchor myself upon,
condemned my soul
to a future fully
bound with
failure.
Instead
I stepped
from my shoes,
the deadly weight
of staying stationary,
moved on and well beyond
failure and beside good fortune.
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Sustenance
I cannot forget
the hunger in my heart,
wanting only to hold your hand
which still satiates me near a decade on.
I cannot forget
the hunger in my heart,
wanting only to hold your hand
which still satiates me near a decade on.
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Birds Gather Stone-Silent
You are beautiful music to me.
I hum you, distractedly during the day.
Birds gather stone-silent at my window in wonder.
The song in my heart twice as sweet as anything they sing.
You are beautiful music to me.
I hum you, distractedly during the day.
Birds gather stone-silent at my window in wonder.
The song in my heart twice as sweet as anything they sing.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
En Far Melankoli
Cold,
Late spring whetted with emotion
My small boy sleeping,
I hide the world for the time being
A lump wells in my throat,
The lies of my own childhood splitting chapped lips
Take me by the collar and pour me out,
The stammer of my recorded voice betrays me
His mother inadvertently shaming saints,
The snow tomorrow patient enough to wait today
I will hold the shadow of his ego in my hands until dawn,
Between beats my heart stops to sob
The hum and only the humming,
Apparitions, folk songs out of thin air
Nordic landscapes linger,
I cannot escape my dead relatives' dreams
The emotion of years hangs frozen,
I walk awake the night alone with the stars
Cover his slight frame with fleece,
May has forgotten her promise
In my mind I wake him,
We will listen together to Schumann before he becomes a man
I cry quietly exhaling condensation,
I too was once this small and smiling, fragile sun
Cold,
Late spring whetted with emotion
My small boy sleeping,
I hide the world for the time being
A lump wells in my throat,
The lies of my own childhood splitting chapped lips
Take me by the collar and pour me out,
The stammer of my recorded voice betrays me
His mother inadvertently shaming saints,
The snow tomorrow patient enough to wait today
I will hold the shadow of his ego in my hands until dawn,
Between beats my heart stops to sob
The hum and only the humming,
Apparitions, folk songs out of thin air
Nordic landscapes linger,
I cannot escape my dead relatives' dreams
The emotion of years hangs frozen,
I walk awake the night alone with the stars
Cover his slight frame with fleece,
May has forgotten her promise
In my mind I wake him,
We will listen together to Schumann before he becomes a man
I cry quietly exhaling condensation,
I too was once this small and smiling, fragile sun
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Of A Love Like War
You made me march on to the sea,
set ablaze everything that came before,
shoot the starved and sad, skeletal horses
I had ridden half to death searching for you,
made me leave behind a sky surfeit in smolder
of years trapped in the trenches of a love like war.
You made me march on to the sea,
set ablaze everything that came before,
shoot the starved and sad, skeletal horses
I had ridden half to death searching for you,
made me leave behind a sky surfeit in smolder
of years trapped in the trenches of a love like war.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
The River Time We Abide
our faces familiar
but different than before
from the one-another we both knew
the fuzzy-lit dream
of those years ago flickers
faintly, dull across our aging eyes
skipping frames forgot,
swallowed in the rise and rush,
the rhythms of The River Time we abide
echoes of Heraclitus
resound the same in our ears
as they do in canyons still carving
and so we heed his words
though whetted, weighted with regret,
"You cannot step in the same river twice."
(*)
acknowlegement to Bronwen Dickey and her essay, The Last Wild River,
http://bronwendickey.com/writing/the-last-wild-river.php
our faces familiar
but different than before
from the one-another we both knew
the fuzzy-lit dream
of those years ago flickers
faintly, dull across our aging eyes
skipping frames forgot,
swallowed in the rise and rush,
the rhythms of The River Time we abide
echoes of Heraclitus
resound the same in our ears
as they do in canyons still carving
and so we heed his words
though whetted, weighted with regret,
"You cannot step in the same river twice."
(*)
acknowlegement to Bronwen Dickey and her essay, The Last Wild River,
http://bronwendickey.com/writing/the-last-wild-river.php
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
A Pilgrim's Sure Progress (Beyond Taut Gospel)
No more cigarettes,
Old, cold beer, unopened
In the big, white refrigerator
All my vices
Put on hold
At present
A Buddhist,
A Puritan,
An Ascetic
I
Am
Not
My past is rife
With a predilection
For impulsive excesses
All of it fogging
My own critical thought
And a pilgrim's sure progress
But there beyond taut Gospel
Still hangs my more colorful self
Hidden between the black of a wardrobe
No more cigarettes,
Old, cold beer, unopened
In the big, white refrigerator
All my vices
Put on hold
At present
A Buddhist,
A Puritan,
An Ascetic
I
Am
Not
My past is rife
With a predilection
For impulsive excesses
All of it fogging
My own critical thought
And a pilgrim's sure progress
But there beyond taut Gospel
Still hangs my more colorful self
Hidden between the black of a wardrobe
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / poems 2011
No More Rain
In the aftermath,
a taste of sparkling, pure ozone,
the warm breath of residual sodium chloride
No more rain in our shoes
slowing our advance
A Utah of our own
no longer a mirage
beyond salt roads,
across open water
No more rain in our hearts
submerging our love
In the aftermath,
even our tears taste less alkaline,
the fruits of our labors sweet on our tongues
In the aftermath,
a taste of sparkling, pure ozone,
the warm breath of residual sodium chloride
No more rain in our shoes
slowing our advance
A Utah of our own
no longer a mirage
beyond salt roads,
across open water
No more rain in our hearts
submerging our love
In the aftermath,
even our tears taste less alkaline,
the fruits of our labors sweet on our tongues
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Hold Me (In Your Burning Arms)
Smoke pouring from our mouths
Exhale, exhausted
Still running a line on fire
Hold me in your burning arms
When day/decade is done
Inhale, exulted
Remembering the hour of immolation
Smoke pouring from our mouths
Exhale, exhausted
Still running a line on fire
Hold me in your burning arms
When day/decade is done
Inhale, exulted
Remembering the hour of immolation
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Unaware Of The Weather
a decade old photo in a box,
forgotten
the two of us, smiling,
somewhere
warm,
cold,
sunny,
overcast
unaware of the weather
coming our way
carrying
him
brightening every imaginable
meridian
despite
our storms,
locust skies stalking me,
floods sweeping us from our feet
a decade old photo in a box,
forgotten
the two of us, smiling,
somewhere
warm,
cold,
sunny,
overcast
unaware of the weather
coming our way
carrying
him
brightening every imaginable
meridian
despite
our storms,
locust skies stalking me,
floods sweeping us from our feet
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Walking Mists
She is out walking
mists my whetted words
try to follow through a thicket
of razor rain and gale-driven thorn,
a trail left littered with occasional remnants
of love's letters punctured, soaked and bloodied.
She is out walking
mists my whetted words
try to follow through a thicket
of razor rain and gale-driven thorn,
a trail left littered with occasional remnants
of love's letters punctured, soaked and bloodied.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Wheatstone
milling English
with mortar and pestle
- subtlety slips away on the wind -
grinding lines
of their rough coarse
- distinction falls dusty at my feet -
hewing letters
into oak permanence
- discretion rises to the occasion -
milling English
with mortar and pestle
- subtlety slips away on the wind -
grinding lines
of their rough coarse
- distinction falls dusty at my feet -
hewing letters
into oak permanence
- discretion rises to the occasion -
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Cautious Auburn Beauty
cautious auburn beauty
I know
it's been slow coming
and sleep has slipped
elusive
beyond our own dreams
where we awake to wake
one another
from slumber's insomnia
checking our calendars
carefully
for a decade we deserve
cautious auburn beauty
I know
it's been slow coming
and sleep has slipped
elusive
beyond our own dreams
where we awake to wake
one another
from slumber's insomnia
checking our calendars
carefully
for a decade we deserve
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Wind, Silk, Twig and Wax
Strawberry girl watches
through sinking windows,
her own homemade aviary,
her freckles still evident even
beneath the years of May dew,
cupped and kissed to wash away
sad memories which refuse to pale
or fly away upon wings she fashioned
from stitches of wind, silk, twig and wax.
Strawberry girl watches
through sinking windows,
her own homemade aviary,
her freckles still evident even
beneath the years of May dew,
cupped and kissed to wash away
sad memories which refuse to pale
or fly away upon wings she fashioned
from stitches of wind, silk, twig and wax.
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Jealous Setting Suns, Waning Crescent Moons
Jealous setting suns, waning crescent moons refuse you their light,
the sky dims then darkens daily beyond your luminous face,
leaving a world in stark contrast to contemplate
why I revolve around you alone.
Jealous setting suns, waning crescent moons refuse you their light,
the sky dims then darkens daily beyond your luminous face,
leaving a world in stark contrast to contemplate
why I revolve around you alone.
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Two Rachels
Two Rachels wait,
greet me as I come,
and kiss me as I go,
but I will only ever know
the one who came after
I arrived for the first time
and never really the one
that waited alone for love
all those years before
we found each other
standing in our own
lonely shadows.
Two Rachels wait,
greet me as I come,
and kiss me as I go,
but I will only ever know
the one who came after
I arrived for the first time
and never really the one
that waited alone for love
all those years before
we found each other
standing in our own
lonely shadows.
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
She Carries Apples
She carries apples
in the fold of her plain dress,
walks the sheer, windswept bluff
above the beach where water's rhythm
works the same as a memory of those days
that have drown or have leapt to their own death,
gathering sand as they move in, then out of her mind
as she reminds herself of the gravity that has held them here
with a toss across a pale shoulder of first a Gala, then an Empire,
and last a Fortune foretelling the distance between yesterday & tomorrow.
She carries apples
in the fold of her plain dress,
walks the sheer, windswept bluff
above the beach where water's rhythm
works the same as a memory of those days
that have drown or have leapt to their own death,
gathering sand as they move in, then out of her mind
as she reminds herself of the gravity that has held them here
with a toss across a pale shoulder of first a Gala, then an Empire,
and last a Fortune foretelling the distance between yesterday & tomorrow.
Her Cautious Auburn Beauty / new poems 2011
Her Words, Weighted
Her words, weighted with
the death of a father, the longing
for the lapping whose rhythms she rides
upon the sands of sleep and the ephemeral
imprints of paths taken, forgotten, abandoned
despite their disappearance from dream geography
that cannot hope to ever hold the fossil record of a litany
as eponymous and lyrical as her own name's four syllables.
Her words, weighted with
the death of a father, the longing
for the lapping whose rhythms she rides
upon the sands of sleep and the ephemeral
imprints of paths taken, forgotten, abandoned
despite their disappearance from dream geography
that cannot hope to ever hold the fossil record of a litany
as eponymous and lyrical as her own name's four syllables.
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