Monday, November 07, 2011
Saturday, October 08, 2011
Blue Angels
Those hard engines
and sharp wings,
they are flying in
low and steady
above our heads
then whoosh -
climb into the sky,
cold hard blue
and gleam of light.
Word Counts
Words: 2
Lines: 2
Characters 31
Words: 8
Lines: 6
Characters: 65
Words: 13
Lines: 10
Characters: 102
I will get there eventually,
working my way towards you
Words: 31
Lines: 17
Characters: 197
Words: 37
Lines: 21
Characters: 234
Words: 43
Lines: 25
Characters: 271
Words: 49
Lines: 29
Characters: 308
From a distance, getting closer
Words: 60
Lines: 35
Characters: 377
Words: 66
Lines: 39
Characters: 414
To find you,
almost,
almost,
here.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 08, 2011
For A Story to Become
For a story to become
the story in your mind,
not much is needed to be.
Four walls, a door or two,
a window that looks out,
and outside, it is night,
The dead hour, quiet
but for the desires
swimming in the room.
As such these are called -
spikes of pain
and dulled emptiness,
Oh, the things you'll do
to make them go away.
The things you wish to do...
Monday, September 05, 2011
A Polaroid
A long match box.
Inside, a cocoon
gestates metamorphosis
While you watch
with chin on arms,
willing life at your command.
But in the night,
while you sleep,
the cocoon silk is broken.
A long match box.
Inside, a cocoon's
mystery stays hidden.
Sunday, September 04, 2011
A Broad Stroke for Living
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Sunday August 28
A lazy Sunday, twenty minutes drive
between ranch homes, dry hills,
trees with their branches swaying
shadows on the hot afternoon road,
and I have arrived. Or,
One doesn't arrive at all, but rather
like the way things enter a house,
neglected and gathering dust,
fall between stacked boxes,
a hard to reach corner, and settled there,
In the days of not remembered,
without you, and you, and you,
without the sins of give and take,
just days passing without measure,
blending into the next, dissolving
Into scenes on repeat -
Solace in music in car,
solitary walks down crowded streets,
feelings in the colors of sky and water,
changing seasons and changing lights,
Memories fleeting, and going nowhere.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
The Yard is Bordered with Roses
The yard is bordered with roses
where once there was a fence.
The branches rose to form an arch
opening into the neighbor's.
And my mother is alive again,
trimming and weeding.
I do not know the significance
of the message in my dream,
a caution, or an assurance
of what I have done or will do.
I yearn for a compass,
not the constant forgets, bickers,
made up rules, made up reasons,
decisions questioned over and over.
The circle is worn to a trench now,
but I'm still fighting my way out.
The securities of fences, the limitations,
the roses bloom, possibilities open.
I know the answers to my own questions,
but why do I still fail at living?
Monday, July 04, 2011
Smooth
the sea rolling us
rushes over us - over and over
wild shards of magma - in the frictional waves
rolling us from the sea floor
over and over out of the tides
in the frictional waves onto the shores
from the sea floor scattered about
out of the tides in all shapes and sizes
onto the shores now smooth as glass
scattered about pieces of us
in all shapes and sizes reflecting light
now smooth as glass to be picked up
pieces of us pieces of us
reflecting light reflecting light
to be picked up to be tossed away
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
June
Here are two poems, but the same. The first is an earlier version. The first is more condensed, while the latter was expanded upon. I thought some choice words in the first may create images that distract rather than help with the flow of the poem. Maybe I'll keep working to come up with a final version.
Don't think of the road ahead,
you'll walk that way soon enough.
Ponder the sicks caught in the now
over lunch - full plates, cold Sprite;
dig in your fork, plunge in your straw.
Our cousin's virus ran amok,
but that will all end soon enough.
And the uncle, lucky man,
snipped the cancer in the bud,
knock on wood, the curse is broken.
Would you like a cup of tea?
Have the last of the custard tart,
shrimp dumpling, chicken feet.
Morsels of flavors on your tongue
burst in the mouth, fill your belly.
Don't let them plug me with the tube
depriving me all pleasures of scents.
Shoot me then, while I'm still breathing,
before feebleness reduced me
to a diminishing of nothing,
Handed on a platter, all skin and bones.
No need to look at the path ahead,
you're already on the way.
Think of the sicks caught in the bind
over lunch - full plates, cold Sprite;
dig in your fork, plunge in your straw.
The cousin's seizures ran him down
but now at last he's on the mend,
give or take six months or less
to smooth out the l's, uncurl the r's
back to their straight and proper rhythms.
And our uncle, what lucky man,
unlike his mother and his brothers,
sister and cousin in rested peace,
snipped the cancer in the bud,
knock on wood, the curse is broken.
We should drink a cup of tea
in honor of family and good health,
eat the last of the custard tart,
empty the plates, down the pop,
savor the flavor in our mouths.
The day may come to us yet
when stale air and tap water
are the only food we taste,
and what is left of life
is fed in slow, narrow drip
Straight to our bellies
in bodies slaved to the bed,
all skin and all bones.
Don't think of the road ahead,
you'll walk that way soon enough.
Ponder the sicks caught in the now
over lunch - full plates, cold Sprite;
dig in your fork, plunge in your straw.
Our cousin's virus ran amok,
but that will all end soon enough.
And the uncle, lucky man,
snipped the cancer in the bud,
knock on wood, the curse is broken.
Would you like a cup of tea?
Have the last of the custard tart,
shrimp dumpling, chicken feet.
Morsels of flavors on your tongue
burst in the mouth, fill your belly.
Don't let them plug me with the tube
depriving me all pleasures of scents.
Shoot me then, while I'm still breathing,
before feebleness reduced me
to a diminishing of nothing,
Handed on a platter, all skin and bones.
No need to look at the path ahead,
you're already on the way.
Think of the sicks caught in the bind
over lunch - full plates, cold Sprite;
dig in your fork, plunge in your straw.
The cousin's seizures ran him down
but now at last he's on the mend,
give or take six months or less
to smooth out the l's, uncurl the r's
back to their straight and proper rhythms.
And our uncle, what lucky man,
unlike his mother and his brothers,
sister and cousin in rested peace,
snipped the cancer in the bud,
knock on wood, the curse is broken.
We should drink a cup of tea
in honor of family and good health,
eat the last of the custard tart,
empty the plates, down the pop,
savor the flavor in our mouths.
The day may come to us yet
when stale air and tap water
are the only food we taste,
and what is left of life
is fed in slow, narrow drip
Straight to our bellies
in bodies slaved to the bed,
all skin and all bones.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
From
From dis-ease,
bring me ease.
From dark days,
bring me light.
From a thought,
to a breath
Besides me,
love.
Sunday, May 08, 2011
You Got to Toe the Line
You got to toe the line,
anticipate the falling off,
go there, the edge -
Sound footing is your enemy,
so are the familiar drones
of sorrow, ecstasy, pain.
Speak devil with your words
whisper in their ears,
be the eyes in the walls.
We should all live in a jitter
loosen from our skins,
shaken out of our cores
Like the violence
from which we were born -
explosions, acceleration,
Kill, no compromise.
Saturday, May 07, 2011
On Writing
Everyone is going to read this poem
then ask, may I? They will take
these words bore out of nothing,
will added to, rearranged,
crossed out and replaced,
this won’t be mine, anymore.
Take it. Meanings
are nothing, can mean
a thousand things,
but not a single word here
will mean what I just said.
I’m just a mind, waiting.
Let this take life in your universe -
purposeful, and full of filigrees.
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