My poetry is on Substack now.
The old trees don’t talk much anymore
They just are
Watch towers
Watching the rapid progression of decades and
The decay of stones
Stalwart totems
Faces stacked with furrowed brows
Mostly projecting distain on us
But sometimes
In the cool of the forest
Amid the tallest of evergreens and the thickest of moss
A weary old oak might whisper
“I like you. Yes.
I did think better of you once
Long ago…”
“Before you lowered the sky and drank all of the rivers and left us
With all of your cares
Alone”
We ran out of gas
Me and I
A sputtering surprise
Coming to a fuming end?
Not yet done, but stalled
Stabled – don’t old stallions need more rest?
I dreamt of a butterfly with a torn wing
A tiny slice that made it impossible for it to fly
It crawled on the grass, seeking ever higher blades
Unable to ascend on the wings of wonder
There’s an old dog under my porch
Hiding from the sun, panting dust
It is an unquenchable thirst
When we lose hydration
For fluid living
Stalled, a forced respite
A time of dis-membered re-membering
There once was a man from
Somewhere
Things are a bit blurry today
Was that yesterday or is this a dream
Yes, a
Respite
For settling
Memories and dreams
And scores
They arrive
Specter gaps
Remembrances of the lost
A selection of life
Partnerships that mattered
Passed-on temporal mates
They arrive
And take their place about us
Powerful wisps in ubiquitous spaces
Tugging sprites of love lost and dreams
Dreams realize
Remembrances
The first ones teach us the abiding
The means by which they remain
Never lost. Never gone.
Comfortable grief
Breezes brushing about us
Liken to the rush of wind upon acquiring the peak
Or the levitated hair on spooked necks
And then fears and spectacles become familiar burdens and we abide
Together
They arrive one by one
Gathering to accompany us along
Asking for mooring in our mourning
Twilight dwellers, they congregate
Upon us
Until we arrive at a time
When there is small room among them all
Left for living
For us
And we grow weary of it
Comfortable in it
The space in which
We arrive
The sunrise at home was beautiful today
I started to take a photograph and share it with you
Its orange waves stroked with clouds of violet and gray
amber hues radiating
almost hurting my eyes
I wanted to capture it and send it to you to enjoy
Post it for you
but the photo would have failed
us
what a photo cannot capture is all of that sunrise
on that day at that place
it can’t capture the chill in the air
the crispness of entering a morning with a body rested and a mind alert
the burgeoning day
cannot help you see
the hope that stood before me
the grief that weighed within me
the work that had to be done
that somehow was captured and held still in that moment at the site of that evoking orb
so I did not take a photo
I wrote these words
And
I did not share them with you because
there is no longer a you
to share with this view
Green - stop
Red - go
We know that’s wrong
From learning
Thinking, believing
We have vast signage
Signals to stop us
To
Yield to others
Blinking permissions
To
Move forward in our assigned time
And way
So
Why am I stuck?
Frozen
Brakes locked
In trepidation
Of the moving forward of me?
If we can arrange the world’s traffic
Paths
Our road
Ways
So simply with blinking lights and orange
Barrels
Signaling our assigned courses
Why has no one provided
Neatly aligned cones
For knowing
The growing
Older, old,
The waning
Of
Me?
Coming Upon A Clearing
In this place, this clearing
Void of infringing noises
Removed from cluttering filters that make twilight of midday
Free from creeping cares, stagnant puffs of sweat and grime
Here, I find a momentary respire
Unencumbered rays of clarity
Stark recollections of brisk caresses
Echoes of nocturnal whispers and sweat cooled skin
In this place, I am assaulted
By the beautiful agony
Of the absence
Of you
Peace is an unsettling thing
Stillness stretched forth, a painter’s canvas pale
Empty abundance of orderly tasks falling in line, satisfied plans
Détente abiding in between
Sadness and laughter
Conservative and Liberal
Mania and depression
Lithium flat lining, routine, calm mundane
Smooth sailing on languid currents
Do we not crave a bit of turmoil then?
To calm the unease of placid seas
A respite from unbearable order and predictable breaths
Oh for broken, shuddering orgasmic gasps!
Pounding adrenals, fearful uncertainty seeking
Now, present satisfaction
What, pray tell, would we be
Without a dose of insanity?
She is Moonshine...
Harvest moon, radiant blast across the horizon
diminishing anything near the sound of her light
taunting us with the threat of reverting to a simple, normal
part of our world if we look too late or move too close.
She is Moonshine
Full moon, raising werewolves and iconic myths
making day of the darkness and drawing
florescent strokes across every able bodied pond
waving boldly coming too in due cycle
She is Moonshine...
Shiva moon, a promise and goodbye
deadly waxing and waning of war and peace
the confidently ignored reminder of our mortality
veiled carelessly by translucent clouds
She is Moonshine...
Day time moon, pale and out of place
whimsically demanding to be seen
unafraid of the brightest sun or the bluest mood
a broad daylight
She is Moonshine...
To drink, clear, forbidden and dangerous
Intoxicating, even in small portions
Promising to burn you from throat to belly
And warm your bowels through the coldest doubts
She is Moonshine...
and she needs light, bright hot
consuming fire to pour forth upon her
flares of character and promise to reach
out to her for her light is
in all its shapes and sessions
reflected from another one.
Before I lost my mind…
Before wanderlust and stark dimensions…
Before the fever came
Hot, Sahara heat smelting away coherency
Leaving slag filled days and dross coated nights
Before the fever broke, breaking certainty
Glass slivers and shards scattered on lost streets
Before my mind melted
Running hot
Oozing molten memories into yesterday
Pouring fantastical realms into a mundane cast
Burning frost bite, shivers
Shakes, shimmers beyond the veil
There was the shadow that spoke, the tired fawn eyed gaze, the promise made
It burns. It burns it.
Gasps
Whispers reaching from the shadows, taunts and pleas
Oder of smoldering flesh chilled in waif whimpers
My precious. Have you found my precious? It's here. It must be hererrrrr...
I caught it, I did. I held it close, felt it burns, my PRECIOUS!
Exurbia*
To walk about, head proud
Proclaiming our correctness or preferred brand of mis-fit-ness
The minority of our making, our place
Our belonging, our homogeneous, deserved, radical identity
The unique flavor of our claimed exurbia
While in the city, the alleys of me
Lies
Less than the echoes of truth but more than falsities
The scurry, hiding like rats from barking terriers
Mange chased mutts, cowering from chastising
Owners swinging broken leashes
Another me, The Fisher King thee
Nouwen’s healer takes walk-about privilege
Between here and there, played to jaded, directing
Succulent sewers flowing with purity and possibility to mend
Us to a transparent and intertwined majority
Of one
________________________
*Exurb - a small, usually prosperous, community situated beyond the suburbs of a city.
Precious Visits
Before I lost my mind…
Thimble, thimble, who has the thimble
There’s the king, everywhere ruling, drooling
Before psychiatric diagnosis…
Schizophrenic dimensions and delusional fabrications
Voices rising from looming peaks and squeals, surreal
Before the fever came
Hot, Harad lands smelting away coherency
Leaving slag filled days and dross coated nights
Before the fever broke, breaking certainty
Glass slivers and shards scattered on lost streets
Crushed into powder, worming into our soles
Before my mind melted
Running hot
Oozing molten memories into yesterday
Pouring fantastical realms into a mundane cast
Burning frost bite, shivers
Shakes, shimmers beyond the veil
There was the shadow that spoke, the tired fawn eyed gaze, the promise made
It burns. It burns it.
Gasps
Whispers reaching from the shadows, taunts and pleas
Oder of smoldering flesh chilled in waif whimpers
My precious. Have you found my precious? It's here. It must be hererrrrr...
I caught it, I did. I held it close, felt it burns, my PRECIOUS! They took it from us…
And the shadow’s muted screams faded and I saw it sparkle
In the corner of the room
And it is mine…
I tried to write about abuse
How the hitting makes the
Hurting ease
The shame and fear rage out and strike
Bleeding, pulsing - crimson shrieks and shouts
Curling fists and guts
Determined to be done
To be finished with the fear and frustration
Cursing, blaming, hating another person
And yourself is somehow easier
More natural
When loving isn't easily
There, anywhere
Absent from us like
Light in the darkness jumping shadows
But then, I wasn't sure
If I was writing about him or her...
Eulogizing
Death always takes us
Willingly or not
To the edge of this
This life we weave with determination
Gathering our fears, spinning them taunt and defiantly into beliefs, faith we call it
Constructing ideologies and routines to help us along the way
Wrapped in such fabrics
We protect and present ourselves
Whole. Secure. Saved.
Death always takes us to the edge
Willingly or not
Where we, stunned
Stand starring into abysses
Pelted by torrents made of one part anger and two parts fear
Shards rip us bare
Clothing us in our particular loss
Death always takes us to the edge
The translucent boarder of this
This being
Willingly or not
And then stands there with us in the void
Holding our hand
Until the unknowable breaks ...
The drive that lasted for 4 hours and the wait that was longer
The deep, abandoned, rolling to tears laughter of children
The wraith like memories of ripping wrapping paper
The twinkling lights and flashing fancies from yuletide strands
The raising of the tree
The ritual prayer of our token cleric
The feast marked by odd dishes and common routines
The retelling of stories, forty days and forty nights worth of heritage
The settling into familiar seats and sighs
The late comers and early deportees
The insertion of Tab A into Slot B
The luxurious and the sorted
The games and the game with both having scores and winners
The holidays
tilted...off
balance
unsettled...dis
eased
you seem so earth bound, so in place
all of you...well...many of you
no matter
for my restless and my peculiar sprite
screams...unheard
muffled into whispers
by convention and intentional
limitations...imposed on me...embraced
by me
for
there
is comfort in the arms of not doing...of shifting upon
the pea in the mattress...limping away from the stone in the shoe...enduring the unpleasant
incessant prodding
of ... of... you
to...for
too long
OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD----- STOP!
i give up
...fine..now what?
tell me what to do! damn you.
---------silence----------
i need a translator for this constant, loud, chattering white noise...
Sometimes, I have an idea...a fancy
A particular phrase that gets my attention
or
A bothersome feeling that just won't be captured in prose
Then I write it down in short
Broken lines
and
Phrases
and
See what comes out.
Then it stares back at me
Talks to me
Calls my name or yours
As I look at its particular shape
Hear its weedy voice
I might tweak a word or two to get it to look
Or feel or sound a bit better
As it speaks about you or me
Our living, believing, breathing, selves
Then I name it Poem
– Because I have to --
Then I hit post and hope it has value to someone else.
(Because of a conversation between poets. Thank you. You know who you are.)