Sunday, July 25, 2010

POEM: Habit

Smash habit into shards of “what-the-fuck?”
We are high priests of some ancient religion
Performing with mechanical grace.
Color is not reflected light,
As we were taught in school.
It is shells splintered against coral reef
That wash up as pink sand.

Habit is that piece of pulverized living
We allow to wash up onto our beachheads.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

POEM: Things That I Have Never Known Before

Humid air can hold -
Humming road sounds
Sounding road songs,
Grimacing clouds
The scent of thunder
Hunting mountains that roll
Over horizon, a texture of cotton.

I know -
Voice of that familiar face
In pointillist crowds –
The feel of lostness
To touch slippery and murky –
Smooth as how cranes skulk above in flight.

Everything points to things I have never known before.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

POEM: Trust

Trust the things that tickle you -
That gently brush up against your leg
Trust whispers of wind that cools you
To carry your name -.
Trust clouds that hold rain and
Offer shade.
Trust the things you will never touch.

POEM: Flight

Can i float?
Loop through the gilt edged leaves -
Balanced on giving branch
That bends so worried an arch -

Will you swoop, too?
Will you follow
Into stillness - is a challenge -
The descent about
The open wingspan, wide and loud -
Will the curve of you give
Lift enough to rise -
Can you swoop
Comma shaped -into dimming light
Just behind me?

POEM: Shadow

There is an outline of myself
A shadow of what always escapes me
About myself
Not good or evil, really.
Unknowable parts that move,
From which spirit ebbs and flows
Into the world then edging back,
Then into the world once again.
Parts that point to a deep, deep well
Parts immersed in untelling black.

Monday, July 05, 2010

POEM: Morning As A Flag of Change

The way morning, as it appears, unassuming.
The way it sees me with freshest eyes.
The courageous shades of blue.
The way cool air become grateful prayer.
The playful pair of mourning doves.
The flint-spark of fire on blackbirds’ wings.
The yawning cornflower face of chicory.
The industry of a garden spider and
The web that glistens in muted light.
The coffee that soothes the jangled morning.
The freedom to be so alone.
The silence that rubs cat-like against me.
The chance to change once again.