Tuesday, May 24, 2016

sometimes there is nothing but thunder













sometimes there is nothing but thunder
as i allow it to penetrate bones
weary
of
fighting gravity

the carnival stills ....
and
there is nothing but thunder
and the steady pouring rain
eyes close & time tumbles clear
presence holds the moment
sinking
down
into
quiet

thought, struggle, fear & drive
forgotten against this green-wet-constant
until
there is nothing but the thunder
a particle of blue pulsing broken atoms
slowly
slowly
pulsing
colliding
melting
in rhythm with the falling

memory is distant--shared
pain is absent
thunder fills the holes
and
sometimes
there
is
found .....

everything
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Friday, May 20, 2016

most mornings

We listen to our rock-n-roll most mornings
or a little country-soul tied up with a bow
move with the focus of a young kid watching a TV show
most mornings
A cup of coffee, a cup of tea
clean the bathroom, load of laundry
what to turn to next becomes the quandary
most mornings
Thoughts of him as I step out the door
the rain lands upon my face
his love becomes my saving grace
most mornings
Moving thru these ordinary hours
allowing the colors & breeze to soften soul
there is no want, no filling the hole
most mornings
Tending the house, reverent & tempered
the routine stays the same
except when it rains
most mornings


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Monday, May 16, 2016

after the weary comes

i write yellow
butter-canary light
upon the page white
kestrel perched upon a branch
shielded from the rain
watchful dawn's sigh
algorithim why
jesses dangling
un-held
bells still
checkered daffodil
yellow morning flight 
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Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Of a May Morning Found

sits in the light of nine o'clock morning
listening to pearl jam in her mind
blue jay calls outside the window
open to the southwest wind
no one knows of the truth that binds her
no one knows her quiet fears
just him

moves through her day with intent abiding
moves to the shadow of the sun
bends to the smells of the glisten & mallow
leans upon no one
no one hears the song that keeps her dancing
nudges the borders of her dreams
just him

paused & perched like a bird on a silver limb
tentative feathers brush her mind
rising from embers dedication lost
found open to vast-sky sunshine
no one reaches to the marrow
no one scraps the hollow
just him




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Tuesday, May 3, 2016

lost becomes found




divinity exposed in chameleon waking
as tannins pool from the crack of this tangerine morning 
somewhere in 1972, self was tucked behind a ethan allen sofa 
lost to dust motes & decay 
remembered not at all
until 
bounce 
of 
light 
widens the crack 
days & nights ....brushed to being 
removed & remarked upon 
as
dust is polished to a shine replete with diamonds
matter transformed settles and becomes her heart
becomes 
her.
no mask, no chameleon shifting 
bowling green to evergreen to sapphire blue 
her
throw the chameleon to the fire 
and 
hold-fast to this tenuous thread of now 
hello cherry-amaranth heart, hello. 











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Monday, May 2, 2016

copeland cowslip

winds out of the west at 14mph
on the second day in May
2 degrees shy of 60
with both hands firmly upon the dark maple's branches
tenderly throw the porcelain cup
- copeland cowslip -
from no greater height than 18 feet
aiming for the grass
just there ,,,
where the sun shines the softest
given these factors
and
with the
the moon waning crescent
the cup will not shatter

though a small crack
will appear

when it rains


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May Day

the upheaval surprises
did not see the knot of this tangle
threaded of nettle & pine
able to hold the two strands apart
sand-bar in a stream
two strands not touching
contentment
and
the slightest cut of grief
as if we buried something precious & young
in a sand-bar .... in a stream
this upheaval
this tale
how weathered & unrequited
this is what it is like
this side
of the knot 
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