Wednesday, March 7, 2018

the redemptive capacity of becoming

becoming beloved
to the budding crocus cup filled with
the dry snow of March
awash in the softness of morning
those sherbet linen garments attract the light
arms wrapped to self to hold tight the stars
with the recall of better days
what is a better day than this ordinary magic that lies in the dust
of sunlight and prairie winds
air that smells of wakening green
tongues held against licorice & peppermint tea
steeped at a quarter to seven
pain eased by posture & purpose
today is always the better day
this heart cracks wide for the rush of sorrow binding
cherish the steps my beloved
abundance lies here within this breath


Wednesday, February 14, 2018

du matin

essentials are stored long before dawn
memories and blankets and porcelain songs
water i know will fall from the sky
apples and whiskey in deep pockets lie
sails of poems rolled up with the scars
bundled--trundled--dotted with stars
my hands clasp the moment
tillered to day
distant shores call
the boat dances away

gray-blue the water slushing and cold
ruby-sunrise the unfurling of paradigms old
sky vast
body knowing
which tack to keep
the deeper
the bolder
the stronger i seek

to know that the curious always wins
to learn the vast secrets buried within
the magic that dwells in the fires of life
what love's tales tell in the clear morning light
just because i'm leaving
doesn't mean i won't come back
just because my heart looks dandy
doesn't mean it isn't cracking
cracks are openings to gems belied
tossed slivers waiting 'neath sliver tides

the day awaits
azure and liberating
this boat my bones
broken and arching
sails my words of fire and ice carving
this life blueness once
awoke to the whole
cast away from your shore
to sail evermore


to have always been
what is it--that gem?
that binds our blood to bone
mind to stones
our fire to our dark
that spark
are we one thing or many...
to have always been
of pages
of color
where dreams begin
embracing the oneness
of wild forests and vast skies
cut by the coldness
easy love's
and sighs

when surrounded by dancers, i danced
when loved by lovers,  i romanced
weighed down by wounds
i scar
when thieves, i thief
when songs, i sing
when dirty, i clean
but when rocked
i paper
ashes to ink
tendriled and tethered--all the time lost
to accept being feathered
by scars and winter's blue frost

to now
the path
the something unnamed
to speak in rhymes
to play the game
i trust the weight of all before
i sit with the diamond that lies at my core
not easy, not hard
it is what it is
mystical carpets there amidst stars
breathing and dreaming
and art

to have always been
that something 
who knows? 
a wee quantum bauble 
quixotic rockrose 

back to bowlegs . . .

the way you come in
is the way you go out
open & shining & riddled with doubt

breathe in the smoke,
wipe the ash from your eyes
you & the dogs
tag along for the ride

trails of wisteria, Seminole pines
mullen & sage, spring grass & rye 
hurry before darkness
hurry 'fore rain
circle past the thunder
to draw close again

and ...
build me a blaze
strong as your heart
dance with me around it
long after dark
piss on the fire 
call in the dogs
head back to Bowlegs
with me in your arms 

three quarter moon hangs in the sky
wisdom of fire there in your eyes
as hope lies dashed
there upon stone
stars lift it up
and carry it home
adagio sun swells in the east
the lark will teach us to trust what we speak 
and we never saw 
or will see again
a morning like that
that atones & amends

so ....
build me a blaze
strong as my heart
let's dance around it
long after dark
bring on the thunder
bring on the storm
the north star forever lights the way home 
piss on the fire
call in the dogs
head back to Bowlegs
with me in your arms


i bleed the sweet aroma of a hand-rolled 10 year old cigar 
smoked alongside
the 70 yr. old delight of the master
of the hidden tuck, 
the trinket lost,
the lifted skirt 
i inhaled
to the capricious amusement
and red velvet elvis paintings
the subtle hand of a god
we are only vaguely familiar with 
draped in turquoise and crimson.
to the demons 
to honeyed redemption

Wednesday, February 7, 2018

The Lake

Pink-golden dusk of late winter
sun skates along the ice of willowed shores
as dusted expectation soars
no time here, no year . .
I am seven
and wear red mittens
the dome of sky swells into air sharp
haunting, inhabiting the corners of circled souls
prairie, wheat grasses and milo
this  lake sits captured--
Lake Minatare

but I believe it Minotaur . .
this ancient mythological water
enchantment frozen into shores ice lace
forgotten corn & the distant deep note of sugar beets
a glimpse caught of some beaded satyr
out of the corner-pocket of my eye
riding wind-valleys over snow-tufted-grassland
Ash Hollow
unexplained--startlingly defined
a pale pair of mannequin legs protrude from the blue-blue ice
wearing red heels
mysterious glaciered passage

February; sun to blue to snowfields

juxtaposition becomes the crown
dissonant memory follows the jeweled path
round and round
of orbit tuning to the dissent echoes
trees and stars
inlaid there
grooves and valleys
groves and lilies
cool to the touch
we become rivers of beckoning
swift the current reckoning
heavy the weight--the mantle of the misbegotten
diminished 7th to the night
hand to heart
nobility aside dreaming
we float
free of gold