Thursday, July 31, 2014

July 31


THERE
are no marked days here at the end of July
no birthdays, half-birthdays, appointments, no anniversaries,
nothing stands out
no X on a calendar ....

2 weeks before my mother died
she
began randomly and with no explanation
marking days off
one X after another
X X X ....
she died 14 days after that first squiggly X
did she know ?
did she have some secret ethereal clue ....
or was she merely marking the days off
until i was due home for a visit ...
and
instead
she died

things shifted ~
love ; jammed & dammed
anger surfaced sharp & deep
cars kept driving, people kept working
and
no one seemed to notice
but me

my dad was in the hospital
recovering from yet another round
with congestive heart failure
the night before, we laid side by side in his hospital bed
watching ER
he felt ... cool  
( i can still smell his aftershave )
he woke the next morning
and while sitting on the edge of his bed,
drinking a cup of coffee
he had a massive heart attack and
died
he died

things shifted ~
love ; jammed & dammed
anger surfaced sharp & deep
cars kept driving, people kept working
and
no one seemed to notice
but me

those holes are looming
looming for no reason
on these marked days ....
of anger buried
love recovering ....
they died in October of different years
it feels so long ago ...
maybe
it is all this rain




Tuesday, July 29, 2014

the secret of summer. . .


The secret of summer is to find your twelve ....
twelve at the feet of the possible, and at mercy of memory
to breathe in the heat
and
feed it to your soul as if it were the plumpest raspberry
and
time ...
well .... time lounges by a pool blue as Joni Mitchell
and as endless as
well ....
waiting
summer
is
waiting ....
perfectly, saturated & succulent waiting ....

Monday, July 28, 2014

11:47








I talk to you in meter
slow and measured
placing words upon some clock-work scale
3 beats to 7 . . feeling my way thru the labyrinth of weight
how do they feel upon my tongue ?
creamy, soft or tart, hard & jagged ?
are they too sweet, too used, to banal ?
are some too steeped in an ancient realm of weathered time, too faerie ?
some smell sophomoric & nervous, while there are others, hiding
amusedly
erotic & juiced behind a curtain of dark-chocolate velvet
i talk to you through the spaces of my days,
through the turning of the seasons ;
with the spark found mostly in the deep grass of summer,
the electric pause of thunderstorms & the still-quiet-brilliance of snow
which pulls at the fabric of the missing
open & naked
naked ?
what does that feel like against the harsh armor of the expected ?
i am red-onion-layered
intent on stepping aside from story
forcing a pause for just a moment
there ....
upon a bridge made from bird-bones & blue saffron sky
somewhere near the peony nebula
dressed in shades of forest-gypsy silk with
feathers of pheasant & tall red boots
wait .... there
& listen ....
is that a westerly wind rustling the curly willow ?
fierce & determined
clouds building, darkening
rolling, boiling ....
bringing blessed thunder & rain
to shake me loose from moorings of grey
on
this self-preserved bridge ribbon-hung on pink crimson stars
a measured hesitation...
3 beats to 7
it IS too soft, too tart & sharp
too jagged & real
too heavy
words have no place here
welcome thunder - come to shake me loose
from my fragile-avogadro perch
thrusting me to the brink of
the edge ...
a fall
a
spiraling
fall
a
fall
into the piercing light
of knowing
our wounded open
spark

rift . . .


to touch the bottom of the well
again ....
to get messy & bruised
to feel less than & taste acrid defeat
to hold the blossom that is days possibility
or
stroke the weariness of ignorance
and allow the amber fracture to vibrate
again ....
with the stored ache of a thousand years
to the breezed smell of a distant blue-salt-release
hands grasp the carbonate ego'd stone
and
cooling is required
trust & cooling ....

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

90 degrees













firework me across the sky on this cusp of gemini
smelling of coppertone skin & petaled iris
taste me in your mouth; grass green laced with summer's strawberries
firework me home to Jupiter via Mercury's streets
and
i will write your swan song disguised as an epitaph disguised as a limerick
'there once was a boy from the river, whose eyes shone with maple-sugar timber'
light the thread that sparks the burn …
golden-crimson sizzling & snapping across the divide
light the thread
and
firework me
feel the thump-boom in the pit of your soul
thump-boom thump-boom
i will dwell in the sky forever
falling
becoming
a raspberry fire-tail
or
maybe i will be an iridescent stone lying in a river bed at 12,457 ft.
… my wonderings will be of yellow pages ancient & bold,
orange cotton dresses and horses thundering across summer fields,
hands determined
hearts rich
thump-boom, thump-boom ….
light the thread




Saturday, July 12, 2014

300 ft from the top


sometimes the trick is in cutting the wire
allowing the fall
feeling the bone crunch of rocks & recognition
hearts ripped from viscera & the soul's moored memories
patterns of moonlight on
blue snow, blue snow, blue snow
can we be more then where we've been?
can we trace the patterns of forgiveness upon our wounds?
sorrow becomes the morning's stillness
as we hold dear the fragments of our being
sometimes love is in cutting the wire ,,,,.

Friday, July 11, 2014

condensation











jet trails of presence
rimmed & rhymed
each smooth movement amplified
by the hollowness of the missing
vibration vaporous & felt
captured in the fragility & textured blueprint
of cowslip spode
there, there
feel it?
how we trace the gap :
the felted folds
of
remembrance

rain comes,
grounding & fragrant
adding wash & weight
and
a knelling of the holes
so defined in the wrinkles of things
and
the smell of oranges ….
and
roses

Monday, July 7, 2014

treatise


I believe I deserve rice pudding with raisins
the handful of cherries
the scotch, bitters & rye

I believe I deserve marshmallow fires
determined kisses by moonlight
and stars in the sky

I believe I can swingdance long after midnight
while smells of October rise & twirl
I believe I can learn to love you like coconut cream pie
there in the morning
two bodies unfurled

I believe
I've not trusted my origin-instinct
nor felt the power of these hands & heart
I believe I've negated all feeling of plenty
in exchange for a treaty of
complacent tarts
I'll learn to love you in prismatic colors
that lean in & hold 
We'll dance often to harmonica coyotes
with tender blue tales of love ancient & bold 

Sunday, July 6, 2014

burst













the ticking of the clock
the passing of hours
the rolling of days and the turn of the moon
our collective purse of felted love hanging
merely wasted
or silk'd in some celestial cocoon

to understand the calling
to recognize the path
the structure of a life tethered to sky
to grab the trapeze with no fear of falling
as we look to the sun
to figure out why …

should we have borrowed the velvet of another
should we stoke the fire ignoring the night
should we have chosen the earth here below us
to steady our steps instead of to flight

the heart-seated sureness
the gamma-ray knowing
the manifestation of all that is true
corals the silk-tale of butterflied purpose
and
sings to the bones of love aqua-blue




the current takes you . . .













can there be love without sacrifice ?
and is the weight of the penance equal or greater than the weight of the love ?
whenever there is the amber-ember of soulfulness & connection breathed into mortal clay
sacrifice will be endured and suffering will be measured
whether it be that of lovers, brothers, mother to child
or
friend to friend
it comes hidden with thorns of mortal sharpness
that cut as death cuts a hole
red rocked and blue-river-lined with
an echo of witness & shine
can there be love, ever, without a debt paid to the
ringmaster
the ferryman
the minstrel ?
no.
there can not
and the price is heavy with
chasms song and bells of ireland
we pay and weep for our lost ignorance
our chained retreat from innocence
we are guilty
and through to the other side ...
we love

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

come to me …









Hold your breath coyote …
the path you choose may not lead me to salvation
sunlight drips from the beech leaves
as golden hesitation
divided by desire directly proportional
to
the
hollow of your neck
and
the
smell of pine & possible

to blue. . .



i am a child of the plains & prairie
tendered amongst open fields of golden wheat, milo & corn-silk
sky & earth i have always known
yet
there are times in the bleed of the day
times under the whiteness of the moon
that water calls me home . .
vast & blue
open smooth water
with winds warm & complete
aqua & infinite
or
rolling into sapphire wickedness &
bone-chilled surrender
bring me blue & leave me there
gloriously unearthed &
made fragile by wind & water
wounded by starshine & solitude
trust & strength collide in the
hours & bones
so
bring me blue & leave me there
with absolute bearing
capable & precise
rocked by the spray of the sea
so harden up
bring me blue & leave me there ,,,,

condensation on a June night













as you
move throughout your day
if we look close enough
if we look hard enough
frame by frame
sublimation ...
each movement sparks and sky-rockets
flakes, elements & fragments
of every
pain
every hope
every desire
every memory ..... particles
float
cascading & tumbling into the air
pulled and drawn into the
blue
into
other fragments and pieces
mingling merging melding fusing
creating
quantum marriages
of indescribable
brilliance,
black veils of melancholy,
chaotic joy &
crystalline darkness
....
and
lovely-infinite-possibility