Sunday, July 31, 2016

requiem #845











if today my spark should cease
these motes of movement settle
then i would leave upon this blue
my fractal fists of being
small parcels of crimson-saffron
to nudge against your shinbones in summer's sky
echoing with the pulse of fireflies

if today my willing should dim
this gypsy contradance to gentle
find me tucked against the wild iris
at nine thousand three hundred and five feet
riding the sound of water over stones over mountain
as pine sharp sticks to tongue
arms wide open to sun

if today all blaze & briar rests
this blood smoothes to heart's rebel
yearning shadows the cottaged cage
of fragility's equation written
as comets flicker to remind
the tender weight of the honeysuckle
... will be all that you can find

Friday, July 29, 2016

swallowtail

paced precision
bangs that need cutting
clothes too baggy
skin saggy
what do we measure?
when do we care     enough
to braid that crimson thread
hitch a ride on a blackbird bed
pluck the feathers from skin pink from solitude
unraveling the tempest
touching love's conquest
love's conquest?
ah! AH! more likely a draw, a tie, a balanced coin
no triumph, no parade today
just simple breath drawing
heart thawing
under the haze & heat of this July sun

Thursday, July 21, 2016

48% ... pressure @ 29.98" ✑












to rest astride the hope
not fix
not decide
allow the collide

the gray to blue to green
common hours separate the pulse
of
waking to want to wait
as
licorice root & peppermint tea
steeps
beneath blue sky & gamma rays
hope shimmers in the trail of luna moths

allow the rise

the rest
is found

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

100º at nine twenty-five

cicadas sing  
bone rubbed against dreams flutter
heat rising from soil
pressed between green plains
waves of light and shadows long
cicadas song
wings folded to twilight's azure
night deepens
allowing the violet to come 

scout










violet plumes of leaning
tapped & tempered by thunderheads rising in the west
as
air lies electric upon the backs of cicadas
rain impacts breathing as the land rises in a steamed goldenrod collide
harder it falls
and
the sound & the sensation & the smell
fill every break & crack & hole
until
we are this violet-shifting morning sky ...

Monday, July 18, 2016

delphinium

blue was the final color we learned to see
wild--startling that discovery ....
pressed there against the vast white sky
allowed to unfurl
tempered try
toned
the color of truth
(the secret color of love )
the petaled nuanced hope we speak of
coned and gathered
color only exists as it is perceived by the individual
texture felt by the fierce and mystical
pressed
allowed
what place do we hold after
four thousand five hundred years?
how viscous the scar, how warm the tears
where is the sovereign sun to warm our stars?
tempest darkness
harbored rising
light of words and tongues opalizing
Oh midnight ,,,
deep hollow gleams
embrace the night
delphinium dreams

Saturday, July 9, 2016

kwee low















it is one of those times ......
kept awake at night-times
by
the flutter of everything ..... churning, questioning ......
the hum of the fan overhead,
the slight, slow metronome drip from the bathtub down the hall, 
the silence -
the bone-bending aching silence of 3 o'clock in the morning .
the echo of loneliness and
a reconciliation of the parts as they spill into the grey
as sleep fails to take me ....
and i run blindly thru some cerebral stormy labyrinth searching out something true & whole .....
the green walls & dim light enclose me as some earthy bower
yet i am restless & struggling against this chained fabric ....
i know how i would hold you if you were mine.
i want a sleep that is painless & clean, as you lie pressed against my back
the soft hardness of you

sleep fails to take me
.... and i am left in wakeful-moon- dreams



Wednesday, July 6, 2016

the moon's epistle










how tight this blossomed mask of illusion fits
how deep the thorns of loneliness cut
barely breathing
curled
yearning blue & folded
the long, twisted knot hits bone
needing nothing
but
stillness
puppet to master
stone to velvet-soft
wind to sail
fearless yet weary of pretense & discord
struggling to keep sacred
true
that opal light
that lies along the chesnut-cord of tenderness
a reciprocated knowing intimacy
locked within the pandora's box called 'there'
where?
there
in all that is you . . . is me
both light & fire
burn
rest
rest
gather the plumage of peacock-gold & scarlet-blue feathers that
will
allow
&
fill
the
rise


Tuesday, July 5, 2016

sun tea of peppermint & licorice

There is a lawn mower mowing
a female cardinal chatting somewhere 

this July sky 
not blue
not white 
but too too bright 
to gaze at for any length of time 
air heavy with humidity and Baghdad's sorrow 
and 
the 
weight 
of 
forecasted 
rains 

the summer is 
wild 
fierce 
and vulnerable.  

I am dreaming of water 
not blue
not white
but too bright to look at for any length of time  
a boat … sunshine 
and those things associated with you that press against heart & bone 

the lawn mower is still mowing 
and now a wren is calling for her mate 
and the rains will come