Monday, April 24, 2017

lapin d'mal













Eschewing the drolleries for something finer 
no easy task
no evil bask 
prone to darkness dementia claims 
no venture towards the dark today 
upon wild mad dogs & snails they rode 
carrying parts 
of
owl tarts  
wrens of gold & crimson leaf 
to battle man and all he seeks 
Come ye rabbits look to the Sun! 
leave your dark 
forego this lark 
meditate on something finer 
find this day your tales brighter 







Friday, April 21, 2017

the first time ever i saw your face

it would have been easier to not love you
easier to grasp the boundaries & channels of citrine
away from the tangle
away from the amber-walnut of your thighs
easier to hear your name in unlikely places
to visit the spaces
pressed between thunderstorms
and
the glimmer of rainbow trout
reel to reel imprints
coloring outside the lines
unrecognized
uncharted
easier to connect the blue to gray
yesterdays
to
the cinnamon cardamon carousels
shadows whirling undetected
heartbeats
undiscovered
this laced romance
this whatever .... feathered necromancy
no democracy
only nuanced fantasy
timeless
breathless
ever poised upon the wire-razor ledge
it would have been easier
to not
love
you
love you


Thursday, April 20, 2017

tabia

One hundred and twenty-one rules
castled angst brimming anarchy
resplendent in violet & linen
back pressed against the unforgiving width of you
hot--pissed--weakness
folded in revolution's temperance
fuck off you jovial duffer
allow me to wallflower here amidst
the bone whiteness of lost memory
hunted
pursued lady
arched & leaning into somnolent disdain
sacrifice the play or the piece?
time squared becomes love's blunder
Oh brevity!
Oh bare mad king!
defer to my stubborn brilliance
from this perched edge of fortress forced
surrender
winged redemption
walked
and
won


Wednesday, April 19, 2017

how a bird learns its song

small silent quiet the day no stirring no whisper stilling the surface of things light refracted reflected air becomes tangibly feathered warm against the surface of things rippling the water slightly softly pressing green of things building building opus major roaring swelling turning dust across the surface of things thick blinding storm of things blue to dark bluer to gray to darkness tumbled to rain streaming in torrents pounding relentless thunder pelting wonder lightening striking across prairie and plains riotous unrelenting whipping wildness untethered to puddle upon the surface of things golden and greening and ripe with waiting a break in darkness a crack of light piercing brilliance arrowed on horizon tangerine pink shining small daring this day replete a meadowlark sings 

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

wren

willow
marbled crispsure
seeped--stirred
melting brillog becomes you
then
fallure
and
sallow
--like old leather
tertain zymetry traced
--tatterloor--
Oh!
reshine again there
held against the bast & darriage of silver
how swell the brulluminated daring of winged things
pierced & geather
for my darning daring plocks
delight in the wondgreen versimox
spidance under the rays of day
evergloor
you branched brarthborn kin
aubade



larghetto

unbuckle the pretense vermillion
tumult stilled
to allow
soft
rain
settling undisturbed
unwind--redefine
this day
innocence surrendered
tendered
unto
this easy coming night
now
twilight
as stars align-shine
with pace placed
and
drowsy
electric
lips
pressed-pinked
willing
darkness
to hover-cover
there
in
the corners
of
waking trees
shadows
lengthen-question
relevance
slowing-growing
redemption
walk with me ....
until we are lost
to
the forecast
of
this indigo evening





Friday, April 14, 2017

lest we forget!

Joseph Rudyard Kipling
acquired a bee-sting
writing atop a pachyderm
nary a  squirm! 

Thursday, April 13, 2017

who will emerge after the fire


This revelry of chagalled chimera ghosts circling
dancing, kicking up dust in jangled illusion circling

blue. day injects into veins unfolded to Spring
twirling, bejeweled in teasing hyacinth. circling

steps quickened--anchored to an ancient tune born
bending, melting to rhymes riffed and circling

dreams forever illusive & veiled by razored demons.
idyllic diamonds dusty in mandarin silks circling

following the revelries of fools, lovers & brotherly bites
of tender injustice. leading, circling

sapphire blue escapes from lips peeled & acquiesced
stumbling, falling to magnetic futile attempts circling

this dance of amaranthine dreams. oh! jestered & gypsied
surrender--captivated by the odyssey prize circling

this revelry of chagalled chimera ghosts circling
circling this diamond sparrow circling,
circling.


Wednesday, April 12, 2017

the scent of rain

rain weighed by wights & weather gray
petrichor pulses upon frayed senses casting tight
pressed against sun's breath & light
shining--pressed to fractures opened wide
this night

ravens & wrens rest in throat's hollow
particular that smell sharp-shimmered--bright
thunder awaiting May and the nest of mallow
lingering languid on tongues tied
this night

thick the morning comes calling soft
lovely this light filtered by forecast
subtle shift the sun slinking shimmer lost
drip, drizzle, dark and vast
becomes the day
this day pulled from night




















Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Jess and the Pink Moon




My grand mother's paint-by-number sits upon a walnut shelf 
Somehow I still hear the call & pull from somewhere deep down South 
earth crochet lies idle in a vintage chair weaved plaid 
these walls lean in to tell me such tall tales of what I had 

feathers from Algiers 
pork belly home 
sweet potatot swing-sets 
love growing old 
sureness by the fire
bloody marys at noon 
rain on Sunday 
April Pink Moon 

Solitary I slumber in this ancient French brass bed 
flannel for my pillow — grey dog by my head 
memories flicker bright & then they flicker dim 
of prairie fields in springtime 
and 
wild fates tempest whim 

feathers from Algiers 
pork belly home 
sweet potatot swing-sets 
love growing old 
sureness by the fire 
bloody marys at noon 
rain on Sunday 
April Pink Moon 




Caelum

The desire to grasp the glimmer if for only a beat, a pulse
of smooth encircling light before allowing the liberation
allowing the evaporation to shimmer--become cerulean
cerulean = copper + colbatous oxide mixed & mingled upon a palette
canvas endless of prairie to sky to river wide widening widest
hold fast this pearled moment trembling in forgiveness lost

dimmer than sky blue and azure where the overlap is felt as morning

To clutch--catch the breath hot--hopeful on the capture
there within hands crepe'd and crinoline loomed in sleep
enfold the burst for a beat, a pulse before the stark primordial beauty of
opening knocks the westerly wind from sternum & throat to release the grasp
desire sharped and pressed from gravity, luminous the love comes
crashing, thundering & colliding as stars shift to form constellations
of gods & heroes to cloud our hearts with the scales of verdant regret
green is the actual color of the sun bursting its gleam upon our open hands

dimmer than sky blue and azure where the overlap is felt as morning

Once loose, the glimmer boundless becomes
the thrumming of the day, the ripple of domed-sky of waking-earth of river winding
ceaseless & circling in splendor blueness reflected reflection glistening
towards those nameless, absolute things not mentioned among true companions
except when pirate-punch-drunk on love cracked open as desire shape-shifts
love lies in the gap, a bridge waiting for the next beat, a cerulean glimmer returning

dimmer than sky blue and azure where the overlap is felt as morning


















Monday, April 10, 2017

norma elaine













a long time waiting 
should have been easy for her
visit this world
take a bow 
an appearance make 
child's play
to
stir the pot
dim the lights
touch my back
change the damn temperature
waken the cat ....
visited by the ethereal & transparent all her life 
she was sure.

i remember the tales of wraiths & the ceiling dwellers
in girlhood bedroom
beige, white-golden dancing
talking with her
teasing
with promises of strange dark travels
wisping in & out thru luxurious stucco walls
wrapping themselves in the rough, bark embraces
of those huge linden trees pillared alongside the house
she could pick up on the most subtle & delicious of ghostly signs 
to her there was nothing benign
why can't i 
what am i missing 
is she there 
am I too disconnected to tell 
damaged
not gifted
have i missed the signs?
or 
does she dwell closer 
behind aqua eyes 
barefoot with a fairy's reflection 


Sunday, April 9, 2017

nightshift of April

softening of sun against the white birch
shadowed to the shape and shade of owl bones
settling the feathered things to quiet perch

steadily thickened comes this dark of night
full moon to give a glow to earth and stone
stillness white upon my tongue as starlight

diamonds pressed shining to black of evening
great horned owl calls a timeless haunting tone
night wraps velvet arms of pause--spring breathing

Saturday, April 8, 2017

Om ah Hum

in to out
golden trail of morning
where vast blue sky is paused upon a blue jay's tongue
Om ah Hum
Great Eastern Sun cracks the river wide to wanderlust & stars
prescient & primal--veiled no more
Om ah Hum
this day to moonlight
wrong becomes right becomes a flaxen field
Om ah Hum
I am a rabbit amongst tall grasses
awareness tingling electric velvet in dawn
Om ah Hum
dedication rising from sorrow's bed
to find a home along the willow's bones
Om ah Hum
in and out
wind to rain and back again
dark to light
this day
Golden
Om ah Hum


Friday, April 7, 2017

the fool

copper taste of minstrel's ode
lingers there upon my tongue 
this mist of grayest day tinkers for no one 
fortune claims our solitary path 
scarlet bands
holding fast
not of land, no promise tendered 
held in place by something better 

scar tissue armors soft apple places
where hands lingered melting thru 
(collide burns electric-blue) 
while birds & demons speak in tongues 
skin to bone 
no laurel eases 
as hearts hideaway from comet's night 
knowing only smoke & light 

unchain the song 
repair the key 
our souls gray with ash'd debris 
jeans unfurled by ankles pool 
pick a card any card! 
I choose the fool 
you & i 
of
fire & sky 
not of land
no promise tendered 
held in place by something better 








Thursday, April 6, 2017

spectrum

a color change
violet to rose
three to four
singular attention focused divided now more

brilliance of another Spring
green-growing-things
riotous molecules
challenged--pushed

the arch of being
pulsing bruised--swollen pinking
the ache resonates quickening
warmth pointedly present

jubilant suffering
celebration
bittersweet these days of you
wee thing slumbering

a color change
violet to rose
these days
a blood-bond confidant evermore


Wednesday, April 5, 2017

exploiting chances offered by immediate circumstances without reference to a general plan or moral principle

opportunistic we are 
folded into some tangerine origami bird
discarded & bold upon the floor
that truth
catching sunlight and shade
acknowledged and recognized as vital to the pulse of days
somewhere between
the impossible and the fierce
we sing  to the silver gods & monsters of fate pierced
we soothe our bruises in the cool water of ancient acceptance
we balance who we are to the northern star
crispness becomes us
autumn lies dormant in our bones
a tale we write to ourselves at midnight
we alight
we dance to the moon
opportunistic we are 

there will always be birds

A gradual thing
this sidewalk path
day after day
illusionary meandering
season upon season
a path traveled
frost bracing--coolness warming
over and over and over again
this sidewalk path
a gradual thing
becomes
a bridge constructed
iris plateau discovered
cotton socks to skin to skirt to wind
flight plans configured upon the turning of the sun
being becoming
blue becoming sky becoming home
no boundary these cotton socks to skin
all wind
all a rolling vastness becoming
a cerulean Coriolis force
a winged-feathered thing riding peregrine currents
amidst hyacinth and green
tasting of sunshine upon my tongue
feeling of becoming
this gradual thing
this insubstantial Spring



Tuesday, April 4, 2017

( _____ )

shadows shift
the slow-steady metronome
east to west
play
of
light
restlessness rising as birds chatter incessantly
blue jay to starling to wren
and back again
breeze to branches greening
waking
gray to less-gray
not blue
not today
but a luminescent dove-gray
like the soft underbelly of a dog
Oh!
and if as on cue
a dove coos a block away
heralding the shift
coffee to water to wine
it slips from my grasp again
becoming still

and nearly
rain 

rubor's tale


to move the silver token
splay the sand
break the chalice upon the winter's land
throw the spark to fire
despite the cold thread
that starts
.... to
tingle
and pulse along the central nervous chasm
between the 3rd and 4th vertebrate of mercury & jupiter
with
no
regard
to the relative position of the sun
or the single-arrow-choice of authenticity
but to move anyway
to move into the crash of fracture
where broken glass becomes blood coursing
ripping
tasting of nightshade flight
to become --
to become not right
we lick
we tender
the abrasion to the sound
of
celt drums and saturday morning cartoons
and
our own faint fragile heartbeat
lapsed by the living
except trees .... trees will always bend
as does the sky
and the yellowed photographs found upon old black pages in old albums lost
so
we lick
we tender
the carnival season rolls past; thunder, rain and rubies scattered
parcel paper & tight-ribboned bindings batter
the wad of injury festers
scolded & scalded & scaffolded
to its prime meridian line of less
never enough never good enough never
enough enough
forgotten ....
until
a drop of daring connects
the day 
a hand
lifts & tucks
knows
collects
gathers
straightening is felt
[felted]
smooth roundness of the whole
laid upon the back of the tongue
in waves of honeyed cake and vanilla rum
a bearable light felt
trees bend in sacred reverie
trees always bend 
sky reflects the cyan stirring
clarity is rubbed by that walnut hand to shine a fraction of
pearled opalescence deep deep into the fissure
finding it enough
polishing just enough
returning
to
diamond

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

drala


dancing upon my skin
dustmotes bite 
beneath cardamon bones 
jeweled glimpses of always 
shadows 
light 
the pace & breath of now:
yellow shirt
plaid mini skirt 
untucked hope 
a yearn to collide against 
1,440 minutes 
of 
summer's blossom 
sun thirsting
thunder bursting 
windows down
to Springsteen, Dylan, Taylor 
hand tucked beneath your blue jean leg 
forecasts a succulent promise 
your skin drips vanilla--nutmeg 
upon my tongue 
capture me for 24 hours 
of a brand new day of summer's heat 
lemonade cooling 
slow moving 
green grass wafting to welcome 
backs arched 
arms grasping 
breath barely lasting 
listening to crickets
under a firefly strawberry moon
we drink
we laugh 
we do
for 
every every 
sweep sweep sweep  
of the second hand 
turn 
give me an autumn day 
washed in apples crisp falling
cooling 
cooling 
richness clasped to clary sage 
smells pierce the glass to rising 
cooling 
cooling 
now--winter's gift 
of 
bracing wind to arms embrace 
snow 
falling 
falling 
to these 1,440 ticks 
of tic-toc
of clock 
take in without clinging
tasting without touch
collide beyond breath 
of being known 
before 
the 
fire 
of these stolen 
afternoon daydreams 
... dance upon my skin 








of a coming


canvas white
crack of sunlight
borders trenched deep and sublime
lying upon lies & a harvest of tears
sweet forgiveness for all of our crimes
buried to breath
passing all tests
pinned to a heart a medal of azure blue
our bodies dance thru a thousand-year-wood
to all we have failed to do
canvas white
crack of moonlight
we cut dangerously close to the true
of a knowing spellbound
to earth's holy ground
and
forgiveness of
sweet baby blue

light … dark ….gray









The wounded and the grappling ones
Meet upon fields of scar tissue
Weary & recognizable
Our fractures form equations of perfection
Balanced in Aquarian algorithms
With holes burned in the fabric of our masks
We twitch with a sensitivity to
the sun and the salt
Awareness numbed into compliance & assumption
Collective memories collide & are quieted by
the touch of a hand,
The twinkled depth of eyes sure & fired by
blood & snow
As one, we catch the beat of a thousand spring wings
Turning our truth up to the
blueness and the feathered gray
We catch the scent of earth & passion . . .and
Step closer to the knowing 

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Tritina for the Prairie

Sandhill cranes crowding, clouding the vast blue sky
speckled fields fallow--river wide calls my soul
proclaiming winter's surrender to spring

Clouds thin to white stories writing of spring
eyes rest where crimson horizon collides with western sky
watching--waiting for signs of my returning slumbered soul

Of wild cranes and fields evermore comes my soul
to follow the flight pattern and warm winds of this early spring
flying--soaring to the sun buttoned upon the sky

of flying things and azure sky my soul wakes to spring 

Thursday, March 16, 2017

fore-cast


how
wrapped and woolen
becoming is;
veiled dignity
silk
to field fallow
gray to rain to sleet
to ice
a storm coming ~
heavy this felted sombre weight a cadence familiar
glide, tuck, place
the hackberry bark complies with twilight
amid the press and vastness 

glide, tuck, place
the ice is to be 2 inches thick
in spots
imperceptible to the naked eye 

glide, tuck, place
these gray branches 

dormant 
ordinary
behind this weave of moonlight 

glide
tuck
place 

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

H2O (s) --> H2O (1)

There is this electric awareness of molecules ping pinging up from my skin to collide against the cotton and constriction of garments rendered by machines and hands distant, lean and unknown. molecules ping pinging reciting nursery rhymes to the sound of glenn miller albums spinning from a french-blue bedroom lined with irish linen and smelling of mercury and things both long forgotten and treasured long. sunlight distorts the path laid by the moon and snowy owl scat on a not-quite-spring-yet night when the wind steals the immediacy from breath and molecules leap to find their match ... measured to the three four cadence of jazz played on a hollow body guitar.
ping pinging
output
input
carrying the moontide
rolling
shifting into 
(remembered)
patterns of moonbeams on blue snow
morning finds the coffee hot and bubbling with brilliant bitterness, upon a tongue tired tired tired from want of trying trying trying but eager to try try again and grateful for these minstrels and poets and gypsies who shine their light so that i may take a bite of an apple hanging perfectly poised against my dry lips
Oh! Morning!
find my spine straighter, my heart wide-open to every mote, every nuanced collide of dust to senses awake with the sun 
ping pinging 

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

(π)

in this cool stillness
one hand strokes the striped pendleton blanket
skin to wool warm
while the other hand
holds my heart inside my chest
thumping in recognition of who you are
from this seat i notice the peeling paint of the neighbors upstairs
balcony
once it was a sleeping porch
now merely a peeling porch outlined by maples & white sky
it snowed this morning
somedays it is too much
this tilted sorrow rippling across space
to that porch
this heart
cool stillness

shadows


I am not the right person for you to talk to today as you drive east across roads that ache from the sun I am not the right person for you to talk to because I have known sad as in blue as in I don't mind if sleep folds me into forever because my dreams sing I don't mind if I succumb to the gray water rising tepid over my head and under my soul I am not the right person to talk to because I don't know what went wrong that one day in band camp above the treeline I have known sad and it is not weak it is not cowardly It is no place for the uninitiated it is replete with fullness and green and has its own set of towels and my senses run full tilt into wicker baskets of oranges and white terry cloth bath robes that place you call weak is just to the left of my sternum it smells of 1962 and my mothers perfume it is real and it swallows hours and days and desires and my hand and my heart without breaking a sweat 
am not the right person for you to talk to today 

Monday, March 13, 2017

tacitly .....











on her back flat and still between the cool sheets staring up at the ceiling fan and the ceiling painted a grass green--her thoughts went round & round and it was like spinning round & round the way she used to do when she was young, upon her back staring up through the trees to the clouds she could not focus or stop stop & hold onto a thought for very long she watched things blur past while now and then a blinding bright light flickered like the sun thru the leaves seeing the river as luminous ribbons weaving amongst the tall golden grass and a face stoically masked with intense laughing dark eyes and he was asking her how much she was willing to risk  
(patterns of moonlight on blue snow ) 
a doe with 3 fawn wading across a creek bed her mother's legs starkly tan crossed beneath an orange sun-dress the full-length sensation of prickly grass underneath her as she lay imagining a tender miniature world there in the roots & earth--all of it floating by random & transparent the smell of  baby pristine skin and the peach-fuzz feel of her hair against her lips smells of tabu blended with cigarettes and pine how the smell of fresh mown grass & starlight enticed release a sensual surrender . . . 
these dangling stirrings would not hold still and be counted--no. the textured fabric on the palm of her hand from the sofa as she lay there letting him taste her and a surprising
bolt of thunder and lightening as it played outside the window allowing his voice back in to infiltrate her bones & fear fleeting gusts of electric sexuality his weight upon her
hand slipped underneath his thigh in his car the sudden blade of pain sharp & resolute making its home nestled in the bones & sinews of her soul
welcome pain
the kiss the taste of him a swirl of honey & heat
his hands
hands
vivid and distinct

each memory encased in gossamer yet rendered in wire and bound up with a fragile reflection that resembled the configuration & rhythm of  heart