Friday, September 22, 2017

the fabric of night

see me as vermillion
locked with a tiny key a thousand years old
tarnished
tempered
by wind & water rising, rising
press me to cerulean between arms of sage & milo
smelling of tuesday's coming storm
penny-copper sharpness
bright
bold
I am snow
and
the
earth that lies between the cracks in the sidewalk
baked by sun
mysteries golden in particles of glass--dust
tarnished
tempered
by wind & water rising, rising
rain falls on a plum tongue waiting for a cotton memory
and
a pillow
skin coral-pink bells of pulsing weathered molecules
ozone & ash & death
life trembling
tarnished
tempered
feel my azure evergreen shimmer against your thigh
slight--open
to line & moonlight
rising, rising

see me as vermillion
there amongst the night

hymn #7

are there more like us?
thinly held between the cracks of light and refute
balanced as the wings of some giant flailing bird
hell bent upon southern winds in autumn
are there more like us?
crimson thread held between philtruim and coffee
bound for Oz
side trip to Costco proves to be fatal
well...
only so
we wait for bluebirds to sing us to sleep amoungst the ash
of our sorrow

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

frame of reference

the light of this day shimmers on the gray
trembled cadence
shadows dart from a blue jay's feathers
hackberry's branches quiver
brushed by
western breeze--slight--varied
sun breaking upon pavement
tethered warm to earth's intention
and
purpose
quiet settles the dust of dawn
distant the drum & thrum of chaos
quiet here
quiet
being swallowed by the azure verdant echo
of hummingbirds

Algorithm for Minimizing the Impact of Thin Clouds at Mile Marker 397


west . . .
as the sun cotton-candies the day
tequila pink highway thump thum thump thum thump thums
palomino ghost cuts over prairie grasses & milo
dust's syruped sting tastes of soil & sage
time rolls to reo-red-wagon
seamless
tightness
opens
opens to the outflow
tendrils of possibility drift to earth
in direct ratio to the wanting of vermillion
and
the density of uncertainty
thump thum
thump thum
run palomino
run west to the sun

Tuesday, September 19, 2017

5 o'clock thicket


it
is lonely here
quiet
windows of sunlight feed me
waiting on this cold pink-marbled bench for a sign
and even though you can't see it--it is snowing
it always snows here
it can rain
     but that happens most often in the morning
snowing softly in this captured glen of birch & pine
a slow
dropping sparkle of designed brilliance
a meadowlark sings
maybe a meadowlark is always singing
my feet grow restless as they tap & play in the foliage
should I play a penny-whistle while I wait
or sketch the inside of your heart?
definitely should take up smoking,
or knitting,
or model airplane building
I could build a plane & fly away to the last place where I picked up your scent
rich cherry-earth,
honeyed & mine
hmm...
that is cutting too close.
too close to the burn, the pinch, the punch that is the want of you
it resides in a scarlet-arched line from the base of my throat, to my groin
and travels out in a spiraling crescent moon
to blossom-explode upon
this night marrying to star-shine & nightingales
that is cutting to close
just wait
here
in September's snow 

Monday, September 11, 2017

Of Septembers ...

writing sustains
-sometimes-
fills the hollows when the river slows
mercurial
fluid
fierce
words & water
devotion weaved in destruction's whispers

rising

rising

to
bind heart to land and moon

rising

rising

words pour from unfamiliar fingers
from hands once young
water
spills
tumbles
over stone and shore
once young

we rise
we rise
tumbling
billowing
in liquid hope
words & water 

Friday, September 1, 2017

moving between




this is the quiet hollow of pain before surrender
dull in its persistence
ringed in quilts of cotton & ginger
chilled
on this last hot alfalfa night of a long dry summer
hollow
but not
gnawing
grinding
hollow
of this piquant hour
midnight
restless mooned midnight
where somewhere on this last hot alfalfa night
a boy in a red truck waits under the big dipper for a girl in a hurry to grow up
hollow
but not
timeless
stillness
fullness
jackson brown plays on a radio from a station just south of chicago
hollow buzz buzzing of energy puzzled into heart and thighs hot
the last hot alfalfa night of a long, dry summer
on this last hot alfalfa night
cotton & ginger

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

four thirty-nine

what is it to be beloved ...?
pocketed at ten 'til four on an afternoon in late august
pocketed
against a small stone picked up
from sidewalk's sunlit cracks
outside it smells of fresh mown grass
and a promised rain
outside...

what is it to be beloved?
held as a bluejay's feather found
and lost and found again
held so as to not bend the vane
hollow shaft the color of aged bones in a dream

what is it to be beloved
rolled out onto the pine table this clay to be molded
smoothed and pressed by a vision only seen by
one
unveiled bit by love-resilient bit
until form becomes space becomes
sun
stone
crack
rain
feather found dream
by one
unveiled
love
--beloved--

Thursday, August 24, 2017

still....

drawn to the shimmer of breath & breeze
this dog day morning
shadows take me
verdant linen woodland surrounds
surrender comes
in the lengthening of the heart-line
in the sureness of knowing
blue jays call to the alice-blue sky
lost & found
damned & joyful
we dance & love & lean
into the space that is us
that is this golden land
this time held between
breath & breeze....

come.


Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Saṃsāra





















coyote song and air stream trailers
hands held tight to august sky
gray fog dawn rolls in on the last boom of thunder
want circles the silver moon by & by

tall tales and arms wide open
wells of laced sorrow sit in the darkness of your eyes
listening to mary gauthier & blue jay calling
consequence & redemption pierce surrendered sighs

no need to peel the bark from the maple
no need to choose left or right
no need to kneel at the sacred alter
lovers know always the price

burn of sun and midsummer's hazy promise
seeking shelter from contrast's gamma rays
path lies between the sage gap and the violet thyme of turning
lay down your whiskey softness and turn the page

there is no balm--no fix to story
no dissolve to the break of morning's alice blue
listen with a painted-jasper heart stone solid
the point of the tale is to keep wandering through

no need to peel the bark from the maple
no need to choose the stay or the go
no need to kneel at the alter of this moment
love becomes the cost of morning's afterglow







Tuesday, August 22, 2017

eclipse

of sun and moon
and
ten thousand nights
venus blooms
verdant shadows loom 'neath tremors of shine
stones and thyme
bone to breath
consent
these currents alight
drag your fingertips across the linen
raw edges burn
delight
as darkness waxes blue jays crack with
the fading light
erudite sphinx moths quiver--flit
pale green to amber gem
strange this veil
this thread we hold
of sun
of moon
of him



to sail . . .














Winken, Blynken and Nod one night
set sail in a cashmere boat
with oars made of pearls
and a peppermint hull
and a captain in turquoise coat
the moon rose up
and
captured the night
as sails billowed & filled
carrying the ship
across the sea
under stars from a diamond-quartz mill
an opal deck stretched fore & aft
rainbowing under full-moon
with masts of ebony
reaching up to the night
as a dish whirled about with a spoon
upon the deck
glowed a golden chest
with swirls of amber paisley
a latch made of porcelain
a handle of mint
with buckles of snow-drop daisies
it opened right up
with a will of its own
and
there on a bergamot bed
nestled amongst deep-scarlet silk
was a clock
with a dragon's head
a clock of finest silver
knotted in the finest weave
tic-tocking & churning on wheels & cogs
tiny hands of amethyst vive
the wee dragon's head
shimmered & shone
with scales of deep forest green
eyes of snow, lashes of gold
the most mischievous smile ere' seen
then the dragon peered out of a nest of silk
and yawned with might & sleep
eyes they blinked
nostrils flared
with his wings unfurled he did sweep
out from the clockworks!!
out from the chest!!
wings spread 30 feet wide
fluttered & moved
with grace & aplomb
until he shifted the ocean's tide
waves rolled up
over stem & stern
the peppermint hull they pounded
shuttering--shaking with fury & force
as they captain stood there astounded...
"hang on me maties, hang on me friends
and bring those sails quick down
batten them up & 'don your coat
and pray we all don't drown"
winken, blynken & nod set to work
'astrapping the sails down tight
as the dragon beat his broad, gorgeous wings
raising the ship to moonlight
the vessel set sail upon currents of wind
as the dragon his wings he did fold
he lowered his head,
one small puff he then blew
this quest was ere long foretold;
of a ship,
crew of four,
a night & a song
and a dragon born of stars
to set off on a journey to circle the world
to learn the secrets of Mars
the crew did relax with a sigh of content
as the ship balanced & sped
the dragon at rest on his bed of silk
story born from twilight's thread
winken, blynken & nod set out
humming a broadway tune
captain of turquiose at the helm
as a cow jumped over the moon
the ship flew into deepest night
for coasts & planets unknown
as the crew peered up 'ore the starboard side
and the stars their pleasure shone
the clockwork-dragon rests peacefully
curled up in its quiet, soft space
breathing & dreaming of far off delights
and the piece that fills the hollow place--
a compass for travel
a compass to roam
a dragon of tic-tocking gifts
who appeared one day at a quater to May
always able to compass you home.

Sunday, August 13, 2017

history lesson re·dux

Oh Columbia! 
imagined history of our ancients
where is our emancipator of despair?
bison spirit rising
compassionate liberation
against
political collide
pull back the veil of stars
stripes
bloodied suffering revised to fit the supremacy
Oh say can you see--our manifest destiny?
manifest genocide
redress--recognize
indigenous wholeness and right
nationalism expedition colonization imperialism
manifest genocide, again
 ... our destiny wrapped
in
rhyme--rhythm
by
Jackson
Jefferson
Cooper
Whitman
Hawthorne
Longfellow
Poe
Thoreau
darkness
blackness--native peoples demonized
whiteness christianized
in
the
killing fields of the Americas
indian country 
follow the corn trail 
the trail of tears;
Mayans
Olmec
Toltec
Anasazi
Pueblo
Caribs
Maroons
Powhatans
Pequot
Abenaki
Mohican
Shawnee
Delaware
Wintu
Maidu
Miwak
Omo
Wappo
Havasaupai
Nez Perce Nation
Yokuts
Iroquois Confederacy
Natchez Nation
Hopi
Apache
Navajo
Cherokee
Pawnee
Kiowa
Ojibwa
Chippewa
Seminole
Lakota
Sioux
Comanche
Muskogee Creek
Tuscaroras
Chickasaw
Choctaw
Tlingit
Salish
Makah
Hoopa
Pomo
Karok
Yurok
Shoshone
Bannock
Paiute
Ute
Haudenosaunee
Green corn dance
Ghost Dance
Sun Dance
resist
redeem
(the revolution was not televised)
repair
.... the soul of America
primal heroism and heart of our humanity
lost
     to
          the
impossible
passable
papable
grief
inherent
to wind
to river
to wilderness
legacy awakened...
Oh redemption!

This land is your land

Thursday, August 10, 2017

storms to the west . . .











There are times when darkness lies forgotten upon my skin
hollowed & broken
knowing there is starlight
but feeling the microfiber
of
grey
rub annoyingly
the
wrong
way
wind moves things unseen--forgotten
as i notice & refuse to open
a
box of paints
eyes close & songs are heard
--whisper tracings--
again dove-grey & faint & haunting
there
there
the crackle of dreams & place
grace
glory
and
knowledge find the honeyed bleed of this night
and
shutter in their brilliant sureness

soon

Friday, August 4, 2017

peaches












three peaches sit upon the dining room table
waiting for something ....
four & twenty blackbirds?
plucked, frozen tender--a winter's secret
a peach crisp?
i heard recently that a true poet does not use images, photographs, pictures... art
that seems vapid somehow
damn, i am not a poet
as if i could write without fingers
or
the sound of this south-east breeze
to lay down words bereft of what it was that lead me here
here here here
i think i'll settle on the crisp
the birds won't settle down
no
three peaches sit upon the dining room table
tenderness
waits
      for
          something ....
for a landing
a invitation
a room with a view of our wabi-sabi
oven warming to 350
clouds obscure the sun
as does liberation's smoke
can you smell it from here?
the peaches, not the smoke from fires burn
ooh sweetness rising
to
blue jay's summer passing
ripe naps with 100 year old quilts wrapping
time & traffic pressing in from windows dusty with choice
three peaches sit upon the dining room table
and
i still feel the same




Thursday, August 3, 2017

two o'clock

i am this day
gimlet stirred to pale alice blue
softly cradled at sixty-two
wind out of the west rustles--bows
to branch
to bramble
and bumblebees briar
stillness
pulls dust-iridescence from afternoon sky
into trails
that linger
behind winged bumble's goodbye
alight the world
the day
the break
of sunbeams
moonbeams
and lavender cakes
i am this day
this wind
this light
molten and polished
blue folded to night

pieces of June stirring

Take:
The shattered right femur of a girl
add
to that a green wool beret
funny pages from the sunday paper
scrambled eggs
and paper dolls
the taste of snow on your tongue
rosary beads of tulsi kapoor
a velvet Elvis painting
and your tucked away watercolor.
Then add rain
lots
of
rain--
the sound of rain
the smell of rain.
Add heaps & heaps of Dr. Zhivago snow
sparkling-blue-sequined-in-the-moonlight-snow
and
nose-deep-in-tomatoes-earth,
high-altitude-earth, horse-stable-earth
Plus rainbow trout
apples & New Orleans
Stir in the flume of diesel & cigar smoke on a London street
and the bite of whiskey & jazz
along with the opalescent thrumming of a hummingbird
Slice it
smoothly deep & narrow--during the shine of this blue-green corn moon
threaded with indigo & owl tears
Thunder rumbles
rolls
Rain comes
Once long ago,
I rode with my mother
as we searched for autumn leaves down a tree-lined country road.
I wore a purple coat
and my mother was so very present & the leaves were the color of her heart;
soft deer-brown, crimson with the lightest orange
When do we know that we are the same?
That we will yearn & bleed?
When is the sky more blue than ever before
and how often is a lifetime traversed
in a kiss?
Surrender lies there
where skin meets the sun
and
the day's fresh mown grass melts into evening's cool cotton sheets
Sureness shines in your dark eyes
and
forgiveness is found in the pause between seasons
and
in the heaviness of our bones
Love is all.
And I will wake
and
I will remember

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

a perseid-august-falling

from a young age
I knew that scars were
best
kept
on the outside
rather than
on the inside
it felt peaceful
ordained somehow
to bare a badge of injury--pain
to bruise
to bleed
to form thickened skin
stretched
pale as a badge
webbed
tatter-woven
inside scars : suffocated
binding tight to hollow spaces
ringing with the infinite
the sharpness
scar me up & lay me down
ink the line morel-black
resplendent
to elude the phantomn pursuit
THEN
we find
love
and t
he teeter-totter balancing act begins
love is discovered under bridges
--the balm to our scars
ending the requirement to bleed
shining during the passage
Love :
the unbridled inhuman-joy heard
in a meadowlarks song
the love of a grandmothers hand upon your back coupled by the smell of oatmeal
as captain kangaroo ping-pongs
the smell of summer wafting off your mothers skin
the presence of a father sitting for hours at the foot of your bed watching as you
slowly
breathe
yourself
to sleep
under that quiet vigilance
the soft ginger prickle of a baby's just-hatched hair beneath your lips
the easy comfort of a friend
the companionable love of noble & complicated men
men.
where laughter, glory and the sky become tamed
and the rockem-sockem ghost-love of a man
with sparkling walnut eyes
asks for a willing surrender--a tacit understanding
to trust its intimate quantum-rising.
the mark it leaves
the pain endured
the story told
scars ride shot-gun on the outlaw love-trail
coloring us in aqua-forgiveness under a perseid night that lights the path home
Fehu
love is scar-divine.

tumbling after

rumble
thump
echo
darkness peaks to pinnacle
paper scissors rock
jack be nimble
of mind polished to smooth ivory marble
captured flashes of human might
bold strokes of burning whispers bright
tap
rumble thump
the spell is cast
shadows bind now
to pressure leaps
little moth has lost her sheep
the porridge sun
tips the mast
to darkened waters where
mermaids cast away
this nonsense
riddle me away
the man in the moon has saved the day 

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

of three o'clock on the 1st of August

to be both here
and
there
formed yet endless
yearning still in resplendent contentment
not too tight
not too loose
edges polished
as bruised tissue
obeys the tuck & fold
like your mother's curtains
or
a wool skirt from 1976
tuck & fold
alight
behold the golden field of our molten tenure
the sparrow
or the meadowlark
or the grain ... where is the gem of us?
ah - there
in the immortal blue sky of
this day
unbound






advection











dawn's cooling

ground
moist with dew
neighborhood streets fill with the fog
of a coming sun
open portals
to
anywhere
while trees tremble imperceptibly in their worship
of
sky
and
day
shadows tucked in the back of a blue jay's throat
gray and timeless
gray and ageless
light begs for admittance into this morning's kingdom of clouds

this moment
vaporous magic
transparent

possible


Monday, July 31, 2017

swallowtail

paced precision
bangs 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
equanimity smoothed & tucked
no triumph
no parade today
just
simple breath drawing
heart thawing
under the haze
and
heat
of this July sun

Wednesday, July 26, 2017

gone

emptiness coming into thunder
as the hackberry rustles in the wind
i am the rustle
sky white upon infinity's throat
no honeysuckle drip dripping
no rubbed & inky pages
the void lies thick against the blue jay
lines of conduct are hot to the touch
hot
where does the yearning go?
where is the pull to you?
wrapped in sureness
dancing against the light
amber-love rich
golden flight of the knowing







Tuesday, July 25, 2017

courage

slipped in sidewise
between
maple leaves
and
the summer-pressed stillness
of this july morning
time opens its wonder
to
everytime
before
and
yet to come
wrapped in unfolding day lilies
at once
6
and
60
freckled sky against the spell
warming warming
this day
of
rustle & remark
even the blue jays are quiet

this moment
slipped sidewise
to the sun



Tuesday, July 4, 2017

sun tea of peppermint & licorice

There is a lawn mower mowing
a female cardinal chatting somewhere 

this July sky 
not blue
not white 
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

Monday, July 3, 2017

of two o'clock on the second day in July

the smooth perpendicular curve of the
tap tap tap
paper-white anthems of fireworks
pierced and petaled
staccato hour of day
tap tap tap
periwinkle comes the afternoon
resplendent in its smells of weariness & woodpeckers
the air feels perfect; azure crinoline brilliance
gleaning seeming
tap tap
will it rain later?
of green labyrinth stillness I become
pink aster's sun
awake
and
listening

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

salon #1

fingers graze
Ceres
coneflower
cotton-blue
echinacea tequila sure
robust elixir
sun--shade divine
turning turning spinning time
of more
sweet summer grass beaming
present leaning
to aster's bumble to morrow's edge
delight of day to pierce the thread
Oh orange cherry blossom moon!
dazzle this dream
lengthen this hour
this everlasting June
gleaning
bewitched with light
spoon-flower bloom
to the edge of lonely
with dreams of autumn
knotted besotted
with dandelion's daughter
who comes to speak of winter here?
violet buttercup mouth of western wind?
olive tongues glancing dancing upon the white birch midday's thigh?
no cloud lingers against this azure blue surety
turning turning spinning shine
constellations alter
blackberry wine


Wednesday, June 21, 2017

mid june

listen,
to that particle fullness
chirping beneath this ecru canvas
expansive
and
rolling, rolling
somedays nothing comes to the surface
but
the clouds of this storm
this rain
falling, falling
cycles & spirals
carousels of summer
thunder comes
once
again


Wednesday, June 14, 2017

dream at five o'clock in the morning

somewhere in the sculpted hole that is the moon
i fall
pressing hands against soil
feathered wet
from last night's thunderstorm
hail the size of apples pounds
lightening bright as lightening
downpour tempest water rising

i fall
grasping downpours melancholy
gasping fast to thunder booms
earth and feathers blue
hackberry's bark drips drips damp
from patchwork sky
grayest clouds and fireflies

drizzle
the rain abates
birds wake
except the great-horned owl
in the curly willow sighing
to light a comet tail burning
this night adjourning
somewhere in the sculpted hole that is the moon



Monday, June 12, 2017

strawberry moon

what is it that arises when you look around
to find yourself
discover yourself
.... in a meadow of emptiness
too busy watching your footsteps to notice the lack
too busy watching
listening
waiting
attending
too tied in knots to discover the void
suddenly
there you are
nothing pressing pressing in on
nothing pressing out
suspended jubilant molecules
pressing
down down to earth's fire
where is the water?
where is the moon?
where is love's surrender?
what is it that arises when you look around?
emptiness
vast blue-sky emptiness

advance
embrace
call it your name
grasp it
unfurl it
dissolve to it
become it
become emptiness
become vast
             and blue

allow it to unveil
unravel
stripped and tender
you are fire
you are water
you are surrender

you are the strawberry moon 

Thursday, June 8, 2017

of stasis & steps ...














i am moved by rainfall
and
courted by lilacs
discussed by leathered gypsies around campfires
fired up at dusk amongst aspen & age
embers burning the silk of our resistance
distance lies only in the disconnect
dormant is the dream in direct proportion to wakefulness
ease into this summer fire
ease into allowing the possible
love is only as small as your container:
dance with the morning
taste the rain on your tongue
be still

Sunday, June 4, 2017

in & of part one

timeless enfolding
syncopated rhythms of petaled tender
we turn inward while turning outward
to sun
to the violet edges of linen old
crinkled clasping of celadon hope to breast full-striving
for the sulfur spring
while doubt circles disguised as stardust
we loom fierceness with hands leaning in ....
how can we tender so to such persimmon fragility
while soothing our own feathered fear & bones?
holding in fractal spaces defined by
lips pressed to peach skin pressing protection white white
lean in
lean in
to love in all it's brilliance
to the cutting sorrow path
lean in

Saturday, June 3, 2017

birthdays












I have never been comfortable with birthdays.  Very sharp memories roll across my personal
super-screen of sherbet-tight ruche'd dresses, bobbie socks and birthday hats.  It is when the singing begins, that ballad to birthdays, that I would bolt from the room inexplicably overcome with--something.
Birthdays make me squirm … make me long for quiet, solitary moments near water or mountains or sky.  Recognition became intangible, uneasy, emotional.  Somewhere along the timeline, my psyche determined that to celebrate birthdays--to celebrate myself--with abandon and delight, somehow appeared wanting. I was afraid of the emotion of joy.
But, something is happening. Over the last few years, I am learning how to bend into the receiving, allow room for the gathering of things given: parties, cakes, trinkets, artistry and Love.
I am learning how to make room for not only joy, but for myself.
In receiving, I am softening & leaning into the grace of openness.
It is an expansive and grand thing to be recognized, to be celebrated--to be seen.
To those with the patience and skill to 'teach' me … to love me enough to really know me - thank you.
We should never be afraid of being seen
 ,,,, just don't sing that damn birthday song. 

Friday, June 2, 2017

hide and seek

Larkspur blue clementine sky
cotton crimson ache to sorrow's sigh
respite, repair wounded love's flight
to tie, to bind, to await the coming night

sing to me of linen loose--raw
a song unleashed upon prairie's devils claw
summer heat bears down to corn and furrowed row
rising smoke rings of river's solitary willow

raise ye up upon shoulders brown with rain
raise up the land, raise up the voices tame
fight the dirge,  the weariness left to bind
come the night and sleep is what we find

what we seek becomes not the treasure found
where we place our hearts ties fast and sound
to bone, to marrow this land cries out for one
the moon holds us captive there beyond the sun


when you are sitting in a dark room gazing

when you are sitting in a dark room gazing out into the black night
and one lone firefly lights itself up like the fourth of july over the potomac all belief is suspended all doubts fade and there is a hanging possibility as it moves darting higher and i gasp as it is
beautiful and solitary and perfectly totally oblivious to the rain about to fall the thunder and lightening gpsing its way here to this small wee house on this small wee spot on this enormous big blue marble and all things become mighty apparent like the soul of horses the sureness of you the layered delicate task of parenting how fucking amazing books are
and the ridiculous over-simplification of wicked things like justice water poverty illness camping and lemon meringue pie--ALL become parts of the whole and parts of the something more requiring trust and love and that firefly sparks again and now there is thunder and the thrumming in my heart echoes into that place reserved for you delighting in that contrast of near and far suddenly the WHOLE sky lights up like one BIG firefly promising a crack, a passage a thread of electric brilliance linking time and wonder and all things true and well  this crack this passage is waiting waiting waiting for completion for action and contentment to stay and risk movement
suddenly the firefly has vanished and as the thunder rumbles closer i am ready for a hot bath a good book and to dream of parts of the whole

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

3 o'clock on the last day in march

blue sky gives way
to gray
swelling
blueing jay feathers dark
storm coming
green wavers in threads of morning's glaze
gleaming
steaming summer awaits
from sidewalks paved with broken wonder
thunder calls
to that lunar moth that flickers & dives
against a pearled breastbone
tight
tighter
higher we raise our eyes against the constant sun
shining
rhyming
in cadence of ten thousand sparrows
alight amongst the maple trees branches
now
damp with afternoon rain
vermillion poppies tremble in electric fragility
come  . .
be still with me

blue sky gives way
to
day


tucked










there is this fugitive quality to my hours
tracked
hunted
pursued
stilled
thru webs of mortal fiber & prism fire
scent raw
wet upon the palate of creatures buzzed with steel'd will & death
fate sealed in a chinese-cherry-puzzle-box
thrown to fate on a bluejay"s wing
there … 
nestled between the light & fragile feather bones
lies
tucked .... the scent of mown grass in June
the coolness of cotton sheets
the wonder of beauty
the scratchy pleasure of wool socks
the fine roughness of you
the walnut-salt-home smell of you
honey'd lemonade on my tongue
poems & prose
words looped & rhymed & measured by wit & thunderous swelling
fancy clothes
words ancient & music eternally pressed along the rings of saturn
childish de-light ever-present, ever-there
in the space between
every minute
every hour
and
the blessed secret softening of the sorrow of all things
leaning in ...
leaning in ...
to heart
to radiant space
discovery & secrets i carry nestled between
sunlight
and
these
fragile feather bones 

Thursday, May 18, 2017

weight of air

buttercream
mandarin branches weeping
peeking
blue agate night boiled dry
amongst stars & hurricanes
tempest
reckless
white sails approaching
glass jam marmalade
velvet grenades
lobbed & powdered
by
confectioners sugar'd moonlight
allow the great horned owl
its due
blue agate night




Wednesday, May 17, 2017

golden vessel

transfixed by the rain
captivated by the wind
is this loneliness
    or sorrow weighing upon my moon-bones?
can I trust that the blue sky remains unblemished beyond this veil of storm?
is my sanity or my fantasy bound to yours
with ribbon of saffron and summer?
where do I go when the rains come--plundering my sun, my radiance?
is it there beyond this veil of emptiness?
am I now mere emptiness
     now drenched in forecast and blue jay feathers heavy?
the wind tears through the hackberry tree with thunderous embrace
welcome sorrow,
to the tempered fabric of my morning
welcome
sit--stay awhile
and
have some peppermint and licorice root tea
the wind blows wild

rain becoming sheets of joy




Friday, May 12, 2017

endings on

what is that like ...
to hold space between worlds
dangling molecules of lonliness & blue
ringed in the golden aperture of sun's horizon
sinking resting sinking
illuminated mind--liberated stardust
clinging
clinging
no more
a calling--a journey of blue jay's breath

to become

those candy orange slices that rest
in a red glass bowl on your grandmother's table

what color is the hollow of longing
how do we find the remnants of
childhood's crystal cowboy-pony-brilliance
sinking sinking
transformed to diadems
of
rivers
marshmallow-kisses-bourbon-deep
summer meadowlarks-icing-song
rising rising
to become
vast
blue dark-moon
delight 

Thursday, May 11, 2017

cool morning

talking to the gloaming
beneath black wings
pierced
and
possible
this tumbled place
grasping
clasping
the rope for
purchase
and
prize
feathers found
against the bark of dogs and trees of full green



Wednesday, May 10, 2017

sometimes the dark

fissure widening
light to dark becomes the tendril vine
childhood's vessel
cigarettes & turpentine
water the roses
count to sixty each time
keep your legs together
cigarettes & turpentine
pressing leaf patterns
deep upon skin
sugar rooms of summer thyme
turn the page--burn the fabric
cigarettes & turpentine
tucked golden child
chosen of springtime
solace of sky
cigarettes & turpentine






Tuesday, May 9, 2017

relativity

frost to honeybee
rain on flooded waters 
queen of hearts
         turned upon the southwesterly wind 
wind & water
          weight & welter 
hearts ransomed by love's tale 
corvids & covairs collide in skies 
   prism'd by clementines & cooling 
          cooling 
          cooling 
giving 
getting 
sometimes it falls to the bee in the frost 
to the heart in the wind 
sometimes it falls 
sometimes 
                it rises as feathers 
                from the passenger seat 
hand tucked beneath your blueness 


Monday, May 8, 2017

crossing

I sit in saffron
and
hold a bowl of ancient tone
aged, cold & nodding to the hollow

deciding

warm currents lift me onto the backs of fine-boned fragility
golden-ribboned
heavy with mystery and smelling of pine
time lies in velvet slumbered hope
blue should have been my middle name

pausing

in cool rushing brilliance

pausing

patience is learned despite the hour
dripping amongst
the willow
the lilies
movement requires strength requires strip of ego
requires surrender requires presence

requires

plunging your hands into the earth and feeling the warmth of the day
in coolness grasping
hold to your wound
breathe it in
press it in
then
gently
rise up
and
admit defeat at the hands of mediocrity & fear
yet a conquest of love flirts there along the seams
feels its vibrato
speaking in the tongue of sparrows and stones
run then
run hard
swift
and
jump the west-bound-train & ride the tree-line to vulnerability & boulder creek
wear a cowboy bandana and sing to the quarter moon on a night clear
and
my middle name should have been blue

Friday, May 5, 2017

may basket










it comes as a shock
the soft beating heart
pansy petaled 
fragility inclined 
stark contrast to rain 
tender unfurling 
subject to pain 
spring's soil sentinel
perked awake  
turned towards 
hidden sun 
in day's gloaming break

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Ceres




structure of
ice mantle and rocky core
lying between Mars & Jupiter
contrast + orbit = presence
no prose
no poetry
no sentimental sparkling bon mot bouillon 
to warm heart cockles
How do you define an art;
a science full-to-bursting
with
compassion, contrition & complexity
hands hinged to hold
to cradle
to tender
and with an innate sensibility 
thru and despite a sparkling-fierce-hope-filled insanity 
pushed pushed 
honing spirit & light
catch and release
craft of ice and rock
simultaneously everything
and
nothing
dwarfed 364 days a year to the whorl & chaos of the ordinary
the temperance of tempers & time
weighing weighing weighing
heavy
struggling to find the funny, find the light .... to love enough 
to tap the spark
the rendering of sorrows cut upon expectation & fullness
the gravitas of choice
acceptance unconditional
love's price to mother
everything
and
nothing 
no prose, no poetry 
merely
ice
and rock 

removed to blue 1962














Everyday 
everyday i would fly to school
everyday i would eat my captain crunch & cinnamon toast
walk out my front door
watching the toes of my saddle shoes, 
i would walk down
the sidewalk to school
the lines metronoming my stride 
like
playing cards on my bicycle spokes
walking along
suddenly
i would be
flying
flying 
high up!
everyday i would fly to school and then home again
above the sidewalk of my cedarberry street
fall, winter, spring ... grey days or blue
clouds of elephants & rivers of current amuse
flying
effortless glide removed from
the lonely
the ache of the knowing
the wounds of goodbye
the wind never cares if your knee socks stay up
flying 
everyday
until i turned 15 
and discovered
skirts 
and
seals & crofts & boys & kisses
and the cut of the knowing & the bruise of goodbye
and
i walked to school
everyday 
but oh how i still wanted to fly 

Monday, May 1, 2017

unveiling green

Three o'clock in the afternoon is the bewitching hour
the neighborhood lies silent
expectant
robins do their robin thing
goldfinches light upon
early May branches
in search of food
and gold
perhaps this is
why I am drawn to the atmosphere outside these ancient windows
I
have
no
idea
maybe
like goldfinches
I'm in search of gold
too
this June I turn
fifty-nine
fifty-nine to a woman is remarkably unremarkable
Some quantum rule
applies to aging for woman
wear this not that
want this not that
emote when appropriate
eat smart
balance everything
respect the inner journey
and
be kind to yourself'
well
and
there's the whole
change the world
thing
which is about legacy than effecting change
(my anarchist bent)
the world is a much different place than the world I knew in my childhood
how convenient
landed upon 'my childhood'
what a clever and circular route to begin
a story born out of today's disregard for the illusive perfect moment to begin a story
when is that exactly?
I have been waiting to write this story for as long as I can remember
from my crib
I dreamed of being a writer
ok, well first I was a dreamer
the writing was etched in the grain of wood floors captured in the enfolded warmth of my father and the smokey-feline light of my mother
someone should have stuck a #2 in my mouth in lieu of a pacifier
my earliest memory is of a dream:
I was in my crib a standard flimsy 50's variety crib, with rounded fluffy cut-out lambs & clouds on the wall blanket pink and white gingham the window was right of my crib from which I could see the family station wagon a low-slung Pontiac station wagon with faux wood insets I slipped over my crib and out the front door down the sidewalk and opened the drivers door of the wagon adjusting myself in the seat I turned the key and began backing out of the driveway suddenly my father tore out the front door flinging the drivers door wide and throwing the gear shift into park as some unidentifiable car pulled in behind me I was vaulted into my fathers arms suddenly realizing I was dreaming or maybe a dream of dreaming dreaming of adventure
or escape
still the question
the bewitching hour has given way
to
pre-twilight
six twenty-two
awake from a nap that left me disoriented and moody
craving something unnamed as the energy shifts in the neighborhood to a steady thrum thrum thrum
folks returning home from work;
Betsy across the way pulling into her circular drive
Chris and Kevin rolling up their drive next door
the birds are cautious and quiet
I'm disoriented and moody--remember?
my days are more observation than engagement
it wasn't always
like that

Sunday, April 30, 2017

April's End















abrasive as the bark of an oak

sharp
grasping

yet we desire to feel that rip of palm

the catch

the cut

helpless

helpless as any ethereal thought

a day-dream perhaps lingering there in the grey breeze
produced by forty thousand currents of light
colliding into a puffball of nothingness

empty-set
stasis

a boiling rumpled cosmic stasis

movement proves heavy
fragile

the residue of of passionate possibility lingers

yet

history repeats and repeats and repeats and repeats

suddenly there is a dance, a shimmy
a flicker of hope
darting

tasting of blue grass

pointing west out of the chaos of this day
this pocket of complacency

hold on

tight

texture discovered

such are pages
of
pressed and watered alchemy

leaf
stem
bud
flower
pressed
pressed again
stirred
smoothed
rinse repeat
dried
in
time
and
sun
rinse repeat
a page
becomes
pages
becomes
a tome
ink presses upon the page
pressed
again
and
again
a story told
in nature's traces
shadow
to
light
to shadow once
again ...


Saturday, April 29, 2017

cassini dive

torn
pearled clustered resilience
constellations array
in
Saturn's ringed display
moon-shadow firmament
decided
jesters wed amidst lemongrass
sea glass
rent & gleaming sorrow
seemingly
open opens
regret tossed to fire
ice to desire melted
no felted broken wing here
hearts & cherry bones intact
leveled golden evermore
thistled valore chasms fast
barnacled
particle bliss
remaining
come here! take my hand!
as
objects can appear smaller
and
of
such
amber verdant dust
stars flannel opalescence
diamond's
resin home
OM MANI PADME HUM











salt cedar wax wing

tale abider
myth glider
smooth berry thief
upon
tamarisk's
slender brined branch
velvet feathers polished
whisper sigh flawless
you wait
poised
1000 years
7000 miles
low-woodland flyer
lost within desert briar
thirsty you must be
greening
preening
your cap of red pearls
oh! so creamy gray
your dazzle
how do we steward your
amaranth oasis?
oh! winged budded wonder
how
do we tame
your abundance?
trill bzeeee
trill bzeeee
you smooth bohemian
trill bzeeee









Friday, April 28, 2017

winter lingers

rain falls
gray clouds call
green trembling pinballs
against spring
uprising
uncompromising
come nightfall
snow has a fling
ice to bring
winter's wall



afterparty

Let the earth bind fast to your nobility rising
Let the vastness of heaven rest upon your shoulders
Let your mind crack apart with wonder
as thought turns to honey
hardened to amber resin
timeless
tempered
by the winter of your bones
lips part, mouth opens
and peregrines fly out
to roost upon those lips
ruby-bruised by feathered intensity
and talons ...
tethered
to
revolution
evolution
and quilted sorrow's shine
we watch
we taste
the azure waiting






Tuesday, April 25, 2017

tucked

Behind the jacquard
white golden chestnut
pressing
pressing
secreted cave of mid-century construct
tucked
my passage of discovery
found
away from day
away from light
stolen from the deepest cut of night
my underground
sprawled beneath
this angled arched canopy
hidden childhood tapestry
moments stolen
from
the ordinary
into words treasured
turn the page
down rabbit holes
and
nursery rhymes
the crevasses of Shangri-La
Five Little Peppers
Tom Sawyer's adventures
Little House on Prairie mine
A Wrinkle in Time
I am little
yet
beneath my hands
the world awaits
turn the page
escape
the
pressing
pressing
white golden chestnut
construct
turn the page
~ become ~











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