Sunday, December 30, 2018

cusp

the story told of typewriters
click-clack talking back
that echo lingers in my head
as if some turnkey stood there
mending stories thread
words pressed out upon a white page
embedded promises to wildness made
raising gaze to break of day
i slip from sombre thoughts to pray
to sun and blue and unseen things
to bark and bone and
spring 

Wednesday, December 26, 2018

hand fast

We
are of this field
gathered wheat & moonstone
cloaked in the sombre sky of winter rain
separated by design
by desire cooled to rye whiskey
the crimson thread thin as sinew
tender not
merely silent
merely sure
resilient to wind & weather
tucked within that hollow space between bone & solitude
now resides the mirth of tiny souls trusted
held fast to the lines we've drawn of ourselves
for ourselves
of ochre & ash
wild wonderers
where one leaves off ... another begins
thick histories of pages wrinkled
circling
dancing
tethered to this field
this life
this
golden gather

hold fast


Tuesday, December 18, 2018

of a room

Strawberry carpet
ceiling & floor
cupcake afternoon
pain ignored
cinnamon memory tucked into bed
sugarplum erotica lives in my head
taste of moonbeams
suffering sure
smell of snowfall
distant vapor
snow heralds forgiveness
sugar-light dusting blue reflecting
stars talk in languages tempered by time
understood in pulses & rhymes
seams too tight
skin alight
ruched sorrow felt in waves white
pressed between ancient panes of glass
this life waking

this night
stars shining

snow falling







Moon to last quarter square with the Sun


Thick
quiet
stillness here
reach
stretch
pause
snaps of cloud fall to earth
an embrace of open arms
to color the night in lost and found
moon-glow & screech owl call
pause
hold
Yes, that's right-- there

Hold there
Cut of snow
Breath of moon

Wednesday, November 21, 2018

unfolding

sun beguiles
bark of maple warms the hand as
it lingers
blue ombré sky painted last night by wild geese
as they flew at a 45 degree angle to mercury
fields pale golden gleaning in light from a thousands moons
hours strike
dogs bite
trains whistle in the night
we pause
we breathe
holding to our precious sorrows while
chanting primrose spells to alchemize pain to joy
all the while we hold the stone that turns dust to dust
and tastes of home
scars tighten
bones lighten
the journey spiked and forgotten
taunt with the weight of days
but
burn we must
to breathe
to  know
to always trust the
sun's shadow


wrapped



you tease me with need, apples & emptiness
struggling to hardwire
lounging there in yellow silk boxers 
against your father's blueprint 
aging with remorse 
without awareness

i hate football

and struggle to understand my own fragility

what is it that binds & stretches to accommodate our twisted, wounded selves
acceptance comes with a cost; 
a kiss tasting of popcorn & fresh red peppers
a blizzard whorls beyond our walls 
and if you would open just long enough
    would 
               fall
into blue eyes 14 thousand feet deep
and rich with wisdom & words and muscles hard
willing 
our bones are old and speak of chasms of mirth & merit
replete with lovers, summers & wine 

why the goodbye
why walls of blue-glass brick
only to find the hole again 

altars of divine care & memory to what was & what could be 
sparked by flannel warmth & distance spanned by

love 

Tuesday, November 20, 2018

tapping the amber

resin lies waiting
maple-dark-amber
pooled against the forest floor
nevermore
if i indulge the curiosity
the residue sticks in my dreams
and
rests against my spine when woke
stirring thrumming drumming
incessant yearn to feel something true
so
i will stand with back against bark
smelling the coming snow
waiting

for ...
something 

thankfulness


Hollowness is only hollowness when viewed from within the hollow
When beside it, it shimmers with a ripeness found only in
peaches
and
the sun
most often found in shades of blue & green
though gold sometimes hides deep in its pockets
lay your ear against its tautness

listen

do you hear the ocean? the pulling note from a cello?
snow falling into the tree tops?

maybe the soundtrack from Goldfinger
or your life
lay your hand upon the hollow and snap down a beat
a ring of rhythm surprises
holding a tone & a thread of story

hollowness holds everything when one stands from without

#6698FF

we phoenix a million times
rising rising to face the blue
a blue unnamed by those that name
winds tempered by structures both
real & imagined
matters not this rising
matters not this wind
matters not this obstacle

only the blue 

Sunday, October 28, 2018

of two forty in autumn


felted
with the welter of deep winter waters 
swirling skirted surrender 
of this brilliant brillo ruby rub 
electric current caught 
between 
the 
layers
of
design
and 
delight 
oh tingled tender fire 
lay upon these shoulders 
with the roaring need of a thousand storms 
hold fast 
and tremble crimson under me 

mirage

stand before the silver
in the trembling golden of early autumn
Mercury wind
raises the palpable tremor of forgiveness
diamond cut the sky blue to blue
to blue
shimmering this day
in sorrow's pale mire
truth fights for tenure falling
falling
leaves to shape shifting cooling ground
wonder chases the shadows to fullness
holding
holding
this light




Thursday, October 18, 2018

the wren

of this autumn morning standing
tethered
to ten thousand things
of water & weight
the wren stands feathered
upon the birch silver--shimmering in
its morning waking
waiting upon the wind
waiting upon the sun
to shift its roots to winter's edge
breathing upon the light of this day

waiting on the wind


Saturday, October 13, 2018

the gray


it lays on me
the expectation of words
mango butter melting
rich
then gone
seeped to cells
rolling beating pulsing
on the dust
of
my ordinary hours circling circling
tasting of powder sugar sunshine
and
October's sidewalk at nine o'clock in the evening .....

Monday, October 8, 2018

waking to saturn


surely
we should write in the sky with cinnamon toast points
ruby chalk the leaves to play red rover among stars
peeling otter bark from taffy streets to feed our souls relief
crystal rolled to open
pine & honeyed
if you close your eyes just right
softly with the dreams of your six-year-old self
close your eyes
and lift the scarred corners of your peach-pit mouth
to rise
to fly
to the constellation just north of the meridian

of
you

Monday, October 1, 2018

October

words lie inside my vanilla bean heart
but i possess no tools to scrap them clean
I am the moon obscured by rain
gazing on their unremarkable roundness
cool my bones as i become more transparent
waning in sorrow's weather
this day 

Wednesday, August 8, 2018

Ceres


coneflower
cotton-blue
echinacea tequila sure
robust elixir sun-shade divine
turning turning spinning time
of more
sweet summer grass beaming
present leaning yestermore
to aster's bumble
off be bumbled of 'morrow's edge
delight of day to pierce the thread
orange
cherry
blossom
moon
dazzle the dream
lengthen the hour
this everlasting June
gleaning
bewitched with light
spoonflower bloom
to the edge of lone
to street of wonder
clouds of autumn
knotted besotted
dandelion's daughter
who comes to speak of winter here?
violet buttercups of a south-easterly wind
olive tongues dance upon the white birch thigh
no cloud lingers in this azure blue surety
turning turning spinning shine
constellation
of
blackberry daisy

light of mine


226161 miles













how do we quiet inner whispers of dissent & anger
rising
rising
to greet days crinolined & perfect
clouds streaming 'it's a wonderful life' life life
leaves of the porcelain berry tremble tremble
august carves out the hollow places and stirs it with a wooden spoon
ancient
and
smelling of
pollunating corn
and
raw vanilla
apply pressure to the open wounds of sorrow & longing
apply pressure
and
press to the
light
sunlight
rising
rising
to
quiet

quiet

as evening approaches … 

Friday, July 27, 2018

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 gentled
find me tucked against the wild iris
at nine thousand three hundred and five feet
riding the water white over stones over mountain
as pine nettles sharp sticks to tongue
arms wide open to the sun

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

hour glass

the spark and crash of tempests flaring
solared prism of misplaced forgiving
marks our journey
from death
to living
brightly
dimming
circled in amber arms at twilght's nearing
we reach
we touch
we fold
with blood's carmine brimming
softly falling
to
a summer sparrow's song ...


Tuesday, July 24, 2018

home

ambitious
accomplished you call me
assertive
bold and loyal blue
attentive
like a geisha
noble you
steeped in integrity
devotional
spiritual
intelligence rolls & rolls like waves
you call me a poet, an artist
you knighted fearless & fierce
we exchange compliments like endearments
building one another
to a field golden
to stand in a moment of intimacy that heralds
the end of summer



June 24th

hummingbird moths tumble from your lips
pausing momentarily to set fire to sage
before
dashing to afternoon tea on Mars
my movements slow
breath slows
as if
the wrong
touch
the wrong turn
the wrong breath will break the connection
the line does break
sudden & violent in its gap
only the moths remain
dancing in their discovery of blue
you call back
once more weaving a spell I am too timid to define
defend
deny

though I've made for myself a new garment
from the colors of Spring
and grown accustomed to the taste of whiskey & wind
though I have colored in the boundary line bold & tangerine
enlisting blue jays to guard my bones
your light is heart's home





Saturday, July 21, 2018

to the wild

i do not miss you
either of you
of yellow sun & amber moths
my bones now
wild
ageless & more than bones more than breath
replete with the weight of my heart
beating its rhythm in paisley velvet swirls
its cadence sweeping--a cello hums in ponder rich & unpredictable
a light glows in the story
placed there by my own hand this past tuesday
everything lost becomes found
everything gray becomes celebrated
i am young once again
held by a white birch tree against the sweep of sorrow & love
i am a child of the sky
complete & tangerine 

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

celos

the color of wanting 
verdant set against a swath of azure-dome 
there is movement & morning 
mourning 
touch & go 
morning 
this life not embroidered upon the bone 
but set afire in the longing 
of 
leaf set afloat in a mountain stream 
river rocks my home 
blue jays realm 
to rest in love's welcome gloam 


lost becomes found




divinity exposed in chameleon waking
as tannins pool from the crack of this tangerine morning 
somewhere in 1972, self was tucked behind a ethan allen sofa 
lost to dust motes & decay 
remembered not at all
until 
bounce 
of 
light 
widens the crack 
days & nights ....brushed to being 
removed & remarked upon 
as
dust is polished to a shine replete with diamonds
matter transformed settles and becomes her heart
becomes 
her.
no mask, no chameleon shifting 
bowling green to evergreen to sapphire blue 
her
throw the chameleon to the fire 
and 
hold-fast to this tenuous thread of now 
hello cherry-amaranth heart
hello. 











Thursday, June 28, 2018

removed

i have found a bolt of cotton to wrap about me
between bones & blood
along the meridian lines
around
around
tucked against a saffron dawn
muggy & dense this day
as i sit insulated by this renouncing
this suffrage pressed & pounded

sometimes
the softest things are the hardest to penetrate


did you know the first desserts were candies of raw honeycomb & dates











( i agree with you )
maybe it's in the knowledge of both:
the customary & the confection
that lets us consider the potatoes & the pie
wholeness is found in their contrast
the m.c.escher of it all--how while examining one thing
you suddenly realize
something else lies there beyond that line--
no negative space
both equally important in their own unique way
the grace & glory of the everyday vs. the stuff of dreams
black & white
shadows & light
the honey-bee to the frog
the box of paints to shades of grey
the bruise & the blush
yin/yang
dinner to dessert
coming to love the contrast in life & love has defined the beat of my days
learning patience
and
how to fold myself inside out
tethering myself to the expected with a warrior's sense of obligation
the desire to be present
to the role, the rules & the respect to this place called comfortable

( which is only so ... )

all the while knowing that no one ever learns or grows in that place called comfortable
no one ever takes mighty cosmic leaps while in stasis
on the edge between the contrast is where the real journey begins
where bone becomes a blossom & where trust becomes a golden blade of sunshine
-- an apt description--
having to get to the other side & to love regardless
to risk playing the fool
to risk ego & significance
to love
through the stillness & the reality
excavating to the core of tangible while knowing there are things we can not see
and trusting that beam of truth
trusting the almost inhuman intimacy that wraps our moments in blue
trusting the pull, the surrender, the acceptance, the taste
the heat & the snow
trusting the contrast
the mystery
where wholeness lies...
obligation & release
shadows & light
fire & air
earth to sky
dinner to dessert

in the box of paints

296 days














these voilet-ringed hours
fierce & far-flung
missing becomes thunderous
needle
spinning
in direct proportion to the tangerine yearn
lines erase

love remains the same ...


Friday, June 8, 2018

prayer #60718

Wish
there could be more equanimity
more amethyst mornings & feathered things
wish i could hum away the clouds that obscure
blurring
joy from your mind
wish there were no poverty
of things that darken & blind
wish there were no disparity
of perspectives shadowbox lines
golden echoes rising
slumber sweet surprising
breezes tempered
waters stilled
soften
listen
filled

We come with diamonds rough--hidden
buried along sinew & bone
we strive for what is forbidden
nobody knows
the one thing more that
will break us
bend us
or
make us ...
soften
listen
still

Oh Child of the Stars
of what & who we are;
we are of
sky & night
tender green roots
in flight
dragons--orbs
vessel & spark
blue jay calling amongst the trees
a leaf
of dust
and trust

Love
softens
listens
love the wish

still







Thursday, June 7, 2018

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

Tuesday, June 5, 2018

60

i dropped my words amongst the cabbages & romaine on saturday
and
then
it rained
one inch
one sleep
filled with lightening's thunder
as the words scurried under the marigolds for cover
boom boom
they should have tried the basil as the leaves are wider
but words are sometimes at a loss
i wish they would discover the lavender or
perhaps
the orchard
where some night creature delights in the serviceberry's new leaves
light chartreuse with a touch of green
real green
as if dipped in eternal spring
my words are evermore spring
waiting to be found
consumed by the emptiness of three o'clock in the afternoon
and
tumbled
towards
the
blue blue sky  

scene three






















everywhere a tingling pocket temple
rock words paving
lines define
paths taken
under
the 

shine thrown from a moon beam
mirrored in ink waters possible
and
the quartz city rising rising 
lives scripted
outlined


except


one never can quite predict
the play
of
light 

shadow
and
the sudden pull toward a new line
a forgotten curve
heart blue silver kissed lightening



ArT by Marta Pelrine-Bacon
http://wordsareart.wordpress.com/

Monday, May 14, 2018

after the weary comes

i write yellow
butter-canary light
upon the page white
kestrel perched upon a branch
shielded from the rain
watchful dawn's sigh
algorithim why
jesses dangling
un-held
bells still
checkered daffodil
yellow morning flight 

cooling














Come
turn me younger
paint the inside of
my mouth with ink clementines & diamonds
drip sunshine blonde upon these lips 
come
sit it down
in morning's sweet marigold mist 
viola velvet sorrow'd taste 
come 
turn me inside out 
abide beside me fluid and awake 
allow the cut of joy's remembrance 
to close the wound 
halt the spin 
staunch the blood 
turn 
me 
to 
June 

Tuesday, May 1, 2018

may basket










it comes as a shock
this soft beating pink 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

while listening to a poet

I thought I lost this one,
somewhere between 120 degrees and its cooling . . .
rising from the bath it slipped on the white tile
and
lost itself during the thunderstorm
drifting suddenly back
to sit in the palm of my hand
quivering
trembling with
the question:
is the poem made better by tucking it alongside a life
to wait
to whiskey age
simmering
tempering
is this how real poetry is made?
honed
crafted
over time 
taken out--tinkered with
gnawed
and
mulled over
or
is it drop cut word-precise onto a folded napkin
found in your pocket
while sitting in a lime & stone time-traveled church
listening to Ted Kooser speak
hours before the thunder comes

Monday, April 30, 2018

April Twilights

To the arms of Edith I cling
as a thistle to wind and weather
of soil I taste--
salt-dirt upon a tongue weary of said wind
Spring here-
a crucible
one moment Winter
one moment Summer
and back
again
before noon
during which we will scoop a plate of tender-rich ham to lie
besides field corn and snap peas
bright the dust-motes in slanted rays of shine
hollow the hand but ripe the heart
linen has no give and take
only take and take
this weight of mine which I drape upon shoulders thick
and loved
by
her 

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Pratum Leporidae











Home Home on the Range
Where the Deer & the Jakalope Play

Oh Leporidae of prairie & plain!
vigilante rabbit-banty
grown unfettered under western skies
vast
endless
vista
from horizon to horizon unbound
antler crowned
companion of bovine & ovis aries & stars

giddy-up-hey-di-ho
yippee-ki-yay

here we go!







April 5, 1962

Hearing his name
evokes a wild tender loss
the last imprinted image still & gone
yet in this late April wind,
I call his name for winds sake
Percy,
just to anticipate his ghost coming
there is the smell of turned earth & lonicera
spotted-gray hidden behind paeonia waking
not fazed by roses thorns or rubus brambles
I am fazed
so will stand in this wind
under this sun
against the white birch tree
and
drink in the rebirth of viridi




Among the Narcissi - Sylvia Plath
Spry, wry, and gray as these March sticks, Percy bows, in his blue peajacket, among the narcissi. He is recuperating from something on the lung. The narcissi, too, are bowing to some big thing : It rattles their stars on the green hill where Percy Nurses the hardship of his stitches, and walks and walks. There is a dignity to this; there is a formality- The flowers vivid as bandages, and the man mending. They bow and stand : they suffer such attacks! And the octogenarian loves the little flocks. He is quite blue; the terrible wind tries his breathing. The narcissi look up like children, quickly and whitely.

Friday, April 27, 2018

5 of Cups


















transparent
thin & feathered in shards of sapphire
sharply observational
all that I am rests easy deep inside this cut-chasm of quartz moonlight
basking in the resin of stillness
speech is sorrow pink
extraneous
ahh --
  this
    oddly
      sacred
           night
falls
lights upon skin ice-fire melting
one cup remains
one cup to hold truth's sun
sacred parchment golden & bound with paper-dragon-chains
pause
breathe the thread of ruby-fire that binds my throat to the fist of my sex

if
I
allow

if I choose

choose the pause
choose this amber intent
the pause takes a soft turn
two steps
stop!
pause
slip inside this cashmere nectarine
where
vulnerability hides
wrapped--folded
gifted






Thursday, April 26, 2018

tacitly
















upon her back 
flat and still between the cool sheets staring up at the ceiling fan and the ceiling painted grass green thoughts spinning round and round and it was like spinning round and 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 and 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 she saw 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 and earth all floating by random and transparent the smell of pristine baby skin and the peach-fuzz feel of her hair against her lips smells of tabu blended with cigarettes and pine 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 a surprising bolt of thunder and lightening as it played outside the window allowing his voice back in to infiltrate her bones and fear fleeting gusts of electricity his weight upon her hand
slipped underneath his thigh in his car a sudden blade of pain sharp and resolute making its home nestled in the bones and sinews of her soul


patterns of moonlight on blue snow 

welcome pain welcome kiss welcome the taste of him honey swirled heat his hands
vivid and distinct  each memory encased in gossamer yet rendered in wire and bound up with a fragile reflection that resembled the configuration and rhythm of a knowing heart

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

don't feed the wildlife

wildlife

wild
life:
could be dangerous to your ordinary

you may find a mandala burned into your soul
resembling the Ghost of Jupiter Nebulae
compounded
by a road rash upon the palms of your hands

don't be predictable
don't be an asshole
be curious
be kind
learn to lean in with awakened mind

wild
life

find the amber nugget of today
open your hand
and
blow it away


Tuesday, April 24, 2018

JSB

You.
filled the air about you with
cigarettes
and
summer
your words were your work
your laughter a providence of eternity
steeped in scotch & soda
your blue eyes clear-seeing-truth-seeking
everyone's friend, everyone's brother
my father
who would sit up all night to watch
lightning & thunder
protected
loved
respected
lifted

You.

I believed you immortal
until the very end
when the coolness of your skin
bruised my soul
leaving me breathless
you left me on a morning in October
emptiness became the air
sorrow my prayer
an ancestral charm dropped from the heavens to land
upon this phoenix heart
in summer's endless blue land

fierce love rising





Monday, April 23, 2018

before you go

You told me that you loved me
while
I was listening to Between The World and Me
by
Ta-Nehisi-Coates
your telling coated me in armor Jupiter thick
tasting of vanillahoneycherry pie
this telling carved a notch in the inner rings of pink beating tissue
and soothed the scarred edges
quieting my ghosts and tempering the blue

have a good day darlin'
... see you come the moonlight



Saturday, April 21, 2018

the kind



i am not the kind of girl with a golden heart and wide open arms
no narcissus, no contrite orchid blooming
I am not one who coos at babies and vulnerability 
am not of pink bows and kneeling in pews alabaster 
too much love burns the kindness and soft spots 
too much bruise thickens the viscera and sharpens awareness 
no lace, no tempered pane--no black and white 
gray is the tea I brew, the color I wrap about these bones 
contrast defines, knowing binds 
no sympathy for the devil, no hymns to the heavens 
I am not the kind of girl who opens the door without thinking about the door 
for a thousand and ten years 
so if you're waiting ...
learn a song and steal my burnished heart 
with your unbridled burn 
with your hands for craft and edges enfolding 
with your sure-fast gaze for a thousand and ten years  
I am not of pepper, monster trucks and short shorts 
no black-velvet-elvis upon my wall
no tether to the birch of a smokey mountain morning 
hyacinth nectar tethers me 
something better wakes me 
what drips from these arms is 
not moved by the ordinary 
not stilled by love 
I am not the kind of girl who believes in temperance, jesus and circuses 
I am not unlike the honey bee 
honey bees cling to the sweetness, the sting and the soar 
of wind and weather 
and
the better than love kind 



one spring day in winter when

Is hard to write of sorrow that
knows the depth of three thousand years
from stardust to rooted human
braided, branded, shackled and fallen
thriving on rebellion's call
Oh! the mercy and grace of compassion's armor
truth feather wings
slick with sweat
and the blood of pathos
no reason
unreason
cooling tides of design
here within this sculpted heart
of
breath and beat
we strive
Oh!
we strive
Oh fingers spill the words
that rest in bones white and weary of winters bite
awaken to the eros-ink of black night
thick
with
promise
and
coming moonlight ...

Oh sorrow, you cloaked, elusive imp
tucked into the maple's shadowed root
golden Narcissus arrow
this battle cry of equipoise
Oh!



Friday, April 20, 2018

Betrayal

a tumult of thunder west of the river
no dotted line no wasted time
sorrow's cut deep visceral wide
clouds darken--sun hides

ochre solitude defines time and will
lightning readies in grayness ripe
rolling chaos nears deep
pierced swiftly-sky weeps

a swelling sadness resides
no veiled shine beside
prairie fires alight the loam
love glides home



Thursday, April 19, 2018

For April 19th



rambling easy
emotion bleeds enchanted milk
from a porch light in space
pain ricochets
against
the
sudden awakening to let go





From post: For December 13th ....




Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—


Yet could life and death not be the strength of breath
     One must be the very air
To never sleep perhaps the bitterest bite
     Fall and swell and fall endlessly--Oh! that sweep of faith
Do not so much as move or swallow as I reside here
Sacrifice the vulnerable--the softest gesture
     Of rain upon the fallow fields
Lying there broken with eyes of amethyst
Circle round the sun once more
     Dedication and Renunciation
To hermit myself evermore against sorrow's surrender
Silent hope of death's shores gazing
     One star--caught in one indigo moment stolen
Merely human this light be





Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art— 
         Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night 
And watching, with eternal lids apart, 
         Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, 
The moving waters at their priestlike task 
         Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, 
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask 
         Of snow upon the mountains and the moors— 
No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, 
         Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, 
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, 
         Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, 
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, 
And so live ever—or else swoon to death - John Keats 

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Ada & John

before i was born

in proper polished shoes
they walked
on a summer night
I wonder--was she wearing the red ones?
the red shoes-
they had a gold buckle
stockings
the girdle kind
a dress with a matching light coat
a hat
she had a navy one with an edge of veil perched on the side
was it that?
a peach
she loved blue
he
a dandy
gray suit
thin lapels
cuffs at the hem
tall
angular
they walked across Locust St.
down a few blocks south
to Dreisbachs' steak house
fancy
where he played poker
with priests & the proprietor
several nights
a week
in a basement kept
for priests & poker
he won often
dandy
he loved whiskey
tonight was a fine dinner
Ada & John
whatever the slight
a remark casually thrown
as they waited for a table
the comment to her
Irish
proud
and
poor
he knocked the man
thru the plate glass window

fancy




Monday, April 16, 2018

home

hollers
whoops
lasso loops
marauding  miniature
wagontrains
cowboys, indians and fields of grain
i--the palomino
    (horse of Chief Sitting Bull)
    (of course!)
Cherry Maraschino
wily, fierce prairie steed
pony of heroic deeds
giddy-up red rover!
send childhood right over
trains, planes & meadowlarks
hide-n-seek long after dark
mom whistles
past rooftops--river thistles
dinnertime
piercing-shrill--fine
TV--music always on
Beatles, Peggy Lee, Sinatra songs
voice of dad ... mom
souls essential golden balm
Oh! .. to be six evermore!!
come back to me
1964







Saturday, April 14, 2018

medra



to see a teacup;
inhabit vessel'd fragility
porcelain to stone
establishing boundaries between worlds
water & wealth
grain to gold
hollow waiting

to see a hammer;
discovered tool
of
trade or tempest
destroyer
creator
we hold these truths
precisely poised

to see a seagull;
empty
untethered creature
compassed to ethereal imaginings
searching for shore & sun
finding only solitary vastness
blue

to see a ballet slipper;
ribboned feminine
inhabit vessel'd fragility
precisely poised
ethereal creature

becoming something more













Friday, April 13, 2018

once in a blue moon

Perhaps it was the moon -
disingenuous fool!

secretive intentions
allowing the scalding drip of a thousand lightning strikes
upon fields awash in violet chants
each
marked by a single white birch cake
and
velvet paintings
Elvis
and
sleeping dogs in moonlight
waking
to
thundersnow
by eight o'clock tonight
one, two, three, four
a penny thrown against the door
melting to sky
overcast
and
doomed by forecast's gloaming
Come!
Waltz me into the frail blessing
of
Mad Hatters & cats

timeless cooling















Thursday, April 12, 2018

the color of the sky on the river in April

The river curls east and west from this bridge overlook rippling swooshing river rushing underneath the dancing wings and chattering calls of a hundred thousand sandhill cranes waking from their overnight roost between the banks of pale golden fields waiting for their plows & seeds as these red-capped ethereal birds wait for this pastel morning to welcome the sun.
The rattling roar of life grows colliding with the scent of day spring's soil warming earth warming pale yellow stalks brush grassland sweeping against the cottonwoods and pines teasing the pale dawn with branches budding marsh shores teeming with these primal gray forms

swelling burst of joy
tattooed resplendent thunder
feathers rise to blue

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

a day in June

I walk in gardens
replete with forgiveness & daffodils
cedar wax wings reside upon white birch branches
outstretched to a fading opal moon
melting into this cotton morning
memory dust
drifting into corners bricked--shadowed
no regret amidst soil turned
on that warm day
a week ago
a year ago
a breath ago
lined golden & apricot
there is a sparrow in my coffee
a cup half-full of equal parts honey & darkness
left forgotten under the yew
hyacinth bones become sun become the forecast
of rain
by wednesday

here
I am here

as sky awaits the blue





Tuesday, April 10, 2018

glancing

Which bird sings first...
here in the darkness of morning
six twenty-five o'clock
no Sun
yet
winking peering over the horizon
one bird singing
robin--wren--cardinal--jay?
a tint of peacock blue against the black blackness of night
from the east a softness rising
neighbors' lights;
one, two, three then four
behind windows where the tumble of waking
occurs with coffee & breath
more birds join the branched fray
heard
thru windows closed tight
(twenty-eight degrees feels like nineteen)
i listen
Ah! a richer blueness now--indigo
a fire lit
warming dogs with no intention of beginning their day
slumbered & tucked
prussian blue fills the sky outside
domed perfect in its endlessness
birds still their song against this brightening
bird-self-conscious?
bird-chores take precedence over song?
suddenly lapis
i rise from blankets & dogs & weariness
deep breath stretching
a yellow finch lands upon the closest tree
curious--bold but quiet
shaking off the dark slumber
this day unfurls its call to movement
of breath
of bones
of birdsong beginning once more
a westerly wind now rousing these naked April branches
cerulean becomes this day

(pretty sure it was the blue jay)




Monday, April 9, 2018

seminal

hard to see a thing one way
a single brushstroke becomes
a
sky
a sky over river rolling
over plains waking
over a road gamboling thru to rock & water far
where a single feather found after the cat has been gone for 22 days
(so he had no part)
no single brushstroke
to account for this one feather
here
a blue jay's blue-striped element
a single brushstroke
one of a sky of birds
over this earth
turning rolling holding its place against
the
endless cosmos
of
endless constellations
star to star
dot to dot
sky stories
where the cat had no part
he has been gone for 22 days
a single brushstroke
a road
a feather
a sky
a place / this earth
to star
to cat

22 endless days 

Sunday, April 8, 2018

weave of who

that which makes me vulnerable
also makes me strong
held against the wind of day
the struggle becomes the song

of weight
of weather
and of heart
kept in check by fear
measure each & every moment
against love's atmosphere

grandmother--poet
broken or whole
each mask dissolves in rain
the sophomoric nature of this verse
belies its visceral refrain

unbuckle the light
that lies in lies in old bones
and grab the golden moon
the conversation between my ghosts
will be over at half past noon




gloaming












circle skirts & purple sky
ring around the moon
we contrast our fringe against the core
to down reluctance by noon
pow wows
pinecones
smoke-tales told by night
thunder rolls across our path
yet still we do not fight

fight
to
reach
and breathe
and grasp
to wipe our vision clear
of knowing the common dance that ties
each
to our darkest fear

kick up the dust--ride 'em fast
bareback 'neath shooting-stars
smells of prairie, wheat & sage
enhance the sweat & scars
haunting ghosts of rattlesnakes
and echoed sky divine
mark our passage here tonight
hold fast against the thyme

circle skirts & purple sky
ring around the moon
coyotes & bone & earth collide
to invite
the fire
of
June




Friday, April 6, 2018

orientation

if
our world
our ordinary hours

becamesuddenly

pǝddᴉlɟ

where

we

w

    a

        l

            k

                e

                    d

upon ceiling-floors adorned with more

(or less)

popcorn-textured-coved-traced-fresh-broken-white-trimmed-fractured-hole-whole

light fixtures at attention

hands & heads

ᗷᑌᗰᑭ

against the  uʍop ǝpᴉsdn

tables, chairs, dressers, sofas, beds, ottomans, cedar chests, islands, appliances
carpets & rugs woolen wonder

d       n       l      n
   a         g     i        g

OoH how delightful

our world

would

be

if we could 👀

Thursday, April 5, 2018

An Sgrìobhaiche Gàidhlig














Sacred wandering calls the year away from amusement 
a glance at the world outside reveals contrast 
wild these 60 years wrapped this snow mantle 
draped in grace and burn 

One never anticipates the gap 
wild we came here 

Mar chleasaiche-sorcais ann an cartùn-TV,    
a’ dàibhigeadh le snasmhorachd ghlan
bho chòmhnard bheag 60 troigh a dh’ àirde
a-steach dha ghlainne làn bùirn.

Ri bas-bhualadh sgapte
bho chorra ròn.

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Perseus


Under a waning moon
within the span of twelve hours
he is lost to me
pressed and folded somewhere in this clear night
six days until the first of Spring
too cold to wander these rolling cracked sidewalks
in this hundred-acre-wood
of pines
and
lindens
waiting
waiting
no wind rattling their barked attention
no rabbit nest to pirate
as tender toys
(he would plop them into the bathtub) (super)
no warming earth to cradle his slumber
no gardens lush with secret hiding places
too brown
too cold
too winter
too void
too bare
of green growing things

I walk the sidewalks before the sun comes
worry bundled in layers of old wool sweaters
whisper-shouting his name against this quiet darkness
walking
walking
shuffled steps
walking
the tan neat bungalow to the east
the white stucco two-story on the corner
turning back west to the victorian corner house trimmed in sullen amber
folks quietly waking--rising in these hours
beyond the tan
beyond the white and sullen
even the stars are stilled
so quiet out--no birds yet trilling their song
no bluejays, cardinals or Carolina wrens
silent & soft this morning
walking closer to the houses
pressing my unease
into
slender bare dogwood
ivy darkest green
maple
and pokey barberry sharp
listening for rustling and an answer not coming

I found him beside the brick steps
upon the daffodil blades
at 11:11
somnolent--sprawled
last year's colorless mulch mandala'd around him
as if merely asleep beneath a tempered Sun
his gray coat lush--perfect in its felineness
begging to be stroked
held
gathering him in arms suddenly sure of function
his form unyielding
his stillness a forlorn cradle
Perseus never graceful
yet now
an exquisite grace
I carry him a few steps
walking in circles on the front lawn
grass pale-yellow-green beneath every step
this dance of despair and grief
rising
rising
crashing
rising
nobody notices
no one is home in this neighborhood now
but I want someone to be home
to acknowledge this passing
this infinite impossible hole cut across the fabric of this March morning

suddenly forsaken



Tuesday, April 3, 2018

submissions accepted until noon

Saturday Survivors
China Flight
Kansas Waterslide
Up On High
Deserts & Dog Rattles
Sigh
West Falling
Year in Bloom
Under Worth
Herringbone Will
Wide Tomorrow
Rising Jill
Blueberry Crow
Gospel Road
Hill of Sparrows
Door
Sally Wrench
Glassmore
Plaid Cake
Horn Cumulous
Incept Moon
Push to Amber
Gossamer Hewn
Wool
Saturn's Bite
Axter Biscuit
Gulp Fish Blue
Koan Jay
Glue
Halcyon's Languor
Only After Kelter
Hottack
Fisherman's Boo
HoneyRIse
KooKooKaChoo
Dashly
Poptart Surly
Chasing the Leopard Tree
Haver Pie
Sorrow's Quiche
Wily Bye
Gone Elysian
Vagary Gray
April Come the Elephant
Spring Thoreau
Usual Fernweh
Bungalow Poe
Sweat Monkeys
Weary Rebellion
Petrichor
Come the Ophelia
57
Gossamer Tequila
Java Branch
Late for Tuesday
Musty Oatmeal
Kilt Fire
O'doodle Pixie
The Dead Sapphires












Monday, April 2, 2018

paraffin & pigment

I will be a 72 degree day at 3 o'clock on an October afternoon
lying against you like Levi 501's
with one oval warm spot on the back of your right thigh where my hand fits
perfectly
I will be sunshine warmly speckled-brilliant on the weathered wood floor
as wind whips & shimmers the maple outside
I will be a bike ride sleek & silent
  beating back the wind & the world like a 13 year old superhero named Lilly Alabaster
I am music coming from around the corner, down the hall
music that hits the sternum
  scooping a trench straight to the heart and reaching
                 down
                          down
grabbing a hold
of
your golden core

(always the music)

I will be sheets cotton-cool-crisp that toss & invite
I will be rain pounding, pounding down intense & grey
with a thunder-green petrichor rising
I
will
be
and
I will not for one minute forget the sureness of an embrace or the roller coaster ride promised
  or the wonderland of this path
nor
will I demand maple syrup on a July night as
monarch butterflies find their home
in December
I am the gypsy-child-joy of hot chocolate
  wool mittens & rosy-cheek-snow-fort-building
the gingersnap of a winter walk
iridescent
and
glimmered--pearly-blue
magic & timeless
I am the view looking up thru Christmas tree lights from the floor
and when it is seven degrees below
I am flannel-sheet-surrender
fuzzy & plush like new white socks
  surrender's silence
here
perfectly outlined
pulled
scored
tucked
wrapped

She is
(you know)
more than you can carry upon your feathered back
unable to be pressed between pages
ink doesn't take to her opal skin
she flies against dread & discomfort so--
against the darkening that has pierced her bones
so long ago
so long ago
tempest & thyme'd

she flies

Defined