Wednesday, February 27, 2019

Do you see yonder ....

This morning
as the light grew
pink-hazed to cool winter sky--
lay thick thick as stone upon our 1936 windows
ice crystals awaiting their glazed scry
trapped against the dawn
and this
biting morning
what secrets revealed
what promise unfurled
in the trails of prism'd frostwork
abstract layers of frozen dreams & prophecies
paused & pressed

it is hours later
and the sky is the palest blue
the sun shines
and the frost has vanished
no trace
no revelation
no foretelling


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 


it is the poets that rattle the cage
that sing thru the fire silvered with rage
the poets;
with words for bones & blue sky for a heart
they light up the world as they fly upon larks
we travel thru time
on star-dust & coursers
with souls full of fire & songs about horses
veiled in complexities & mirth we do tell
of injustice
danger and
love's wishing well
so sing with a voice made golden by memory
ancient & telling, with a faint trace of rosemary
as earth's poets adorned in our tattered gossamer threads
we lean into winds blue-bitter & smooth
unfold our hearts
and await our true muse

Saturday, February 23, 2019

white on white

there is a place to lay it
here upon the white on white
cross-hatched text replete with pause
darting as gray finches about the birch
spilling seed from beaks too impossibly small to matter. Much.
feathers litter the ground
impossible to pick up with these cold fingers
as words so oft stall within their tips
paused--waiting for more air?
more feathers?
here upon this page I leave my emptiness, my fullness
sorrow & sight
wonder & weariness
a lament for the yellow-tinged memory of wind & weight
i have also dumped words as a velvet bag of marbles
sparkling, dull and difficult
into his capable-steeled arms
too cumbersome
too vined & untethered
too mercury-silver
forgive me
and thank you
there is a place to hold it
give it a name & pin it in place
only to lose it amongst the debris that is forgotten & frayed
there is a place to lay it
these words & weather
here alongside the fault-line of tender allowing
be mine
white on white 

blue of late winter

the sky sings with vapor trails
pulsing against the buried pockets of the Akash Ganga
sounding of brightness & cobalt mystery
bird-wing to particles of stars & dust motes
gathered under this dome of shifting cerulean
morning's haze veils the depth
banishing dark matter beyond our spiral care
falling, colliding, enveloping
listen …
feel …
the pressure of awakening rests
in the wired connection of the reach
wind sweeps out of the west :
warming the rise 

Friday, February 22, 2019

within the teacup

when it feels i no longer need the refill
tethered and bound
by airplanes & ground
when the day's map comes wrapped in linen winter
threaded upon the morning's fire...

i rest here
pressed between he panes of ice blue forgiveness
and flannel
a wall
thick with remembrance
and the smell of spring's promise
crystal chill-snap
bracing this white sky sunlight
to self