gray

Sitting
looking out the front windows to the south
tossing words carelessly around as I try and come up with something worthy
worthy of myself, worthy of your time & attention

You

my interior landscape is bleak
not cooperating in the least
words pinball thru mind;

carnal love, familia love, intimacy, knowing, trust, ease
truth
truth 

Outside

the wind shifts
suddenly lifts 
one of the dark motley gray branches of the oak tree
raising it from its resting place into a patchwork section of 
sky
and I see it

There

in the contrast of this smooth alice-blue sky 
against the tattered & mottled feldgrau of the oak

in the electric alchemy of two things;
the colliding line where energy brings like energy

the cosmic ouroboros completed

humans believe in their whole & their true
when myth & grace teach us blue

fragmented little beasties 

the hungry take  the shiny ones break 
glass upon stone 

together 
as intimate pirates
 ... and when the chains & pulsing tributaries of our soul recognize a smell, a song, a taste of another to 'sing the body electric' home where kisses taste of mandarin oranges & lavender and sex smells of lightening

Well
then...

Contrast alchemy;

there is no inch of skin too sacred, no word too tender or too wicked
it is the narration of a very individual story 
told in the contrast & collide of open hands upon warm waiting skin
it is the give & take
the surrender of self to take in
to fuck stars & dazzle your own soul with peace and presence and the unchartered understanding of another exhausted transcendence as it follows one steps back to self, to earth, where separation can be another set of contrasts; full to empty, happy to void, fractured to circled wholeness

the closer to the fire one stands, the more insane the remainder feels

Oh! 

and that becomes a rub 
...to pull the alchemy into your soul
allow it to shift awareness 
to lean towards life with more of everything

Ah! 
that thread becomes the axis
holding the thread becomes your being
your seeing 
to carry the connection thru to the ordinary hours becomes your religion

If you falter, let go 
well that is a dark companion that is hard to fight
hard to quell its stench and temper tight 

So hold on

let the silver & mercury 
mix with sulfur & gold 
allow the richness of knowing to cool against the dark
guard against the numbness 
staunch the flow of blood from that gaping wound 

the collide

That rugged line of gray against the smooth alice-blue 

Alchemy love. 

spring

rainwindwesterwild

         coming-coming-storm


                           b  l  o  o  m  

between the roof & blue

dappled sunlight
no warmth brushed upon gray bones
with a smoothness belying the dark
wind steeps the heart
to wild

sunlight
parsed into the folds of memory divine
tinkers with the edges
until they are worn thin
by love

in moonlight
I sit amidst the shooting stars
of galaxies unknown
knowing this is made
in breath & bone
to beam wild
this heart
home

Sunday at five o'clock

this here
expectation perched as a wren upon spring
stilled story written between the spaces of a day

this here
fingers tremble on words dashed
and
floating past as skiffs of sun

will I be happy when it's done?
will I be content with the measure & mirth
of this here

whiteness tempts with its swallows of time
sucking every numbed & nuanced line
of this here

will I respect the pause, the rhyme?

no

this here is bleeding out in vapid technicolor
its emptiness
metapoem
mettapoem

this here
is nothing or all
black is black upon this white page
beckoning with impossible lips of the wren's song

Spring's call

XCVIII

In April when yet seem'd it the winter still
proud Puck did wonder and play at his spring
white vermillion drawn in every thing
bird's pied-flowers heavy with sweet spirit deep
lily's pluck tell of figures hue
or they dress'd nor sweet and nor different
absent in you of the summer's shadow story
tell me, smell the odour of that sweet rose with a youth
as I did trim from you all the delight
nor yet have I been in the lap with these
that and them
hath I make him nor any that lays in the praise
laugh'd leap'd away from him where
they were but of you
they grew

could Saturn make your pattern of all those after you

Wisteria

It is the season of wisteria,
watching for a greening, emergent tendrils of twining stems violet.
Waiting,
it is the season for waiting,
watching,
listening to winds shifting from north, to south and back again.
Cool-warming in this season of waiting.
Wisteria mysterious spring spell-caster.
Your seed pods a purple bane bright against the sun.
It is the season for the duality of the greening, emergent
energy binding to winter's traces. Wind bracing comes
carrying dust & delight & dandelions in drifts of
greenish growing scents. Senses explode in the conscious
wait & wonder of the season of wisteria, watching the shadows of
the day dance
against the sunbeams of warmth, waiting, watching for
more.
Day dance, night entranced.
Conscious, curious expanding green,
demanding attention to the twining, the bine
of the bloom & the vine.
It is the season of wisteria.
It is the season of more.

drala

dancing upon my skin

dust motes bite upon cardamon bones 

jeweled glimpses of always

shadows 

light

the pace & breath of now:

yellow shirt

plaid mini skirt 

untucked hope
yearning to collide against 

1,440 minutes 

of 

summer's blossom 

sun thirsting

thunder bursting 

windows down

to Springsteen, Dylan, Taylor 

hand tucked beneath your blue jean leg 

forecasts a succulent promise 

your skin drips vanilla-nutmeg 

upon my tongue 

capture me for twenty-four hours 
new day in summer's heat 

lemonade cooling 

slow moving 

green grass wafting to welcome 

backs arched 

arms grasping 

breath barely lasting 

listening to crickets

under a firefly strawberry moon

we drink

we laugh 

we do

for 

every every 

sweep sweep sweep  

of the second hand

can we slow time's sweep?
can we cherish the sunbeam of breath deep?

before we know--molecules slow
the rising scent of earth & forecasted autumn rains

awash in apples crisp falling
calling the cooling 

cooling 

richness clasped to clary sage 

leaves they turn brown, red, gold
suddenly cold 

chilled to winter's gifts--

bracing wind to arms embrace 

snow leaves a trace 

falling 

falling 

to these 1,440 tick-tocks of Fleming's clock 

take in without clinging

taste all--celebrate touch 

collide beyond breath
-not asking much- 

these stolen daydreams 
shadows & light 
sun returns 
by
fires chance....

dance