Thursday, December 31, 2015

unlocked

i tell you of my day;
the turning of rain to frost upon twilight's windows
the fierce duality of my contentment
the friction of bone upon sinew
i tell of the taste of field honey on my tongue

i ask you things temporal & temporary
things eternal & of dark mystery
things rising & falling
things unspoken & chanted under stars
i ask for morsels of your ordinary

i sit in patient presence of the sublime
transcendent love
transcendent simplicity
transcendent songs
i sit with you in the secret garden of evermore 

legacy drifting

i had the heart for circus tents
stripes & poles & elephants
building up & tearing down
riding trains from town to town

i slept in garrets castle walls
wrote by candles thru wars & falls
wearing lace & leather vests
secluded, deluded by nature's scent

i had the legs to scale great heights
breathe the air of mountain's starry night
spread these arms to vistas high
feel comet's rush and touch the sky

i toiled in fields on soldier's thick
patching, repairing--holding the sick
ancient wisdom in hands small
what lies in men i knew it all

i had the soul to change the world
to step off edges wings unfurled
fearless & flying & comet bound
to leave the earth more green, more round ...

instead
...my life lies ordinary
tucked & tended--hardly legendary
yet each moment holds opal-chasms-delight
each breath cradles day's twilight

we strive to leave a mark, a talisman
of our solitary time here passing
each thread, each hand, each song is spun
to connect us all to the path of the Sun

i had the heart for circus tents ......

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

where it takes you.

two
panes
of
glasses
lying
parallel
to
another
suspended
in the white-late-december-almost-there-almost-not sky
frosted gray blankness rising
to
a secreted waning winter moon

between them
miles of stark cold nothing-everything
two panes of glass
slick
smoothed of want
pressed in transparent pain
wakened to knowing
love resides
in
the
space
between
snow falls silently residing in
the smooth corners of
whispered delight
press
hold
cold becomes the night
becomes the glass
rise
hold
darkness the great equalizer
and
we stars


Monday, December 21, 2015

solstice



there is something about the light at five o'clock that
moves - transcends - transports
to some ancient mind-place of aquamarine-glossy-greenness
peeling from a 107 year old hallway smelling of cinnamon, shalimar and cherry pie.
this five o'clock twilight shimmers in wakefulness as toes skim carpet
lined by narratives of purpose and tomorrows,
while from a window violet-mullioned,
a single skeleton-elm beckons thread-bare and eager
for a butterscotch-honey connection on the corner of
11th and this cold moon
wake me to this light always ...
wake me to winter's slumbered quest to gaze out the
frosty windows to the ice highways of the plains where river valleys sing of loneliness
sing to me of soul laid hollowed and milk-yellowed to the lily-green of spring
this light … 

Thursday, December 17, 2015

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 a turquoise coat
the moon rose up
and captured the night
as the 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 the dish whirled about with the 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 it's own
and there on a bergamot bed
nestled amongst deep-scarlet silk
was a clock with a dragon's head
a clock of the finest silver
knotted in the finest weave
tic-tocking & churning on wheels & cogs
tiny hands of an amethyst vive
the wee dragon's head
shimmered & shone
with scales of deep forest green
it's eyes were of snow, with lashes of gold
the most mischievous smile ere' seen
then the dragon peered out of it's nest of silk
and yawned with might & sleep
the eyes did blink
the nostrils flared
with his wings unfurled he did sweep
out from the clockworks !!
out from the chest !!
the 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 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 it's quiet, soft space
breathing & dreaming of far off delights
and the piece that fills a 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 . .

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

post

windows hastily opened
apple cider afternoon
mercury-dripping
dipping to cool words inked
black on white
cut-out in ice perfections slice
in five/four time
cool me ....
cool
so neatly the burn lies folded under the tabernacle pillow
gray velvet peeking
broke open by words
dripping--
black on white on wildly beating hearts
five/four time crashing about the overcast day of gray
open
cooled.....
breathing
frost forms upon the glass
cool me


Monday, December 14, 2015

hollowed ground

figs lay there upon the ground;
marzipan & acorns
a fairytale of scattered words
to the fallen frost
a promise
a night
a light
spoken charms & curses
steam rising from fermented dreams
bundle up tight
tangle the wool-weave tight to your heart
stand with me
upon this sacred place
stand;
broken whole
tokens of mystery
taken
shaken from
your fist--sugar-dusted figs thrown
offered to stars
as talismans
a promise
a gift
to a winter moon shrouded by clouds & expectation
hidden from sight
ringed by particles of golden light
this night



Sunday, December 13, 2015

brew . . .



Wolfsbane, salvia & saffron thread
3 breaths of moonlight as I circle the bed
Polaris softly beckons on galaxies shore
As Venus brightens & sits at my door
Copper & bone true mordant tight
Pain sharply nudges to awaken our flight
Yew, primrose & bittersweet plucked & bundled up
PatrĂ³n & Melissa blend in my cup. . .
Drink it up!

Happy-ness waits on edge of rich teal
As we punish self for crimes temporal or real
Let go
Acknowledge the toll on your heart
All glory, divinity and
the missing part. . .
Humanity is born from shadows & bright
Happy is worthy of a soul-saffron fight . .
So,
Drink the cup of forgiveness steeped in dreams & rite
Raise your glass
Drink the thunder
and step into light. . .





Thursday, December 10, 2015

through the woods of you

lost i have always been
sweet cherry basket left upon the forest floor
abandoned solitary delights ...
tempting to creatures wild & determined
why have i waited here for so long
for you to bite?
what is the pull?
the intrinsic desire to be gobbled whole ....?
come to me thru your brambles and thorns
come to me with edges raw & blackened
your dark fits felted within my light
my light....
come
bite
as i grow weary & cold with no skin
to wrap these silver bones
lost?
found
sweet cherry winter waiting 

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

maintenant

... brushes against me
like violet tulle upon skin left in the sun too long
startling in its edges, wakeful in its harshness
i am poised on the late day cusp of nearness
closer to the fire of being
resonating to the beat of living
waiting no more for the knock upon my door
upon my heart
i am the door
i am the one i've been waiting for ,,, 

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

....from the other side

here
the view vast
soft blue cold
with wildness upon my tongue
tangled contentment
soft blue contentment
this winter's afternoon
restless yearning
held in by the hands of time
hands of my own choosing ....
palliative amusements linger over licorice tea & marzipan tempests
sweeping winds carried on the backs of nuthatches
soft blue cold
wrapped wool knowing  
sing to me of water and dreams
sing to me of winter's bite
hold me in golden arms that smell crisp & ripe
sing to me of home
of ancient fields folded
soft blue cold
this view from the other side ....


Monday, December 7, 2015

JUXTAPOSED


There was a time
when i was content to be suzy-chapstick-shortcake
butterfly pink
frosted
pretty polished shiny
as the chrome on that 1958 beige rambler
that sits idle in that driveway--
there
there ....
perfect
forgotten
smelling like my mother's tabu & pendelton sweater
pearls & bonanza all wrapped up like a present ...
your present
waiting to ferment,
simmered .
age does that....
this time
today
now
i am gypsy-crazy
intently wandering for something dark & blue
my core of pierced truth
draped in broken fragments of my eternal pixie-vision
the desire
to stand awash in the blood, bone & breath of all that has come before
and all that lingers
pulsing beyond the borders of
this knowing
this time ...
awaiting only my own blossoming
dragon-blood fire thick & ethereal as an approaching thunderstorm
whirling
learning
growing
reaching
not content
not pink
but tangled in blues
greys ,,,
yearning into the far empty corners of my want
gypsy-crazy
as i intently desire .....
wakefulness

Monday, November 30, 2015

on waiting ...

before the blue-glass wall of you
unrecognizable i've become
perched upon a walnut branch
deemed muse
or
magician
by your tongue, by your hand....

let's talk about your hands for a minute, shall we?
how they are all i see when i close my eyes
strong, oak-molasses thick
i shall miss them most of all
i am weary of waiting

gather all my perched
     watchful minutes  --
alchemy them into ten thousand sparrows

waiting

for a thousand years i have waited for you to see me here
waiting behind the glass
watching stars, dust & shadows shift
settle
waiting
to dance, to alight, to spark, to fuck, to collide ...
waiting

snow falls heavy today ... and i will fly away from the blue-glass wall
of 
you


Friday, November 27, 2015

wrapped ,,,,



you tease me with your need, apples & emptiness
... struggling to hardwire
lounging there in yellow silk boxers 
against
your fathers blueprint--aging without remorse or awareness
-i hate football-
and struggle to understand my 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
(ultimately) 
love ....

Saturday, November 21, 2015

bleu

the cut of sorrow lies endless
azure tempered to the tilt of the sun
as it illuminates
grains & gravity
nothing is permanent
nothing is permanent
say it loud and forever long
until
the salt taste stills with water
water bright upon tongues too weary to speak of color
holding to songs rising , orange blooming in the west
love flowing unbridled by the tight harnessed tempest
of
yesterday's news
unbridled
unbuckled
reborn in the soft turning of leaves
aureolin to gold to carmine to gone          
daylight tempts expectation
of
a
kinder tide
a gentle nudge to dreams of
thursdays and cellos
pushing past the simple friction of time & breath
to wrap oneself in the depths of
moonlight, melody
to remember 

of nearly twilight

putting down the colored pencil
she took up the
cotton sock to darn a thousand years ago .... thread
falling between fingers alight
eager crisp persimmon possibility poured out of her folded
enfolded borrowed and stolen
she became the one holding the sock
the one holding the red thread
tendering the hole
counting the minutes until his return
forgetting the colored pencil
forgetting the open trees open sky smells of pine promise
pick up the saffron salmon pink
color this twilight
and
wait no more


Monday, November 16, 2015

buffalo plaid

that dream again;
cowboy bonfires
under novemeber moon's lament
laced & lingered
drifting
twisting to tumbleweeds
sweep me into the ash of hope
soothe the whimper of winds cold cold
touch the wool wet from promised snow
drifting
twisting
falling
I curl into the smoke from your dreams
always dancing to the song of stars


Friday, November 13, 2015

winter birds

the dismantled song of rusted broken things
standing solitary amidst the canary corn
bent, leaned and listening
to songs overhead
use swallowed by weather and worry
linger there awhile ...
until the November sun gleams
a bursting golden metallic promise
furrows of love
songs of birds
winter whispers such sweet undoing 

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

time signature










upcycling the empty hollow places to reverb with extended joy
into the parked-particled corners between sky & bone
heart thrumming to timeless 3/4 rythms
thrumming
thrumming
beat on
beat on
the sunshine of this day
this day
streaming
123-123
hearing the faint echo of some part left stranded upon a lichen boulder
face-up to the sun
as the whisper of wind & water empty me of all regret
123-123
i am full of aspen leaves, sorrow & impish possibility
this day
thrumming
fragility melts in the current ..

golden becomes me
123-123

white noise of an afternoon


perhaps it is the fly buzzing in the next room
against the dimpled glass
or
the echoing
buzz of the speedway 3.7 miles to the south
undercurrent becomes the undertow
distraction to pause;
pause in the paisley steps of the day
pause in the presence of breaths
pause in the wonder of gravity
lucky is the lost

Monday, November 9, 2015

weathervane

i should have woke you at the dark of three
to see if you still smell of woodsmoke & whiskey
to see if the warm of you radiates in your sleep
and if your hands can erase the doubt of me

i should have called when the leaves turned red
to hear that note of 1977 in your voice
to feel the static current of now pressed against my cheek
and to let my mouth go dry with the words you said

i should stand in the sunlight naked & fearless at two o'clock in the afternoon
to listen for the blue jay's call
and the rumble of being
to breathe with the westerly wind as it waits upon the moon

i should know if you taste of cinnamon & morning 

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

stretch

i have a remarkable ability to remain very present while at the same time traveling east in a direct
air-current line to where you are to sit in the warmth of your breath to inhale the very same air that you do while maintaining the illusion of presence and attention to all the things requiring said presence and attention as i lean upon the maple just outside my window feeling the harsh coarseness of its bark against the thin paper fragility of my skin and soul i can be tethered upon this land this life long enough to weave a coat from the tendrils of mind and memory tracing tracing back to you back to us and that day that you remembered remembered that we were always leaning one upon the other water to polaris fruit to hand board to nail ship to sea surrender to hollow skin to bark
amidst the smell of leaves burning hearts yearning hands leading souls all souls fly away to the point of ignition with light transfixed by the play of shadow and sun upon the very same maple's leaves turned to saffron sunshine cooling to the march of winter's breath stay with me
stay. with. me.
here against that solemn dusty bark stripped of clothes and artifice and the possibility of healing becomes a promise of illusion's hour 

Alice & the Hatter










alice lives in a room with no windows and doors
safe from her dreams, she can't think anymore
too caught up with pages and decisions bred ...
too unremarkable to know where to lay her head ...
anywhere she chooses ......
anywhere she falls
eyes closed upon the morrow ....
eyes closed forevermore ...
alice hides her face from all the swirling motes
safe inside her own life
alice dreams no more...
The Hatter plays the game 

with the smoothness of a king
all believing he is foolish
he is nothing what he seems ....
he turns his gaze on alice, there locked up in her womb ....
he toys with her affection
he steals a kiss and
soon
alice peers at starshine, there between the cracks ...
alice feels a stirring, and pushes something back ....
pushes with a strength no one thought she had
..... except for the Hatter 

who knew down in his heart
that alice was his truth, keeper of light & dark
sent to tame his madness, sent to still his tears
alice and the Hatter will be forever in the mirror ....
stashing all tomorrows, with dreams as old as time
tending their own madness
coloring outside the lines .....

Monday, October 12, 2015

the smell of leaves burning


Can a hole become art ?
to become not a hole, but something transformed
full & complete ?
refashioned with found objects; that silver monopoly dog,
blue bandanas, the sharp cut of sorrow,
cornfields & meadowlarked loss
autumn hued & weaved with blood-orange thread
to shuttered gasps & ooo's of admiration
can a hole be not a hole
patched with time & tender & song to mend it's fibrous fragility
looming itself into Indian sunset ribbons of amber richness
who am I to love so well, yet so wrong ?
but not wrong
more like that hole
strangely, ironically
comes
the startling realization that it has shifted
quickened & sharp
as
the forecasted boulder snow
self lies in the punched surrender to the puppet masters demand
listening & dancing to the bubbled needs of others
steadfastly refusing to howl at the moon & shine a light into the need
rake the leaves reverently into the
Hole
revolution is where ?
in the crumpled pages of secret whispers & timeless sureness
in the ability to recognize strength in weakness
and in the turquoise gleam of happy hanging in a thiefed reel
fighting for a heart-path is a wicked & quixotic endeavor
tempered by the accepted - righteous is not always so
loneliness carves it's own mask
as the struggle & pull of need creates red
welcome the rhythm of this night in
bits of story & stars
dance & celebrate the patched hole
gather up copper, bronze & scarlet-dragon leaves
fire it up
trust it's light

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

the space between

there
in the swollen space between crickets and cooling
comes the moment
of crystal presence
briefly glimpsed
we catch the flick of it's vanishing tail
like some humminbird-comet darting across the dome of day
gone
glimpsed
then gone ...
such beautiful quiet 

Monday, October 5, 2015

the edge of things ...




distance becomes blue 
seeping to bones of linen lost 
prism pressed in equations
exponentially greater than the speed of light
particles fractured into a thousand spinning suns 
ringing with the vibrations of whiskey & wait 
blue + linen becomes a softer blue 
content with the sun
and
these scattered dust motes 
of the far far away ... 






hand print














objects have always emanated a particle presence :
warm to cool 
porcelain cup to weave of linen
hands that trace the curve of a wall 
wood & weather 
the rusted thin wires of a birdcage 
yellow-parakeet-memory 
counters cracked with age and baking as 
heat & time 
wraps & welds 
fingertips roll across the corners of books 
dusty with captain kangaroo morning stillness 
tick tock tick tock 
the air we breathe
secrets locked ….
hold …
seek 

0 degrees ( deux )



empty
Mercury in retrograde
drained of everything but elementary desires
.... eat
drink
drink me ...
my smallness intrigues me.
i am invisible
hollow
orphaned from the moon and you ....
untethered and unbalanced
eat
drink ....
searching for definition
ANY definition !!
against the yellowed october leaves
of the
curly willow outside my glass walls ...
outside the definition of me
is it cold ? is it past ? are we there yet ?
this vacant inability to feel .
Mercury at 0 degrees .
pierce this numbness ; pull me closer ...
fill in the void with colored pencils, indigo and the scent of pumpkin ...
bounce me back to Jupiter
and the hope and
pinch of something true ....

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Castanea











spiny burr
clustered on the branch
tufted husk of pale armor
guarding the cream inner upholstered flesh
smooth softness
grooves adhered tight to pellicle
gentle pressure popping free
one, two, three
sweet fruits to hold
of
umber rich revealed
seed to ripeness
outside to in
spine to furrow
hard to smooth
captive youth

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

saudade


Aubergine mums
exploding in the shadow of the japanese maple
holly debuting with random pop-orb berries
promising
something . . .
time snaps into the rusted clockwork of possibility
steamed open
with no watermark of completion
no crimson waxed seal
tinkering with windmills & wildcraft
visibly stripped of warrior strength &
sage gypsy purpose
my tongue writing Monet visions
while my body leans into the stitch & knit
knit one pearl two
imagination felted & warm replaces
saffron heights of wonder & reach
marveling over the aubergine
but all the while, wishing for
the marigold ...

bird's eye view: history lesson re·dux

bird's eye view: history lesson re·dux: Oh Columbia!  -- imagined history of our ancients -- where is our emancipator of despair? bison spirit rising ,,,, compassionate libera...

Monday, September 28, 2015

half moonstone's throw ...









That coral-vermillion moon half ....
shuttered light-well to Oz
captivated me all night: 

being
driving
walking
standing
poised 

upon a ledge that has become comfortably edge-like
 . . .   what is it ?
is it Fall ... ?
ding dong the witch is dead fall ? 
no
it is more
this otherworldly tincture of days
this moonglow spell of night
casting ancient dreams from yellow school buses & winged horses
constellations shift shadows into suspended seconds
laced to underwear & footballs
casting visions
A longing to be 15 .. ok ... maybe 16
lanky & full with secret words of lace in my pockets
we kiss

in grass, on beds, on bikes, in rivers . .  because we are young
well,
you are 17 with tamed arrogance & mahogany bones
the milky way & every nasturtium belong to us
I know what you look like in mornings and can smell you on my fingers
innocence seeds trust long fired in the bowels of mordor & mirth
bodies are lithe & limber twined naked and easy
our tongues play cribbage against lips pink & curious & sure
paused on backs flat upon earth sumac-red-deep 

and
 ,,, softly
suddenly. . .
the electric panes of glass slide
revealing
home 

in
the moon 

Saturday, September 26, 2015

north-west-morning-light













Tepid, this day ...
hanging garden of fissured possibility
inked in spaces left by who i was
and
who remains …
fractured mist rising
from
an ancient cigar box
smelling of longer days
the hands of ancestors scoop under my skin along my bones
touching the hollow places
where i choose to linger
and
wait
for the righting of the moon 

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

equal night

crickets break the stillness
as dawn's mist settles between thick branches
heavy with the weight of you
somewhere to the west
         a dog barks
then stillness returns
morning's are like this --
pensive
sublimely tilted
fathomless
desire tips verdant leaves toward
winter's imaginary respite
soon ....


Monday, September 21, 2015

night

sensation sometimes disguises itself as sophomoric sentimentality
candy-apple brightness hurls along causing the hairs to stand
up
on your forearm
to the distant sound of crickets and cellos and bees
what is authentic movement?
the downward dog of you
glass crusted
crackled with the dust of unknown origins
reach beyond the tactile first responder
reach marrow deep to scrap the soul fibers of Jupiter
from your tongue
oh petty benign graze of presence ....
sooth the night wrinkles
draw a warm bath
and
sing to me
of
waxwings & marigolds

17

you are an equation of fire + blue
components missing
lost in the rivers of your storied rye attention
you are of will and red rock
fierce
soft
as somber introspection frees me from the cage

Friday, September 18, 2015

camped beneath the moon in september


somewhere . . .
a fire sparks
snapping open to the belly-sound of
moonbells & violins
dust spins crystalline
and
porcelain thins
willow sails lowered to
the drift & roll
wind out of the north, north-west
vellum held under my tongue
to melt into honey & rye
felted transience pressed between newsprint
and
pluto's apples . .
ladders of bone rise from the wallow & swill
sleep .... rest
gypsies dance upon your grave
and call you home . . .
call you home

Saturday, September 12, 2015

americana loneliness


walking in a wild place
gauthiers & glasses
oil dripped from silver pots
and
hands wet with dark molasses

steps are wild sleepy
hazed with dust & brine
coldness cuts straight to the heart
as rain & mercury-will collide

heavy seems the parceled bones
tender is the dream
gathering stories of fierce trembling light
nothing's ever as it seems. . . .

walking in a wild place
gauthiers & glasses
oil dripped from silver pots
hands wet with dark molasses

Thursday, September 10, 2015

rain like this

thunder becomes my blood in the thirteenth hour 
rolling without pause churning, angry 
rain my breath 
released to this downpour 
relentlessly vertical 
the only refuge under the shadows of trees
even when it fades 
the storm remains 



Monday, September 7, 2015

grasp and go .... on












i steal wonder from things
thiefed from transparent moments 
tucked 
between ancient vermillion hands
hummingbird to honeysuckle
butterfly on blossom white
small drops of water delight
from copper to cut
silverwonder presses down-down upon fingerstips 
stretched -- raised 
in rebellion to distant moons 
how can this electric thread be tamed? 
can this tempest be soothed? 
sun dripped through to spectrum's bone  --  
eyes to hear a cello's lowing pull 
ears awash with a thousand colors 
September smells of important things 
and 
the taste of wind docks upon my tongue 
as lips blush in constant anticipation 
breath sparks fire shadows 
to light to light 
heart's thunder thief 
stolen 
tucked
reeling
in 
this 
wonderspell 

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

the middle way

caught in tiny imperfections
stretched tight over inked narcissus pressed
        between
                  old panes of glass
on a summer noon tide
cracks
bends
breaks
awaits
... the rushing waters to smooth the stone fields
undo
rewind
hell bent
glorious ride upon the backs of a thousand songs
carry on
carry on


(Eext)











blue of the soft wild open
fill bones hollow'd
as violet hides in spectrum's shade
there,
beneath the oak branches
illumination softly tethered
sparrows ...
pull the sun into corners cut by time
everything sways to some silent melody
pulsed
pitched
as the neighbor's roofline
steep and treacherous
morning's anthem
to
wakeful rising
to
things empty & seeking
before the darkness of the night 

Friday, August 28, 2015

suddenly at three o'clock



sheets hung on a clothes line
tethered, tucked
drying
rippling
in this august breeze
grasp the corners
bring to your nose
inhale
this fresh-linen-sunshine
inhale
all that is held there
eyes close -- moment held  
perfection found
fresh summertime
ice tea on the back step
dog barks
sounds of children around the corner
breeze rising to the top of the hackberry tree
grass under feet bare
grasp the corners
one, two, three ....
three minutes of this moment

grasp the perfect corners


Tuesday, August 18, 2015

defining time with color in August . .




I was made to paint this porch

shades of gray & turquoise
melt in the summer heat
trimming in 
beadboard to panes
sweat
and
breath
and
brush stroke
the rhythm moves to the sound of sunshine
as blood & decision pump
in my heart

under skin
hot 

August hot 

sweat at the back of my neck feels like
time turning back
stilling the days
drenched in lucky 

I was made to paint this porch

Thursday, August 13, 2015

after the perseids on the plains














eastern sun upon the curly willow
green to green
as blue jay song lines the rising
a cool breeze
wakens trembling soothes the summer haze
a marked stillness bridges
from here to there from there to here
time
wakens trembles soothes
shimmers in the green to green of day