Tuesday, January 27, 2015

smoothed

beneath the dapple blue
she lived 
daffodil pierced to sunshine 
copper freckled 
immortal
a penny at the bottom of a pool in June
spark
sparked
sparking
did I say immortal?
everlasting fullness 
dipped in the glimmer of Nebraska afternoons 
and
pony perfection 
on fortunes wheel she turns
worn
weary
waiting 
lucky in loves lonely opalescence 
pearled & tossed 
upon the river stones 
to 
inhabit the spirit of white birch trees in February 

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

mercury voices



in the stillness of this evening
cool not cold
breeze not wind
standing 
under 
this
black-velvet wonder dome
black as a wet river stone
a corvids feather,
black as grief
black as an Elvis Cadillac 
brilliant diamond night 
stars crystalline sharp
regard ....
brilliant
standing
veiled 
myth & rhyme
everything; 
god-gaia-oneness, beauty
forgiveness, need & hole-ness
winter's quickening pulse
and the rightness of one
. . . this is my intimacy, my touchstone
standing 
in the stillness of this evening
under this black sugar sky
with the quiet acceptance that my north star is
where you are


Wednesday, January 14, 2015

echo


barberry wavers red whispers
wind falls from clouds gray from trying 
Venus inhabits my bones
as your words
stroke
the 
rise
I was born awake in moonlight 
upon 
the 
sill
of a bedroom window
in December
poised ....
still .... 
listening to the breath of stars 

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

nine to twelve to fifteen



filled you leave me
thrashing in my own skin against my felted nest
cornflower crinoline 
is this 
the pastel ribboned morning 
east to west beyond the maples & oaks 
chill snap chill snap 
quiet neighborhood hold fast to this winter sun 
this tempered land 
hold fast 

Elvis & Daisy ...




my child has a birth-day ....
and i am feeling the turning of seasons upon this corporeal-self ...
turning, churning, crashing, mixing & simmering ...
of
time
where does it go ?
is it all the same ?
whether one stands atop everest, hiking the trail, sitting in your purple comfy chair
or amidst the tumble of warm oceans ....
whether one is birthing a child, birthing a song, or dreaming of lost dogs, white sand & red dresses
sleeping, loving, shopping, fighting, remembering
lending a hand, creating a world, breaking up ice, breaking a heart
as we walk across the pages of our lives ...
it
turns & churns & tumbles about us in cerulean blue & amber pink washes of brightness
and somber shades of shadow & frigid cold
these legs have stood on mountains, worn tango shoes & gone barefoot in city parks ....
these legs have swayed to jazz & lullabies .... rocked his world
and tormented my own ....
birth ... days
earth ... days

time
is
it.
time
measured by sundials of wonder & wait ....
thru the kaleidoscope of days
we are all the same
yet .... in the
scat-tracings of our cosmic dust .....
can you see the heart-casting ?
some echo detected by an ethereal diviners rod about the root of ivory bones ?
the surprise of the perfect gift, the smell of pine trees, the thrill of touch & lost innocence,
the sensation of your child's prickly ginger hair upon your lips, the color blue,
that timeless snapshot from under the christmas tree when your are 6 as you look up into the lights,
the brisk crunch of snow, the smell of spring dirt, the feel of rain, the glory of storms
the delight of reading, watching, learning, eating red-velvet cake, feeling, laughing ....
the pleasure of friends & warm hands & warm beds
the truth of a song, naps & long-slow kisses
as we walk across the pages of our lives ...
time
endows us with the puzzle pieces
shrouded in fog & wind blown ....
but
truths & traces ....
of
velvet magic


Friday, January 2, 2015

attente


... don't know when it happened exactly
~ which hour of which day ~
the palatable exubruance & thirst for sun 
gave way 
to a lament for the moon

my movement
my being 
my hours 
spent 
in 
quiet unruckus'd preparation
for 
ducks-in-a-row clarity 
corners cleaned of cobwebs 
piles of life linear with logic 
dust swept devotedly 
from the totem objects of my accumulation 
flannel smooth
moonlight quickening 
tassels trimmed & pressed 
set free from their lingering gypsy dreams
as if .... 
should the wind be just right from that place of sun 
well then ... 
everything will be 
as if ....
I was never here 
or maybe 
my departure will come with
no burden
no adjustment 
or maybe 
I am just merely passing thru
pausing here 
     waiting ... ... 
for the 
just right 
wind