Friday, December 30, 2016

of light . . .










your watermark lies upon my thigh
parchment skin, burned edges dry
blue jay's call nestled on my tongue
damage wrung from
song of salt & stone
dreams of moonlight call me home

tattoo bands of evergreen
circle round the king & queen
days of tourmaline slip past
pearled fast--woven
hold to dormant rising tide
stories old--a thousand years to find

spin the bottle--throw the dart
by scent i knew your tattered heart
ancient magic cast the spell
amber dwells enchamtment--winds shift
lucky; the ones who fly
uncharted path in indigo skies


Wednesday, December 21, 2016

a walk in the woods on a winter morn

felted marshmallows lie upon my tongue thick
as a peregrine's wings
white-gold to blue to crimson shining
brambles of turkish delight weave about the
woodland
dangerous & tempting
as a cherry pie
come! come!
we require a rescuer
a savior
disguised as a bumblebee
with mighty horns of opalescent silver
come!
Oh, what tales we'll tell of this dark time
what bridges we will build to worlds awaiting
come!
upon my feet--
raven feathers cling to yesterday
hesitant
savoring the sweetness of memory
viscid
and
blue jay'd
(age does that)
(wisdom listens)
come!
lean upon my blackberry shoulders
rubus occidentalis
walk with me through
thicket & stone to taste
the salted sea
this coolness of a winter morning
come!
this drala path
this tender journey home ...
come!





time complexities of recursive snow algorithms



branched lace-wing longing
replete with the vessel'd trinkets of december
wind whips leaves to golden everest piles tucked along
fence lines

imaginary lines

bordered by ice ice baby

tasting of salted caramel waking-dreams
walking down the street
gathering wool & wonder

walking

wind again ....

from somewhere a song comes .... hardly discernible
over the expectation

wind again ....

bracing shards
press the chill to bone & breath
northerly wind

again ....

knows no whispers
carries no regret
means no harm

how sharp the spill the archer's cut
pierced
walking

lace-wing-longing

Tuesday, December 20, 2016

whisper song

Goldfinches sing against the sun
breath of light-yellow-pausing
the chatter of nuthatches
to this blue-jay-morning
trembling tenacious life
always brimming
singing
of this bright new day
of the shimmering-solstice-sun


Moon to last quarter square with the Sun


Thick quiet
stillness here . . .
reach
stretch
pause . . .
Snaps of cloud fall to earth
To 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
Breath of moon
Cut of snow

Monday, December 19, 2016

9:49 on a december morning















some days reflect white on white
white to brick-red briskness bites
as
clarity lingers upon the landscape of loss opalescent & pearled
knit-one-pearl-two
wind is still
snow shrinks to whisper pools of winter
softly it is childhood : folded in & dripping joy through holes pierced by an ache so large it fills the sky with blue blue rolled up & spilling upon land frozen & waiting ,,,,
knit-one-pearl-two
crispness becomes home becomes bone
as
a wren comes and sits upon this folded day
blue-blue rolled up & spilling ...


solstice

some days the brush stroke is wide
the paint layers upon the canvas fiercely
thick
bold
decisive
my grip sure
the paint blue
heaven becomes earth becomes heaven
another stroke
brings
the smokey haze of forgiveness
thicker
bolder
ridges reveal fearlessness
the space between
reveals
the sun ....
winter becomes heaven becomes earth
grip loosens
to the crispness of
becoming blue





Wednesday, November 30, 2016

flickers

When resistance lies vanquished
once surrender unfolds like a lark upon your palm
groundlessness rises
as tempest
as leaves caught in the north wind
swirling clockwise to
morning's first light

Winter sits watching for the vulnerable
biting
stinging with breath silver-blue
it felt so hollow
(initially)
the allowing
the lack of concern
swirling clockwise to
afternoon's light

Love stands alone
needing naught but truth
rock steady against the stars
grounded in cloud formations
and constellations
dance to the wind & weather
dance to the sharpness of known things
swirling clockwise in
the waxing moon's night



come the stillness of a morning ….















Take my fingers one by one and hold them out
away from my small unremarkable palm
paper-chained lines stretched taunt
against the gravity of this first-quarter-pisces-moon
pull my hand up
and
away from my body
up
up
as high & as hard as you can go
until
i am struggling to maintain my balance
rocking, weaving
leaning away from
your force
leaning into the white river birch
that runs along my spine during the winter months
leaning
until
i
surrender
to the prime meridian line
the polar field
of
you ...
crashing colliding collapsing
your thumb stroking, pressing my heart-line
resistance maple-syruped, viscous and amber
as a 3º morning when you were 10 and the world was ripe
and everything was yours and home lay
in the possibility of discovering that you are greater than your surroundings
and
that folded into the veiled crevices of your soul
dwell dragons, orbs,
tilled soil and milo fields,
sugar beets,
the sound of drums and yellow moons,
snake-oil, moonshine,
tooled leather, and a stone-will,
kites, strings of courage,
fire-miracles
and
mornings smelling of pancakes and dreams of sex
this morning ...
stars are still visible at 7:07 as the sun rises in a corona of
tangerine forgiveness
silent becomes the fear
easy comes the patience
knowing becomes the dance of connection
until the faint clear low of a cello is heard
vibrating
vibrating
vibrating
the cellular structure of nucleotides and ocean tides
against the current of ordinary
while holding a blue-jean-royal flush
and
a fugitive silver-scarfed magician card from
a golden tarot deck
take my fingers
curl them tight underneath your velvet-zeppelin-hand
take the cards and toss them to the swan nebula
you four-fold-warrior-truth-seeker-knowledge-giver
ya'aburnee-maker-self
leaning
leaning
into the urge to
take each finger
one by one and hold them out
hold them out
stretched taunt 
against the gravity of this first-quarter-pisces-moon
pull 
stretch
lean
collide
into
this
remarkable life


Thursday, November 17, 2016

when the moon opposes venus in capricorn

somewhere south of here, i became meadowlark'd
solitary sentinel perched on dawn's break
green grass, milo, cornsilk call
vastness unfolding
fog fills the frame tight
yellow-gray worshipper of sun's might
feathered flight

somewhere east of here, i became your lover
tempered by time's cloud ponies
stars and blue snow line our scars
purple the bruise--fragile the thread
cradling regret to the end of the line
rising electric to field thyme
we harvest the cost--we weigh the crime

somewhere west of here, i became water
polished aqua-sea-glass smooth
smelling of pearls, dust and salt
tethered to the wind
upon tides high crest i climb
finding my way by polaris' shine
landing upon winter's shore intact and divine

somewhere north of here, i am me
of meadowlark feathered bravery
of love--replete with cracks of pocked light gleaming
of water opalescent mercury seeming
to journey the bridled heart thru trails hardness
breadcrumbed by darkness
Ah, what bliss this sharpness!








Monday, November 14, 2016

on the vastness of being













up your gaze
to the vast blue sky
sweeping west to east
blue to blue
white to white
we become what we look at
blue to moonrise
white to vastness
we become
gaze rising
become


Monday, November 7, 2016

drought

indigo dipped
forgotten fragility in buffalo flannel
tucked and tattered to the nines
I am awake now
eviscerated by Bosch dreams serpentined & threaded blue
Who was I before this day?
How did I relinquish myself to the whims of weather
and men...
Who was I before you?
Is there a before, or merely an after ... and
where is the river to our place behind love's door
indigo dipped
The wind is stilled for now
for now
Fuck the wind and the weight of grain and golden sun
I am born ruby apple delicious and
complete
and empty
Yes,
Empty
except for the particles of history and
love
Love
Ah, the wind ...
put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day 
moments like these gleam with drala
and
Wind
Raining now ...
Miraculous how that changes
everything



Sunday, November 6, 2016

тоска











PAINT me a picture of dragons & orbs
weaved of the blood and the pain we've absorbed
lacquered in memory of fire & air
curled up fast asleep alone in his liar
persian & azure -  scales tarnished by time
smelling of nectar, snow & turkish key-lime
i stand at the entrance opal with shine

paint me a picture of loss & regret
the heart of a dragon will never forget
impaled by a brushstroke
twilight lingers crimson in fires smoke
as hearts synch in three-quarter time
this ancient twining answers all rhymes
and the cord transforms into silver-quartz-fine

paint me a picture consistent & true
of dragons & hollows & magic of blue
who sees the dragon & who sees the soul
transparent to all as trust is the toll
redemption is found in the hidden cracks of light
there in the twilight, we hold & we fight
to open in wonder & dance with delight

paint me a picture of dragons & orbs
weaved of story . . all light we absorb

Thursday, October 27, 2016

1492/2016

to not know the things we don't know
unconscious unconsciousness
masquerading as politics
doubled down to blue to black to brown
place my money on lucky number 3
where
intent lingers unchecked unopen unremarkable
uncoupled ignorance masked naively as an unplowed field
goldenrod trodden
thistle tall and forgotten
overgrown mythology of our milky way
buried in the linen bones of neural falls
white blinding
haunting truths unveiled
soul's courage outlined in the palm of a hand
arrows shame precisely seeping into that fallow land
water with tears tendered from a million suns
seed, ponder rebirth
for what it's worth
and
the
glory of a planet yet to rise ....
one, to, buckle my shoe
cry for the many
unearth the dream 

Friday, October 21, 2016

of gloamings lean

Standing in the doorway
there
between the
kitchen and dining
room
looking at your
back
diligently washing whatever you were washing
Leaning in the
doorway
crossing arms as if suddenly
possessed by Virginia Woolf
leaning golden nectar dripping
"There's something inside the bone...the marrow
...and that's what you gotta get at."
dispassionate
intent upon discovery
the reason he
is not
you
No desire to connect his molecules
one
to
another
infinite
tender aching
flesh beneath fingers trembling with
need
(fuck need
and all its friends)
His back is not your back
and no amount of gin will change that
No desire to press against his back
slipping hands down
          down
down
to embrace
release
welcome home
anything
of earth and sea
no compass north pulling
             pulling
me to him
he is not you
his back not as regal
sanguine Apolo
his
eyes not seeing
me standing here
standing
regarding him
tolerating this quiet house
my invisibility
gin and juice
odds a thousand to one, two, unbuckle the moon
my head upon your chest once more
home to
earth to
sea...
pulling
leaning into
the doorway



Wednesday, October 19, 2016

shimmer

10:02
suddenly
just like
that
the light changes
and here in mid-October
it is April
things are soft
the sky is soft
green growing things stretch
tremble
yearn
yielding to warmth & airplanes
somewhere to the east
a dog barks
a wren pings the vastness
soft
no blue in the sky
the sun soft against the clouds
layered white upon gray upon white
only clouds
AH! Look there! a small patch of blue opening ...
opening
a perfect azure
trembling
yearning
yielding to sun
to this day
suddenly a yellow leaf falls
breaking the April spell
it is October
again
10:10
the softness remains ...



Halloween '62














Mad men
and
Welshman
Cigarettes
vodka gimlets
confident and breezy as a quarter to three martini
pendalton skirt zipped tight
cinched
snug
stockings & heels decidedly bold
traveling back

       then

back even further

on the tactile drag of my hand across an old burlap costume
closing eyes
smiling
and
finally
caught in the fiery presence of their fate & mirth
roll the dice & gather in your hands their smokey sacredness
but how I struggle
to recall their voice
timbre
tone . .
the slight clipped northern accent
and
the even-mellowed sexiness
of her
what I would give to sit amid their simple conversation
their jokes, their laughter
closing my eyes, i reach & reach & reach but can not catch it
voices hold magic like smell :
to transport, to sooth, to churn the energy of missing
fuel connection & friendship,
to sink us into another time
and
then
brightly!
to place us fully into the now & the knowing
fully wanting a voice to call us home
at dawn

Monday, October 10, 2016

anemometer

i open windows to hear the wind
as i become sunshine on a red bicycle
at the corner of
west cooper and monarch
it is October
leaves are dipped in gold-russet-beet-red
tomorrow never comes
if i can just hear the wind ,,,,
it is always today
that day
untethered autumnal smoothness
love does that
allows the wind to place you home
we are golden
in the timeless dust of eternal days
measured
by mercury
and cool pressure
caught upon a red bicycle
on the
corner
of west cooper
and
monarch



Thursday, October 6, 2016

harvest and the harrow


waning moon trails steps me to the proximity of you
black, gold, ivory fills my senses with presence & transport
expectation of haunting fragility solitary chilled Guinness excitement
sparkle & shine, sparkle & shine
up to the edge of the all that me oh my oh .....
rolling in craft & joyful song 

Suddenly

a strong sense of you catches me aware
"the way it will be"
worlds collide, words touch, walls tumble opening to the night
eyes close, rhythm, breathing deep arms surround me
The traveling ghost of you is firm behind me
we become
a gold rococo moment

moonlight and the bees-knees

Ah!
The day regret aligns with Mars
-- just an ordinary day;
the breeze from the west comes to unbuckle my heart
arrowing fiercely straight on through the dark
Alight in the wash of a tangerine sunrise
ripe with the harvest of fall
the sound of quiet is nothing if not ancient
the breeze in the maple tells all
No birds on this Saturday morning
no blue jay stealing my toast
just a tale and a ache a thousand years deep
and a flame that burns brighter than most
So untangle the honeysuckle nectar
smooth out the lines of regret
darkness brings the solace of moonlight
and
the tale is not over yet ....

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

equinox

i am thunder
gifting
drifting
a pendulum equinox
graying into evening's felted weight
bumblebees journey to hive
trees press against the passing blue
monarchs to bark rich & thrumming with marigold wings
algae velvets green root to crown
across the linen lines of day
chimes the crystalline hour
home beckons
hairs on forearm pulse electric/electric
amber alchemies blood
love's alchemy
the home of moon and star
the cradle of wind
the arms of winter
calling
striking
cloud to ground
i am thunder
rumble.
gifting
drifting
pressed to you 

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Of Septembers ...

writing sustains sometimes
fills the hollows when the river slows
mercurial, fluid and fierce
words & water
devotion weaved in destruction's whispers
rising
rising
to
bind the heart to land and moon
rising
rising
words pour from fingers unfamiliar
from hands once young
water
spills and tumbles over stone and shore
once young

we rise
we rise
tumbling, billowing in liquid hope
words & water 

weather patterns

No tumult of hurricane 
no straight-line wind ripping the ground 
no flood waters rising
no ice storm cracking ...
softer than forecasted
stronger than expected
a mingled taste of blue night 
and 
crescent moon on the roof of my mouth
swallowed into
white river birch falling 
honeyed amber autumn 
pressing
pressing
pressure swells
into the corona lunar gravity
of you

Sunday, September 11, 2016

never in vain

water fills the river
surprising tindered fields as autumn steals in
cooling the constraint of regret
cooling the arrogance of summer
water fills the river
color dances along the maple's branches ...
a thousand shades of green
leaves illuminated by sun & reflection
a thousand shallows
endless bends
winding
weaving
across the vastness of this moment
water fills the river

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

Algorithm for Minimizing the Impact of Thin Clouds at Mile Marker 397


west . . .
as the sun cotton-candies the day
tequila pink highway thump thum thump thum thump thums
palomino ghost cuts over prairie grasses & milo
dust's syruped sting tastes of soil & sage
time rolls to reo-red-wagon
seamless
tightness
opens
opens to the outflow
tendrils of possibility drift to earth
in direct ratio to the wanting of vermillion
and
the density of uncertainty
thump thum
thump thum
run palomino .... run west into the sun

ode to a place by a river

tangle the thread
watch the indigo bloom
corn gone to seed
'neath the three-quarter moon
sweet pollen of prairie hangs in the night
sticky nostalgia drifts three stars to the right  
tapped, pulled and pressed to pink twilight's burst
tumbled and scattered in dust-motes rehearsed
at once both trapped under yesterday's kiss
and
here in this field under stardust & mist
eyes closed to hold tight the vestige of sensation
eyes open to welcome the electric vibration
here
in the vastness of wide open night
there
pierced & gifted with one promise bright
untangle the thread
smell the coming of rain
lay down in the tall grass ...
remain





Sunday, August 28, 2016

history lesson re·dux

Oh Columbia! 
-- imagined history of our ancients --
where is our emancipator of despair?
bison spirit rising ,,,,
compassionate liberation
against
political collide
pull back the veil of stars & stripes
bloodied suffering revised to fit the supremacy
Oh say can you see -- our manifest destiny?
manifest genocide
redress -- recognize
indigenous wholeness and right
nationalism expedition colonization imperialism
manifest genocide, again
 ... our destiny wrapped
in
rhyme --  rhythm
by
Jackson
Jefferson
Cooper
Whitman
Hawthorne
Longfellow
Poe
Thoreau
darkness
blackness -- native peoples demonized
whiteness christianized
in
the
killing fields of the Americas
indian country 
follow the corn trail 
the trail of tears  ..
Mayans
Olmec
Toltec
Anasazi
Pueblo
Caribs
Maroons
Powhatans
Pequot
Abenaki
Mohican
Shawnee
Delaware
Wintu
Maidu
Miwak
Omo
Wappo
Havasaupai
Nez Perce Nation
Yokuts
Iroquois Confederacy
Natchez Nation
Hopi
Apache
Navajo
Cherokee
Pawnee
Kiowa
Ojibwa
Chippewa
Seminole
Lakota
Sioux
Comanche
Muskogee Creek
Tuscaroras
Chickasaw
Choctaw
Tlingit
Salish
Makah
Hoopa
Pomo
Karok
Yurok
Shoshone
Bannock
Paiute
Ute
Haudenosaunee
Green corn dance
Ghost Dance
Sun Dance
resist
redeem
(the revolution was  not televised)
repair
.... the soul of America
primal heroism and heart of our humanity
lost
     to
          the
impossible
passable
papable
grief
inherent
to wind
to river
to wilderness
legacy awakened ....
Oh redemption!

This land is your land

storms to the east . . .









There are times when darkness lies forgotten upon my skin
hollowed & broken
knowing there is starlight but feeling the microfiber of
grey rub annoyingly
the
wrong
way
wind moves things unseen and forgotten
as i merely notice & refuse to open
ANY
box of paints
eyes close & songs are heard
whisper tracings
again dove-grey & faint & haunting . . .
there .
there.
the crackle of dreams & place
grace,
glory & knowledge find the honey-ed bleed of this night
and
shutter in their brillinat sureness
soon . . .

Friday, August 26, 2016

fledgling


beneath the white birch tree
winged creature blue ... still & grim
aura of sun fierce
captured within

offered up as a gift--a question hangs
its random relevance veiled
gamma rays ferris wheel overheard
the answer burns to a tale

undone
the white birch calls
where a downy sacrifice bleeds
blue as remembrance
fragile as campanula
something is given
as innocence is
retrieved

Saturday, August 13, 2016

pieces of June stirring . .













Take :
The shattered right femur of a girl
and add to that a green wool beret,
funny pages from the sunday paper, scrambled eggs, and paper dolls ...
the taste of snow on your tongue,
rosary beads of tulsi kapoor, a velvet Elvis painting,
and your tucked away watercolor.
Then add rain,
lots
of
rain :
the sound of rain and the smell of rain.
Add heaps & heaps of
Dr. Zhivago snow : sparkling-blue-sequined-in-the-moonlight-snow
and
nose-deep-in-tomatoes-earth,
high-altitude-earth, horse-stable-earth.
Plus rainbow trout, apples & New Orleans.
Finally stir in the flume of diesel & cigar smoke on a London street
and the bite of whiskey & jazz
along with the opalescent thrumming of a hummingbird.
Slice it smoothly deep & narrow - during the shine of this blue-green corn moon
... threaded with indigo & owl tears.
Thunder rumbles & rolls
Rain comes ...
Once long ago, I rode with my mother
as we searched for autumn leaves down a tree-lined country road.
I wore a purple coat
and my mother was so very present & the leaves were the color of her heart :
soft deer-brown, crimson with the lightest orange
When do we know that we are the same ? That we will yearn & bleed ?
When is the sky more blue than ever before and how often is a lifetime traversed
in a kiss ?
Surrender lies there
where skin meets the sun
and the day's fresh mown grass melts into evening's cool cotton sheets.
Sureness shines in your dark eyes and
forgiveness is found in the pause between seasons
and
in the heaviness of our bones.
Love is all.
And I will wake & i will remember

Thursday, August 4, 2016

underneath

i
use to
have to

trim & fold
tiny pieces of fabric
                     paper
                     forgiveness
                   
press hold mold
colors
lines
moved from mind to page
and back again
tracing
erasing

white on white

create
creation
making
maker
of
art
boiling rising unfurling
in waterfall torrents
to tame
that wild
petaled
hollow marigold
where does she reside on the quiet days?
... the unanswered days?
where is the spark of divinity's calling?
in what corner does she rest?
on what branch does she lay stretched to sun & gods gravity?

i will be surprised.




Monday, August 1, 2016

come with me ...

we scramble most days
to attach our wings of weighted feathers:
glistening violet under the sun
not awake, not yet asleep
but
somewhere in-between
dazed by days unremarkable
dumbstruck by the outline of the others rich & carouseled
how we stand in the in-between with love & grace is the test
how we shoulder those warrior feathers
in spite of
because of
tempest & frost
wind, welter & stillness
hush little baby don't you cry 
we rise
most days to vastness
to find our solace in midnight's
iridescence

Sunday, July 31, 2016

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

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

Friday, July 29, 2016

swallowtail

paced precision
bangs that need cutting
clothes too baggy
skin saggy
what do we measure?
when do we care     enough
to braid that crimson thread
hitch a ride on a blackbird bed
pluck the feathers from skin pink from solitude
unraveling the tempest
touching love's conquest
love's conquest?
ah! AH! more likely a draw, a tie, a balanced coin
no triumph, no parade today
just simple breath drawing
heart thawing
under the haze & heat of this July sun

Thursday, July 21, 2016

48% ... pressure @ 29.98" ✑












to rest astride the hope
not fix
not decide
allow the collide

the gray to blue to green
common hours separate the pulse
of
waking to want to wait
as
licorice root & peppermint tea
steeps
beneath blue sky & gamma rays
hope shimmers in the trail of luna moths

allow the rise

the rest
is found

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

100º at nine twenty-five

cicadas sing  
bone rubbed against dreams flutter
heat rising from soil
pressed between green plains
waves of light and shadows long
cicadas song
wings folded to twilight's azure
night deepens
allowing the violet to come 

scout










violet plumes of leaning
tapped & tempered by thunderheads rising in the west
as
air lies electric upon the backs of cicadas
rain impacts breathing as the land rises in a steamed goldenrod collide
harder it falls
and
the sound & the sensation & the smell
fill every break & crack & hole
until
we are this violet-shifting morning sky ...

Monday, July 18, 2016

delphinium

blue was the final color we learned to see
wild--startling that discovery ....
pressed there against the vast white sky
allowed to unfurl
tempered try
toned
the color of truth
(the secret color of love )
the petaled nuanced hope we speak of
coned and gathered
color only exists as it is perceived by the individual
texture felt by the fierce and mystical
pressed
allowed
what place do we hold after
four thousand five hundred years?
how viscous the scar, how warm the tears
where is the sovereign sun to warm our stars?
tempest darkness
harbored rising
light of words and tongues opalizing
Oh midnight ,,,
deep hollow gleams
embrace the night
delphinium dreams

Saturday, July 9, 2016

kwee low















it is one of those times ......
kept awake at night-times
by
the flutter of everything ..... churning, questioning ......
the hum of the fan overhead,
the slight, slow metronome drip from the bathtub down the hall, 
the silence -
the bone-bending aching silence of 3 o'clock in the morning .
the echo of loneliness and
a reconciliation of the parts as they spill into the grey
as sleep fails to take me ....
and i run blindly thru some cerebral stormy labyrinth searching out something true & whole .....
the green walls & dim light enclose me as some earthy bower
yet i am restless & struggling against this chained fabric ....
i know how i would hold you if you were mine.
i want a sleep that is painless & clean, as you lie pressed against my back
the soft hardness of you

sleep fails to take me
.... and i am left in wakeful-moon- dreams



Wednesday, July 6, 2016

the moon's epistle










how tight this blossomed mask of illusion fits
how deep the thorns of loneliness cut
barely breathing
curled
yearning blue & folded
the long, twisted knot hits bone
needing nothing
but
stillness
puppet to master
stone to velvet-soft
wind to sail
fearless yet weary of pretense & discord
struggling to keep sacred
true
that opal light
that lies along the chesnut-cord of tenderness
a reciprocated knowing intimacy
locked within the pandora's box called 'there'
where?
there
in all that is you . . . is me
both light & fire
burn
rest
rest
gather the plumage of peacock-gold & scarlet-blue feathers that
will
allow
&
fill
the
rise


Tuesday, July 5, 2016

sun tea of peppermint & licorice

There is a lawn mower mowing
a female cardinal chatting somewhere 

this July sky 
not blue
not white 
but too too bright 
to gaze at for any length of time 
air heavy with humidity and Baghdad's sorrow 
and 
the 
weight 
of 
forecasted 
rains 

the summer is 
wild 
fierce 
and vulnerable.  

I am dreaming of water 
not blue
not white
but too bright to look at for any length of time  
a boat … sunshine 
and those things associated with you that press against heart & bone 

the lawn mower is still mowing 
and now a wren is calling for her mate 
and the rains will come

Monday, June 20, 2016

soul-kind


what once was
alludes & binds
a heavy cape of velvet blurs royal lines
oh . . . what became of nebraska-blue?
veiled in poppies of aubergine new
golden sure
wild strawberry bright
origami sparrow flying white
oh .....
be careful and wise as wishes do come true :
folded
and
tucked 
along 
sorrows rue
kaleidoscope seasons 
turn and go ... turn and go
as the dreamscape of want simmers
then slows ..
invisible we become
beige'd to beige
wallflower silent / Einstein's sage
touch yourself
first there!  .... then
                open the vein
and
wake the lost!
ghosts of euphoria tinder the frost
cloaked and hidden .... I walk thru walls
sweeping up the storylines
our story .... my story .....
inked between nights
of
golden fields bloom & the legend of light
the cut becomes sharpest at the cold snap of morning
while bent
and
mending
the singed edges of
my
velvet weighted warming
intent thickens the bones
in the heart of the clear
forgiveness fills the corners
as
moon-shadows drip near
to waken ....
to walk ....
to be seen through the briar
to lie with the dragons of crystal blue fire

Friday, June 17, 2016

vittorio

beautiful boys
tempered by sun and sorrow's fill
unleashed love to border's will
what cost
what sacrifice to bear
summer comes to mark the dare
warriors step across the checkered line
shoulder-to-shoulder allies soon define
what rises
what now will be the toll
of this dark age gloaming
this wound that grays our soul
beautiful boys
to your light we seek
to your grace we speak
love's strong redemption
we cry -- hold up! hold up!
how grief transforms to fill earth's golden cup
beautiful boys ...
love victorious


Thursday, June 16, 2016

lying in the shadows of morning










in spite of, or enhanced by the contours of your bones upon my fingertips
I feel things in the morning with this electric sensualness . . .
slow-like-prayer
I remove sheets from my bed, cotton-cool as i slide my hand inside
quilted cotton batting - frayed smoothness, memories of line-drying & my mother's hands
methodically moving thru the routine steps of a new day . .
sunshine fights it's way into this house shadowed by corners, walls & colored glass
methodically moving from room to room, making things right.
lining 'em up, dusting them off, finding their place . .
lining 'em up, dusting them off, finding their place
arranging a vase of wild thistle . .
careful of thorns
finding just the right light . .
it is quiet
laundry tumbles
sun shines
the dog demands sparkle-time
(he likes to chase luminosity made by the reflection of bright-shiny-thing)
so I give him some time
       realizing
I need music & coffee to pull me out of this feeling of wonderland.
this quiet slightly-shadowed place ;
fix you pops up, coffee hot enough . .
moving
examining my space
examining my life
singing along
tumbling along
laundry folded, plants watered, porch swept, poop bagged, baby lettuce encouraged, chamomile fondled with these wonderland hands
moving
finding my life
finding a place . .
and returning to the sheets and their relenting stark coolness
touch
breathe
feel and move through this day
noticing the shine ....
feeling the cool cotton weight of another day
chasing the luminosity


Tuesday, May 31, 2016

10:59

the hollow rumble of emptiness
stillness gloaming under a Saturn moon
clear and vibrant the night
tumbled amongst memories shine
wonderland weary triumphant
we soar, we sleep
we swim in vast waters meant for
yellow and forgiveness

where does the bumblebee lay her head come the dark?
how softly do you sleep without me?
how beautiful is blue?

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

sometimes there is nothing but thunder













sometimes there is nothing but thunder
as i allow it to penetrate bones
weary
of
fighting gravity

the carnival stills ....
and
there is nothing but thunder
and the steady pouring rain
eyes close & time tumbles clear
presence holds the moment
sinking
down
into
quiet

thought, struggle, fear & drive
forgotten against this green-wet-constant
until
there is nothing but the thunder
a particle of blue pulsing broken atoms
slowly
slowly
pulsing
colliding
melting
in rhythm with the falling

memory is distant--shared
pain is absent
thunder fills the holes
and
sometimes
there
is
found .....

everything

Friday, May 20, 2016

most mornings

We listen to our rock-n-roll most mornings
or a little country-soul tied up with a bow
move with the focus of a young kid watching a TV show
most mornings
A cup of coffee, a cup of tea
clean the bathroom, load of laundry
what to turn to next becomes the quandary
most mornings
Thoughts of him as I step out the door
the rain lands upon my face
his love becomes my saving grace
most mornings
Moving thru these ordinary hours
allowing the colors & breeze to soften soul
there is no want, no filling the hole
most mornings
Tending the house, reverent & tempered
the routine stays the same
except when it rains
most mornings


Monday, May 16, 2016

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 

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Of a May Morning Found

sits in the light of nine o'clock morning
listening to pearl jam in her mind
blue jay calls outside the window
open to the southwest wind
no one knows of the truth that binds her
no one knows her quiet fears
just him

moves through her day with intent abiding
moves to the shadow of the sun
bends to the smells of the glisten & mallow
leans upon no one
no one hears the song that keeps her dancing
nudges the borders of her dreams
just him

paused & perched like a bird on a silver limb
tentative feathers brush her mind
rising from embers dedication lost
found open to vast-sky sunshine
no one reaches to the marrow
no one scraps the hollow
just him




Tuesday, May 3, 2016

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. 











Monday, May 2, 2016

copeland cowslip

winds out of the west at 14mph
on the second day in May
2 degrees shy of 60
with both hands firmly upon the dark maple's branches
tenderly throw the porcelain cup
- copeland cowslip -
from no greater height than 18 feet
aiming for the grass
just there ,,,
where the sun shines the softest
given these factors
and
with the
the moon waning crescent
the cup will not shatter

though a small crack
will appear

when it rains


May Day

the upheaval surprises
did not see the knot of this tangle
threaded of nettle & pine
able to hold the two strands apart
sand-bar in a stream
two strands not touching
contentment
and
the slightest cut of grief
as if we buried something precious & young
in a sand-bar .... in a stream
this upheaval
this tale
how weathered & unrequited
this is what it is like
this side
of the knot 

bending














shadows linger
along
the
baseboards of this sequined desert
whispering of turquoise disillusionment
brandishing the cut-glass bottle of
regret and doubt
as
circle skirts twirl unheeded against this purple dusk-sky
dust disturbed in determined driven movement
unable to ignore the call
unable to remain
unbent

bend

kick it up & dig that boot deep to earth
kick it up & dance away from surrender's bitter-root
nod to the shadows
grab it's gnarled ancient hand
take it to your chest to beat alongside
is there another word for heart?
red, bloody pumping thing
muscle of soul & life
beating madly present on this purple-sky day
bring in the charcoal shadow
outline the tap tap tap
bend--accept
bend--accept
as fire crackles & leaps calling shadows to light
circle
burning
bending

until
it is only about
the
dancing in the dust

Saturday, April 30, 2016

Day Thirty: Le vase brisé

The broken vase 

The vase where these verbena die 
from the softest blow to crack 
the stroke but a whisper of a brush 
no sound no revealing 
but a slight wound crept 
small crystal death of this day 
a slow marching line 
made always heavy this path
how her cream drips out 
of ancient flowers drained 
if you should doubt 
do not touch, it is broken 
often how the hand of my love
would softly caress my heart, that wound 
then that heart is split to all 
the flower of my love's departing 
always my eyes will see the world 
how it grows and weeps with sorrow 
this wound so precise and deep 
do not touch, it is broken 


Le vase brisé   by   
Sully Prudhomme

Le vase où meurt cette vervaine
D'un coup d'éventail fut fêlé ;
Le coup dut effleurer à peine,
Aucun bruit ne l'a révélé.

Mais la plus légère meurtrissure,
Mordant le cristal chaque jour,
D'une marche invisible et sûre
En a fait lentement le tour.

Son eau fraîche a fui goutte à goutte,
Le suc des fleurs s'est épuisé ;
Personne encore ne s'en doute,
N'y touchez pas, il est brisé.

Souvent aussi la main qu'on aime,
Effleurant le coeur, le meurtrit ;
Puis le coeur se fend de lui-même,
La fleur de son amour périt ;


Toujours intact aux yeux du monde,
Il sent croître et pleurer tout bas
Sa blessure fine et profonde ;
Il est brisé, n'y touchez pas.


Friday, April 29, 2016

Day 29: remember

I remember waking from a dream of you--removed-shaken--you clung to me the remainder of the day as a thistle tucked alongside my Vena Cava
(strangely unsettling and comforting that was)
I remember eating cherry pie in my grandmother's kitchen as the evening light trickled onto the yellow formica tabletop--shimmering the cherries to gold
I remember the pain that removed me from my body
I remember writing poetry on a bus ride from Denver to Spearfish--patterns of moonlight on blue snow
I remember the stolen delight each time I would sneak into my mother's room and look into her wardrobe--neatly folded lingerie, sweaters smelling of Tabu--a woman's things
(how distant that time felt--foreign & mysterious)
I remember the first time he kissed me--the fit of his lips--the linear steel of his body against my own fragility
(the immediate undeniable familiarity of this home)
I remember the smell of fresh cut grass and the press of him upon me with stars above and voices hollering our names on a summer night thick with fireflies & surrender
I remember the god-damn time that black Shetland pony bite me
I remember hunting for leaves down a treelined country road with my mother--I was five
I remember how otherworldly cold you were--that last night in your hospital room when I lay next to you watching ER--I tucked your legs in as I left. You were ice. You died the next morning. How easy that grief still rises--a swirling mass of fine-grained magma
I remember dreams of pursuit & captivity--skyscrapers, gray skies, the hollowness of displacement
I remember joy bursting thru every molecule of my being when the wait was over
I remember walks around the park with my grandfather--we spoke to one another without words
I remember losing myself to numbness, inattention
I remember forgetting
I remember remembering the vastness of my mind as I woke to my tattered & aged self
I remember the crimson thread of time--nonlinear quantum glass plains
I remember you & him & moments steeped in the azure violet hues of this day
This day--I remember

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Prince

It is sometimes hard for me to not be Overwhelmed ....
Overwhelmed by a kaleidoscope of sensations not entirely of this world, by unseen energies and colors that collide with my heart and seep into every particle of my being.
On April 19th, I was lucky enough to catch Mumford & Son in Omaha.
A rollicking, wild high-energy time was had by all: straight-up-standing-up-all-the-fucking-time-dancing ... words to every song known and chanted by this mostly hipster audience numbering 18,000+
Epic.
And i thought, what GODS are these?
No mere mortals harbor our souls & lift voices in unison so ... only gods can bring us to our feet to dance & sing with such full abandon and soul. Only Gods ,,,

And then Prince died.

Two days later at the age of 57.
Prince Rogers Nelson was merely 4 days younger than me, born in my father's birthplace of Minnesota. Facts & stats.
I'm not telling you anything you don't already know by now, even if you were not a fan prior to his death, we all have now been vaccinated with our purple-paisley serum.
Prince has become our international object of mourning--Purple has been declared his for all time, (though i do believe it is more about the paisley)
Everyone has something to say, something to write and i love listening to the voices of my writer & non-writer friends lament and expostulate. However, do not lay claim to his music, his artistic talent for your own generation -- Oh, No, no no! He belongs to no one .... and everyone.
No one and Everyone.
Prince was a God of genuine transformation--reaching into our bedrooms nearly 30 years ago--reaching deep, deep into the caverns of our true selves and waking us to that true self - nudging open our sexuality, waking us to our yearnings. He raised high the box of crayons and spilled them upon the floor--every color had a note, a tone, a rift and crescendo ... arranged and gathered up in patterns that lit our fierce souls on fire and quieted our discontent. In his lyrics, in his unexpected melodies;
we heard the cry of sirens ancient and forgotten, we heard and felt moved beyond mere notes on a page ,,, it was cursive to our kindergarten scribble ... and he called forth a response from our true selves with truth-creations of our own; words, music, fashion, feeling ... being.
And sometimes,
we just danced.
I felt, as a white girl from the plains of Nebraska, as if Prince were my very own secret discovery ...
No one else ventured here ,,,, no one knew what i knew ,,,,
I was singular in my passion and moved beyond the interests of my peers to hear things differently ... to look past the expected and step into the purple rain.
This. Factually untrue, but i believed it so.
The pursuits of my youth were cupped within his songs; each dance, each fuck, each romantic entanglement, each loss .... doves cried.
I have my list of favorites from James Taylor, The Beatles to Springsteen ... Prince didn't ever make that cut, that list, because he was something not-of-the-rest, he stood apart -- a God.
Someone who would always be there to outline the year, the decade, the emotion.
He was always supposed to be there; heralding in a new age, a new twist of perspective and a new rising of that thing-that-happened-in-ones-chest-when-listening-to-a-new-Prince-song-for-the-first time ,,,, that Rising.
Prince Rogers Nelson died on April 21st 2016.
I cry every day in some small, quiet way for his passing--this passing -- this sadness that so Overwhelms. But with that sorrow has come a vow -- to find and polish that genuine true-self that so long ago danced alone in her bedroom to Little Red Corvette.
Danced alone, and knew how to live and how to shine unapologetically.

Go forth and Overwhelm you Crazy Human!!
Time is short, Music lies everywhere ,,,
Go forth be Overwhelmed every-every single day by all you can gather to your soul ,,,,,
Be Overwhelmed with this Thing called Life.
Go.
Let's Get Crazy.









Day Twenty-Six: slipping

IF there comes a day when i do not remember you, please write me of adventures we did not take:
places where we held hands but never graced, sunsets we licked the last crimson from
lakes we swam in 'til the day was done--moon hung
tell me of stories we whispered from cozy nests, tucked alongside mountain summits--forests thick
recount our days walking river's edge as brine and earth fill senses brim
resplendent sensations trick--every detail's trick creates for me a life paintbox deep
have me remember foreign shores where we traced the steps of ancestors fiercely bold
fill my mind with vellum pages richer than the life i lead--filled with you and true love's bleed
point out the constellations we've traveled to--across the vast indigo blue
i can not imagine this day will come when your face is distant and unfamiliar to me
but if that should happen by crook, by trick or by unraveled mind please take your hand and place it in mine



Day Twenty-Eight: tamed


to call no more
nor say my name
at river's shore
to fold moon's flame
as a blanket for our heads
untangle darkness' thread
pierce the finger
your effort vain
but
i'm sorry
the goldfinch sings
to be the one who wears your ring
keeping love quiet--tart
love falls apart
while all the time
who holds your heart?
so be the one
my soul--it searches for balm's claim
bones ache with grace and pain
wings tire of this tattered life
wings itch for full flight
and i carried on
learned my part
from dusk to dawn
tale
honed
do you ever think you are enough?
do you ever bend or give enough?
without a fuss
than what you could be
asked for no more
painted the walls
hollowed the core
i smoothed the edges
devoid of touch and the girl i knew
i built myself anew for you
no laughter weighing down hearts try
no lie
no form
no circus tents
no fortunes told
tightrope's torment
no ebullient dancing ponies here
just fear
removed all trace of love's combat
trimmed the fat
cut my hair
demonstration
dipped in remonstration
sugar-rimmed intoxication
the cost of you


Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Day twenty-six: Tor:Con 5

We wait for storms brewing off to our west
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

The breeze is gentle as sparrows call to sky
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Clouds stack against the Blue, Thick and Blest
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Of Blue Jay, Mornings and Cabbage Butterfly
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Breeze morphs to Gale as Gray steals Skies
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Shifts in the Spectrum of Color and Light
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Gray Darkens this Morning--Coolness comes Bold
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Birds still their Song to Somber Quiet Flight
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Of Weather and Welter on Prairies Vast Gold
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

The Budding of Leaves on Spring's Waking Sighs
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!
The Coming of Chaos--Storm's Enterprise
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!


Monday, April 25, 2016

Day 24: amuse

harpy scrondrel
anchored
tethered
light
resplendant in evergreen
bewildered tempests thrusts
to pandemic trinkets
to cherish
to adore
from gamin's lore
oh baffled candle bright!

Day 25: at the edge of the hole

"nothing between me and the white fire of stars"
from this height--this day's debris field
thick as marrow lies
exposed from shovel's bite
this refracted light
of Mercury and Mars

better to acknowledge the hole
the narrow line between darkness
and sighs
stars align with bone cold North
to wrap intention's truth
in love's velvet toll

heavy the verdant weight and shadow
knowing the tale's end of things
without the lace-crown prize
rest here well you noble thieves!
rest here amoungst Spring's glory
all bound in honeysuckl'd willow

of what and who is mine and ours:
this place where i sit
molded, formed of red clay--sighs
resolved, resolute and wise
stars at play in catch/release
this fairy tale spun and told
nothing between me and the white fire of stars






Saturday, April 23, 2016

Day 23: Sonnet MCMLVIII


Of Gods are born the crystalline harbored sighs
Chants joyous raised upon feathered lips
Nobly wild we dance to one who never dies
Eternal suns and moons play at love's mortal eclipse
Daring fragilities opal ego trips
To one Purple shade we bend--we pray
Might this foreshadow some divine apocalypse?
A pulling, a calling to the vast blue sky?
Yet, how we waken here--how open become our eyes
Now in truth we recognize one of fey
To know the wild rhyme, to understand the why
A God of tempest's symphony in a rasberry beret
How can magic ever reappear and restore?
This dark, metamorphic age pressed on Earth's orb
This world of Sorrow and Love we must now Absorb





















Friday, April 22, 2016

Day 22: Still the Brisk Sparrow Song













Senses alight to the once-removed sting of Winter's cut 
   Memories flood 
Wrapping bone to the black & white images of 1968
Smelling of gingersnaps & tasting of pink pistachio nuts
Held in my father's hands Irish-pale tinged bourbon-late 
   Stilled of tempest & storm in the wee after-hours of a 
      Borealis glow   
Held in that 
   Timeless arcane present glow of ticking clocks       
Dream breathing contained and measured          
   Tick tocking tick tock comes the snow ….
Ivory-taupe curtains part to curtains of crystals ice clear 
These moments captured, held and treasured  
  Oh Child! 
Sleep with Summer rain & the green of Spring growing 
      Oh Earth! 
Pause in night's space and hold to precious hope 
         Oh Love!  
               You will find me cobalt knowing
Pressed against a star 323 light years from the Sun 
   As seen thru a Celestron Telescope 
  On the first Saturday after the Winter Solstice      
       Find me, drenched in tiger's milk          
Wearing tangerine & ruby silk             
   Warm-apple-cider-solace'd
Ah!  How the Taurus moon transports thru 
   These walls to palace-pleasure
     To serve an ivory draught of sanity's mindful measure 
       Beginning's taupe  
Black & white become varied to the gray    
   Gray becomes the night as glow becomes the heart       
      Beat beating to the swirl of ice, glass, rye & whey
Why in such a kaleidoscope must we so soon depart?      
   Age & memory lie upon the pale hands beholden    
Silent child knows no demons on her tongue to sing
Sorrow & Mirth; sisters, knitting under moon-glow   
   As love lies waking ever-golden       
Art, beauty, music define 
   The deep amber spectrum sting          
How do we come to measure the lives we know?
Of darkest blue-indigo night, hearts beat & dwell    
   To tell of stories that rest in Willoughby's tomb
Holding onto secrets and stories under carnelian's spell
         Oh what wonders will there be to bloom?    
Tender are nights where all sleeps but one 
  One whose magic weaves between worlds of 
     Glow & Gray
One whose pale Irish hand 
   Knows how to steady the light    
Tender are the dawns of Cherry Blossom Sun       
Tuck me in and hold me tightly sweet to this day          
   Wake me to Sun & Snow bright 
      Spring dances in dreams on this night   
         Smelling of pine & blue-vanilla skies       
Tasting of malt, ginger & dream-flights         
As Summer waits steady and sure in myth's sugar sighs
   Rest a bit still, as pink becomes day
Rest in warm sureness and think of Springs clover
   Greet the day Oh Child Wise!
We are the Northern Lights
To the Sun, to Love we move ever closer ….