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Showing posts from December, 2012

Me?

Am I a soul eternally sad? God of tears, maker of blue? Did the universe rain and flood with disdain? Leave me stained, water-colored in shame? Do my tears cascade into the desert part of my heart, only to lose their vision and dry up? Am I the weakest branch of a lifeless tree? An ungrown seed, a mud-stuck leaf? Is the mirror truthful, is this what I see? Is the sullen man staring back really me? (From the book Kairos )

The Bleak Hour

The bleak hour when uninvited shadows gather over one to pick up the fallen hand that lay still. Two worlds touching— One ends, another            is            begun. Too late if anything left un- done. The bleak hour: When will it be that the shadows, cast off the divine light, gather over me?     (From the book Kairos )    

the End

Charcoal spines burning, men dethroned of valor, a raven-dropping thunderstorm. Mold on fruit, decay on bones— lifeless life. Pale sunlight, tired universe, hope stuck in quicksand. Humanity scorned by God: disappointed Father. Now, as we prepare to be forgotten, dressing formal for the End will be unnecessary. (From the book Kairos )

Swimming Towards the Surface

Falling-away darkness—a curtain screaming with silence, pulled off a globe where thoughts are blind fish swimming inside light. Across the finish line: a revelation: rain is creek, is river, is ocean, is rain. Gone is the concrete mask, chipped away with keys that would fit: The hurricane’s eye sees the sun. The window of tomorrow is open. These invisible gifts are wrapped in experience. Denial like dust kicked up and blown away by integrity—and finally, too: in these stone eyes is a beating heart. I could swim out of that subterranean light. I could walk on land. (From the book Kairos )

A Poem to My Dead Love

My tears have filled my hands for centuries and for centuries more, I’ve cried. A broom of misfortune swept you away and there hasn’t been a day I haven’t missed you. The time between sunrise and sunset is a region of despair, and my nights are wretched with the silence of a dream; a dream which dreams me alone. I once was a man of polished marble, strongest simply because you loved me. Fortune had been my blessing, and you my bloom— the world then was an answered question. But my god, how quickly the puzzle drops and splits apart, a million pieces lost in earth and time; how in the blink of an eye my eyes could matter no more; how I’ve longed for more of death and less of life, just to be closer to you, my love. From the book Kairos (print version only)

Damsel Fly!

Her toes splash water in thoughtful harmony sitting by her childhood creek. She sails soft kisses to the ports of her wishes and lets the wind sweep and carry them away. Time holds her reflection in drops of mourning dew and the willows, in their weeping, retract branches from the breeze. A toss of red petals from the cup of silver hands float down her childhood creek. She sends last kisses to the magic of her wishes and lets damselflies sweep and carry them away. Grace shuts its bloom over a wealth of summer days and the flowers, in their tribute, have gotten brighter in the sun. From the book Kairos (print version only)

Dryad Weeping on a Fallen Tree

Sitting under the spell of living oaks, dryad sits on a tree fallen and dead. Through the canopy falls the sun’s gold; empathetic warmth and just so bright. She is dressed in a splendid mourning gown, sewn with chlorophyll and splendors’ fingers. Her large green eyes are crystal-like; scenes of a tree’s life play within. Mist rises like fairy soldiers’ ghosts beneath her dainty and barefooted feet. Tears merge into silent waterfalls and her heart beats low like owl wings. A rustling puts a crack in the silence and dryad looks down at the petite sound: Leaves covered a seed, covered a growing tree; nature is cycles, is fairy spuds to winter snow. And young tree sprouts where mother spring and father sun foster new life. Such lessons come to each dryad in youth; they have come to her in this ephemeral light. A nearby butterfly takes to air, its dazzle and frailty the wink of beauty’s eye. With compassion it alights upon dryad’s shoul

A Tree

A tree is a treasure burst forth into the sky; a fissured relic covered in emeralds that change with the voice of equinox. A tree is a benevolent caretaker for the wild; a framework of weathered arms holding nests, refuge, and insect treats. A tree is a teacher of patience and endurance; a primeval soul bearing the fruit and labor of the illusion we call Time. A tree is our third parent of unconditional love; a haven of cool shade and wonderment beneath a sentry of leaves. (From the books Kairos  and  HEARTVINES )

Her Day

She knelt down by the creek cupped her hands and began to drink the fish gave her a wink and she began to think: Oh lover, off running from the sun let me be your reason again your reason to hold a hand let me show you the strength of a friend. And she stayed for many hours of the day collecting flowers and giving tears away all the while mother nature would say Your heart needs soothing, my dear This is the only way! So she pulled away those burrs of denial tossed them aside, rank and file inhaled the breath of life all the while and soon her heart began to smile. Then with rejoice she thanked the fish danced around butterflies, blew them a kiss felt her heart had gotten its wish and picked a mushroom to make a dish. Sunset came and soon it was twilight so she hurried on home like a wren in flight thinking to find her lover that night hoping that he just might… And whether it was feather or song flower or fragrance the earth or its sky she doe

Kiss Me Hello

Send me up, to the clouds; bring me there, hold me there, tell me not to go. Keep me, if you love me—kiss me hello. If, upon her wandering, she befell upon such a sight as the burning of pale blue stars over the soft skin of twilight; And fancied sleep, at meadow’s edge, of proud and myriad flower, where quetzals dazzled forth in displays of regal, enchanted power— Would she . . . If, within her dreaming, she inhaled magic and exhaled strife, where a celestial voice whispered hope of a loving, happy life; And saw many wonders cascading softly in ballet, while stardust and moonbeams entered her soul to play— Would she . . . And if, upon her awakening, standing near her grassy cheek, was a fawn drinking quietly from a silver-pebbled creek; With sonnets coming ashore as fish bubbled the words, while a new life walked towards her from beneath a rainbow of birds— Would she still wan