Saturday, December 8, 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)

Friday, December 7, 2012

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)
 
 

Thursday, December 6, 2012

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)

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

"Vivid orange light…" (now titled 'Sunset')

Vivid orange light
hovers over a city dipped in gray.
Whispers float, caught in the ebb & flow
of secrecy—
And the cat becomes curious.


From the book Kairos (print version only)

Good Night

Ducks huddle in marshy niches, the day is putting away.
The light eddies, the aquatics stir, the edge dwellers scurry.
A splash turns heads; was it a fish? It was a fish.

A gang of mud bubbles race towards the lily pads;
they pop quietly at the surface, releasing myriad secrets.
But the bullfrog, he never heard them, nor cared to listen anyway.

A tired wind falls back, stretching across the reeds:
Always better to blow good and well in the morning;
always better when the cold can’t stop you.

By day’s productive end, no cattails fell in love;
the sexy sway of rushes falling short of enticement.
Though no lust between vegetation, on a bug level—look out!

A mossy-hand mirage hovers over the landscape,
touching the switch for night & day. A crepuscular
bell sounds, and activity fills the sanctuary.

All’s well and in place—

A gentle push, it’s dim.
Pushed harder, and twilight descends.
Down further, the moon lights the water.
Down all the way, good night.


From the book Kairos (print version only)

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)

Monday, December 3, 2012

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've come to her in this ephemeral light. 

A butterfly nearby takes to air,
its dazzle and frailty the wink of beauty's eye.
With compassion it alights upon dryad's shoulder;
a gesture of fresh happiness to a broken heart. 

Dryad slides from the lifeless oak,
aglow in the hue of newest wisdom.
She dances off to darker wood, and butterfly ascends;
reverie folds up and fades from her brightest eyes.


(From the books Kairos and Collected Poems)

Sunday, December 2, 2012

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 Collected Poems)

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 doesn't know
she can't decide.

But during that day
more had become clear:
Your heart is soothed, my dear.


(From the book Kairos)

Saturday, December 1, 2012

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 want to die?

Would she weep and send away
those painful days into the earth,
and walk down new paths of sunlight
holding the jewel of her worth?

Send me back, to the world;
bring me there, hold me there,
keep me from the sky. Leave me,
if you love me—and kiss me goodbye!


(From the book Kairos)