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You awoke one morning...

You awoke one morning, older than one of your parents. You weren't sure what to expect. You certainly didn't expect to feel indifferent. For years you'd been wondering about the similarities, the differences, always aware that there was no way of truly knowing. But your heart isn't filled with alcohol and smoke and shards of spirit. You are a better person than they were. That much you do know.

Bad joke: "Mr. and Mrs. Mold..."

Mr. and Mrs. Mold attended the leftovers party but were very dull guests. They were sporing.

Review of "Selected Poems 2004-2007"

A nice review of my chapbook Selected Poems 2004-2007 by Juliet Wilson, editor of Bolts of Silk .  Click here to read the review.

Poem Read on UK Radio Program

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My poem "Stopwatch" being read on The Open Mike Show, an hour-long program on UK radio station 107.1 FM in Winchcombe. Original broadcast date: 18 May 2013.

Featured Artist at A Place for Tulsi

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by Evelyn Williams. Photo Credit: Pembroke College Oxford JCR Art Collection This month I am the featured artist at A Place for Tulsi , an online initiative to "acknowledge and create an awareness of the cultural diversity in the community of poets." Poems include "A Lament for Sylvia," "Little Girl," "A Little of the Mystery Come," and "Before the Storm Wet the Earth."

Words are All I Have

Words I'm frightened to say dangle off deep breaths and gentle voice. I listen to every syllable I speak to you, making sure no bad judgment in word or accent escapes. And they fumble from my thoughts as the thoughts rumble: I want you back I can be different better this time Why I think my carefully selected phrases might persuade you I don't know. But if to get you back were possible with my arrangement of speech, Then I wish to be king of words, or poet of my time.   (From the book Kairos )

To You

You laugh, and the world unfolds. Light falls like rain, stains the dark. I’m helpless, without speech; your soul becomes the blue of my eyes. Forgive me if I stray— To you. You smile, and no wars ever were. You hold time in place, erase the hands. I’m overcome, filled with adoration; my soul becomes the brown of your eyes. Forgive me if I write these words— To you. You speak, and the otter shakes a whisker. You enchant me, a sea horse ballet. And I swim, deep where tears shed; now my poetry breathes under oceans. Forgive me if I expose my heart— To you.   (From the book Kairos )

The Existence of You

Morning—delicate thirsty the sky yawns earth stretches . . . You near the ending of a peaceful, romantic dream. The silence of night subsides, you open your eyes— two emeralds shine beneath the sun. Another day is born, another morning blessed. Such simple truths are easily told by the existence of you. Night—romantic alive the stars shine earth sighs . . . You smile and all things are curious— a shooting star passes over your essence. Another twilight has come, another night takes the stage. Standing ovations are easily understood by the existence of you. I hear them . . . I hear them whenever I'm around you— the subtle, graceful heartbeats of angels. They surround you like butterflies gone mad. And all my love for this world, all my love for beauty, for nature; all my love for life was awakened by the existence of you.   (From the book Kairos )

Somewhere

Somewhere, hooks and chains hang amid peeling olive wallpaper on rusty nails once hanging pictures of other times— (before the walls shrank and took all the air away). Somewhere, the gentle tapping of fingers on the sharp edge of a machete leads up to the shadowed body of a man whose head is a broken light bulb.     From the book Kairos . Also received an honorable mention at the 4th Annual Skyway Writers Festival in 1999.

Outside, the Silent Garden (uncollected poem)

Wind and rain. Silent flowers under thunder. She tends the garden by staring through the window. A downpour of thoughts mix daydreams and doubt, splash in her mind and channel off. The green in her eyes runs down her cheeks like unripe berries falling and bouncing from sight. She’s waiting for new scenery with laughter in her pockets. The hair across her shoulders sleeps. And the heartbeat beneath her skin waits patiently for his kiss.

Only a Dream?

As she closes her eyes for the night her lashes mingle and dreams begin behind them. Fireflies lead her across a garden he has grown her as a wind full of whimsy lifts her hair down. She steps out of a pink negligee, igniting her skin with the goose bumps he’ll conquer with an embrace. And her beauty commands the killing of a flock of clocks: Victor Hugo writes one last poem by coffin candlelight; a blind man sees his wife while reading it in Braille— The aurora borealis falls in love with a rainbow; nature sends a new species of butterfly into the world— Scarlet tanagers drop rose petals over the ocean; hands of sunlight push lovers face to face— But before that first kiss the locusts cause an eclipse. As he tosses and turns in white sheets werewolves crawl in from the shadows. Fireflies explode in the wilting garden as a sky full of bats pull her hair up. But it’s only a dream, Only a dream , she says as she wakes him quietly with an

My Love, My Dream

It was surreal, now that I think back, as if a dream had wandered over the boundaries to deliver forth the shimmering light that was you. And for a time, time was lost. A halcyon river became our guide. Its tranquil flow, a symbol of perfection, its reflection casting wildly off our eyes. Love sprang to life, life became love. Every hue within this plane began to lighten. Our hearts chased, our meaning held no lies; our souls tingled with gentle electricity beneath harlequin skies. But we awoke one morning, heartsick to find, pink mist off the river had turned gray. Suddenly our angels were selectively blind— Was divinity so busy that it left us behind? I screamed into a shower of diamonds. I'd lost you inside this sudden despair. Through the downpour I heard no reply, and soon discovered myself alone there. No one ever told us that the weather changes in paradise or that the flowers can cry. The

My Clearest Day

I went to question the angels about their reason for tearing her heart from me but the clouds, they closed their doors and even the sun looked away— that was my saddest day. I pleaded with devils and gods to obtain some solace in their reason but they spoke thunder through storms and left me drenched in rain— that was my darkest day. So I traveled across land and time to find a wise man who knew the nature of love but the sands of earth became giant pits and I could not reach him— that was my most frustrating day. Then, I decided to look within myself so that maybe there I'd find a better man but I had grown so tired that it no longer mattered and the idea drifted off on a forgotten dream— that was my clearest day.   (From the book Kairos )

Love Will Glue These Br-oken Pi–ece-s

Love Will Glue These Br-oken Pi–ece-s / She was new again, like she’d been born again, but with the knowledge. Like she had walked down from a mountain: cool skin, fresh thought, light eyes, and a fire burning for life. The past was secondary now. All the old romances turned dust-worthy. All the doubt dispersed. She was ready to face the world with open arms; to follow every step she took into a forward, sun-splashed direction. Love would not shove her away, not anymore—it was her ambition to curl up in its silky arms. It was her walk towards paradise, her vintage wine longing for a taste—and she could taste it now, on the lips of her subconscious; it was bittersweet, like strawberries. “I love myself. I love my life. Love surrounds me and love will follow me.” She spoke those words at every corner of every day. They launched her over obstacles with painless effort. Mental wounds healed without scars. The moon, the stars, and the sun smiled down. If it stormed, the rains w

Each Second that Passes

Death peeks at me through the blind spot of my dreams. He holds sand in his hands and laughs as the grains slip away.

Broken Hearts in Paris

I dreamt last night Of the last night I saw you, All covered in deadweight gold And tarnished by its light. You stood at the window, An angel with burnt wings And a soul tired of dancing. "It's never easy backing out," you said. "I know," I replied, Our backs facing each other And the voice not quite my own. "Sometimes it isn't what we imagine." You breathed against the window And made a heart with your fingertip. I closed my eyes And put my forehead to the door. When moonlight fell across the bed You turned to me and said, "Paris, we Should've gone to Paris. They have stars And paintings, all the romance you can take." I fumbled for my keys and opened the door. "And broken hearts," I said. Plenty of broken hearts.     (From the book Selected Poems 2004-2007 )

Beneath the Waves

He floats on green sea, sky softens eyes twilight blue. Fish set course for curious, jump like finned rainbows. The heart ventured at daybreak, went searching with sail; anchored soul waits for resurrection, swirls with dreams. Apart since sunrise, he’s been at opposite ends of her hour. Life sleeps on shore, sunset bends towards fiction. Love has splashed her, soaked the heart with promises; angelic soul lifts, maiden albatross flies. He waits, she will come— and they will swim down together.   (From the book Kairos )

Before the Storm Wet the Earth

A ladybug landed on my knee as I sat alone in a meadow awaiting the rain. With its tiny head cocked and a trust in my silence it seemed to ask, "Do you think I am beautiful?" But all I could do was look away and wonder what stories my face was telling.   From the book Kairos . Also won 1st place for poetry at the 5th Annual Skyway Writers Festival in 2000.

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 )

A Moment is Riding Time

A moment is riding time like a horse over the hill bringing strength— A moment is floating through time like a ship across the sea bringing wealth— There is a moment tossed by a fairy’s whim, blown forward by her breath, and carried away to find us. There is a moment set aside for you and me, but it may take awhile as these things do, my love. It may take awhile as these things do. Our moment is conquering time like a white flag rising ending battle— Our moment is drawing near like a heart breaking chains ending restraint—   (From the book Kairos )

The Impatient

Dress me in medical green, stick me down with pins. Take your shiny gold scalpel and operate on me. Do your best work, dear demon, do your best work on me. I’m alive you see, so do your best work on me. The sky’s beauty smothers all the scenery like the doctor over his patient’s misery. His scalpel shines gold in the white moonlight, slicing down through the muddy breeze: Cut me please. Fix me, please . Dress me in medical green, stick me down with pins. Take your octopus arms and rearrange the insides of me. Do your best work, dear deerhead, do your best work on me. I’m still alive you see, so do your best work on me. From the book Kairos . Also in SNM Horror Magazine's  Best of 2012 issue .  

"Together/in the Pacific Northwest..."

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Together in the Pacific Northwest— Swept up by scenery and plucked from stress & sadness; fishbone clouds swimming, swimming… We’re cruising, crossing hemlock rivers— Dippers diving between the rocks, a current stretching into forever. Tonight, as we lie in bed beneath stars, my eyes will end at you— The landscape of home; a full circle of wilderness & love. (From the book Wilderness & Love )

Once, at a Waffle House...

Once, at a Waffle House, I noticed a man and his two children sitting in a booth near the window. The kids were probably eight to ten years old. No one talked; they just sat and ate their breakfast in silence. They were black. All three wore glasses. The little girl had pigtails, and the little boy bounced in his seat. The father often smiled at them, even when they weren't looking. Original title: Subjective Beauty

A few years ago, while visiting St. Louis...

A few years ago, while visiting St. Louis, I was waiting to get my ticket for the ride up the Gateway Arch when I noticed a very handsome man with a baby stroller. A few moments later his attractive wife peeked through the crowd and called for him to follow. I became angry at this man for no apparent reason other than his good fortune. When the handsome man began to walk, it was apparent that he had a disease which made his legs almost useless. Nonetheless, he pushed the stroller forward and kept his wobbly legs from failing. Original title: Subjective Beauty

Why do I seek truth...

Why do I seek truth when all I ever find is its reflection?

Spiral of Flies

Asher took a long, hard look at the pair of stilts resting against the wall of his living room, a hypnotic Deftones song echoing through his wavering consciousness: “I watched you change, into a fly . . . .” In a sudden rage he threw his beer bottle at the radio, took up a nearby axe, and chopped the stilts into a thousand pieces. He awoke on the couch a few hours later, disoriented and hung over. All was quiet but for the crackling radiator and the hum of the refrigerator. If it hadn’t been for a hint of sunrise pressed against the east window, and a faint glow from beneath the bathroom door, he’d have been in complete darkness. Mumbling to himself about having smoked some bad shit, Asher looked up and noticed that the walls of his apartment were now exceedingly high and made of amber. Flies zipped back and forth between them, bumping into one another and spiraling down in aerial combat. A tall, looming figure then appeared beside the TV on a pair of stilts, its body black save fo