draped ropes
lay blandly
across his shoulders
like mottled scars
as the beauty
of the every day
drained slowly
from his life
like the blood
at her wrist
(February 21, 2014)
-
(words masks shapes)
Not from the tipof the tongue,not some data bankawaiting a key stroke to expunge:but from nowhere to nowhere – –formed from stale contours of airwe spit these liquid sounds,twisting our tight mouths aroundwith these masking smiles, or frowns,‘til some spark of sense is foundlike a penny on the ground,“My word! It’s almost like newat least between me and you.”So, they come from somewhere elsemolding both the world and self:old tomes on the shelf.(from “pimogenitive folly, August 2001,April 2003) -
the verge
by
I step between two low treesonto a small stoop of grey granitejutting into the emptiness of aira thousand foot drop to the groundand twenty miles to the Adirondackslurking blue on the horizon like shipssailing toward some promised landdespite the clichéd romantic vistato an implied unlimited futureemerging from a convoluted pastone more step in this tableauxyields fear for with where I have beenand with my dawn blinded visionsone more step propels me toward life(from a work in progress, “Arcana,” IIIwands, February 20, 2014) -
All That is Not Me Sings in You
from the vibrant purr of the worldyour delicate touch absorbs meyou cup your hands around the embersand slowly without effort breathethe hearth’s fire back into lifeand like the cat curled at your feetI am content with our familiaritywith the silences in your presencewith my love given unbidden and freeI track your casual delight in the daylike a sunflower dances with the windand within life’s dull consternationsthere’s no cause to be concernedfor no definitions can contain us(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” Queenwands, February 18, 2014) -
Still Point
This calm spinsa deceptivebalance.Not so muchthe calmof a storm,a momentarybreak betweendestructions,a respitefromthe bullying wind,but rathera tensecalmlike the surfaceofwater.Whether in a glasswhere the tensionholds the waterabove the edge,or in a lakeacross whicha bugskateson longthread-likelegs,the calm belies.Fish swirl,dart,break waterdevouringthe obliviousskater;the waterpushesagainst the glassseekinga returnto the sea.Cloudsdrift slowlyacrossthe mirroredsurfaceof the lake.This calmmakes menervous;I’m thirstyand reachfor the glass.(from 115 Missing Days, 1996) -
stairs
by
“I change too quickly: my today refutes my yesterday. When I ascend I often jump over steps and no step forgives me that.”–Friedrich NietzscheI plod up the stairstake a step upthen sitbefore stepping downagainthe step looks familiarbut it’s notthat was the onefrom yesterdaytoday the stairsstill ascend as wellas return to the groundI too change quicklyso much somy today and yesterdayimplode withoutcondemnationnor forgivenessno tomorrowto refute thatstepping forwardor stepping backI still standone foot above the other(February 16, 2014) -
To Despair
February 21, 1995The road splits;indecision fixes me.I should stay at home,but I want to move.Patience, not force,clears this road of rocks.
(from “My Book of Changes,” 1994-1995) -
love poem
to L.S.from loveyour passionsflowerlike waves
of lightstreamingbetween the starsto rain upon the earthwhere my life growstoward youlike vineseternallyreachingfor the sun(February 13, 2014) -
a choice
There is no reasonto continue the same,to resist the demandstime does claim.Cramped up in fearof what might be lost,like a penny crimpedwithin a vise,the chance to changerefuses to unfoldas it would if onewould only let go.Cling to the edgeof this abyss,or fall back towarda newer bliss?(from a work in progress, “Arcana,” IVpentacles, February 13, 2014) -
the weight
by
Almost home after years gone underthe whip and lash of it all.That I’ve done this before does not easethe struggle and boredom of the day:pick up a stone, another cord of wooduntil overburdened, then trudge on.A redemptive end does not matter,every task works on me like sin.(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” Xwands, February 12, 2014) -
singular grace
by
I wonder what confines youto one answer one storylinetold well with no loose endsto feel secure in a set outcomethat’s never truly in doubtas if some god narrator tellsyour story as you cross a streetdistracted by the buxom womanin the low-cut blue blouseso much so you miss the buswhich smacks you like hubrisinto oncoming traffic lanesis life simplified when one believesone word must follow the next(February 11, 2014) -
the craft’s the master
each differs in the makingthe momentary decisionto cut here instead of thereor not at all is the artlearned in time with toolsin hand sensing the grainin the slow shaving’s curlbefore dropping to the floorthe craft’s the masterteaching day by dayfrom what formed beforethe repetition and changeof each moment knowingitself as it unfolds(from a work in progress: “Arcana,”VIIIpentacles, February 10, 2014) -
in plain sight
by
“Where am I standing, if I’mto stand still now?”–Denise LevertovWith furtive glancesover unsure feet,I steel myselfagainst myself,unsureof whatto say:excuseshave no reasonthan to weaveanother lie;to tell the truthis awkwardbeneath a clearer sky.I gather my wordslike knives untilmy tongue bleedsinto my hands.I did not meanto hurt youin what I left behind.(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” VIIswords, February 9, 2014) -
and provide for those who can’t
by
The word is the windowthrough which, hands on glass,we see the warm interior.Learn to speak, to enter,and all your hopeswill be comforted so.Out here in the shiveringsnow, one may only listenfor the salvation of her soul.(from a work in progress, “Arcana,” Vpentacles, February 8, 2014)
subtext 