four haiku with a tanka couplet
her nightgown slips
past her hips
as she steps toward him
*
her skin cool
beneath the sheets
simmers at his touch
*
a fan rattles
over tangled sheets;
cicada pulse the heat outside.
*
she wakes before dawn,
and slips from bed,
leaving him alone
*
like rain in drought, we
desire what remains
(July 8, 2019)
by
from “Rendition of Change,” a work in progress
The old tortoise-shell cat slips
cautiously through the grass
as the storm approaches.
This-too-shall-pass provides
small comfort in the moment’s
chaos and fear. Lightning strikes
often and nearby. As rain
starts to fall, the cat watches,
motionless, from the stair.
(July 3, 2019)
My story is true in so far
as it is my story. The lines
I must maintain for my belief
to be justified are many.
I fear questions lest it all falls
like a child’s tower of blocks falls,
tumbled across unstable ground.
Although I know that the truth lies
for I formed each one on my own,
turning them over and over
like rosary beads until smooth,
they still allow me to believe
each stone lies firmly on the next.
With no one to doubt what I say,
the facade I have built is real
I explain to myself myself:
I live forms of happiness
As long as the ever after,
and the hero is always me.
(June 30, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
At nine I wrote a poem
to a girl in my class — a love poem.
Today fifty years later,
I still write poetry.
Like a small bird flits
between branches, poetry
and love intertwine through
my life giving shape and succor
to even the quietest moment.
(June 30, 2019)
by
Blood spatter slurs
on wet tile:
rorschach blots
without interpretations
(June 29, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
somewhere, nearby
vague, yet pervasive,
like these whispers
which define all
as some other than me,
some other voice–
always here
not just an echo
of myself
(June 24, 2019)
by
A room carved
into his heart–
no door,
but a room
without a candle.
His heart
a hollow room
without a candle.
He desired a candle,
to watch it burn,
but there was no match,
or he would burn,
the world would burn,
the house would burn
into ash,
into ash,
into ash:
ash
and wind.
(June 20, 2019)
A scintillant dust
shallows his breath;
memory hovers above
them both, a ghost-
vague, yet resonant,
like tattered filament,
shrouds, or tendons
lifted slowly from bone.
Even shaped to reform,
nascent affirmation’s
echoes are just
echoes blurring whispers
into silence, like wisps
adrift between gravestones.
(June 20, 2019)
by
Not the one, or the one,
but one:
Humility
strikes down
even gods.
I am who I am,
but without
the silence to kill.
I forgive us both
the slippery hope we shared.
Together we were more
than one discordant circle.
Wrapped in dry mouth’s
slow-tongued kiss,
we blurred beneath
late autumnal leaves.
(June 16, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
Random borders set blurred forms
to contain apportioned bits
of chaos. He accepts these
chains, like religion, to free
himself from the infinite.
(June 10, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
Without god to save us,
a breeze slips through
the sycamore’s leaves
slightly sifting the heat away
from the shade beneath.
We must find ourselves
within ourselves, or perish.
Light dapples the grass between us
like butterflies over flowers.
(June 7, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
In various taverns
around town,
we have spoken tegether
for years, gathering strength
from our gentle laughter
over beer, books, and beatitudes.
Each of us offers what we can,
then part renewed.
(June 6, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
To be there. To bear witness:
one tells one’s story— That’s all!
That is how evil falls— Again
and again— tell one’s story.
(June 5, 2019)
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