fragment 62

Did you intend to completely occupy
every thought in my mind, the smile
that keeps me as you pass by,
or did you simply mean
to leave a light in my eye,
and have you always been...
so beautiful

just beyond

she swims through waves of rapture
flight atop glowing tides that rise
into the inner spells she makes
creates the expectations
that adorn her world

with sparkles like the springtime rain
with winsome wonder as new lain snow
and in the fall of a feather from a clear blue sky
she makes signs to lift the weary

she bends birth and purpose
into fearless reckoning of the ends
 joined in the cycle of being
its curse of loneliness and blessing of love

In fear, we never stop searching it
and when found we cannot rest
for it stirs the spirit into hunger for more;
 we move in the motion of all things,
as the great wheel carries us;
we hold it as close as breath

Now and forever, the light in her eyes
love is the greatness in the most elegant space;
when the night renders itself into a flower
and she waits at the petal's edge

silence

when the steely tone of my voice
met the flint of your eyes
the inertial spark and tangible arc
touched two, and it was you
who found the hidden power
of that moment; it was in you

that inner dimension of possibility unfolds
and life becomes
 a thing impossible to imagine,
we let love silence  the inner voice
when there is no other word
that can be heard

the sun still stern

In the heat of dry August
the smell of water, drawn

Off the cinder heat and led

To the stilly glade, I stepped onward

Where ferns uncurled in a deep and cooling shade,

Among softer ground followed senses

Until a fervent sound revealed a flow.

As the water fell it played
A song from the heart of the stone.

Trembled and dirty
I rinsed palms to forge a cup
And the water filled the parched edge;
Lips and tongue rejoice as the cool wetness
Subside the yearning burn of hours in want.

I revelled in the aspect of an ancient rock
Slate gray and lichen dressing
Pushed up from the womb of the world
Long before the fire in her belly cooled
And she became the Old Mother.

I drank until I could do no more
And filled anything that could hold
But the cold blessing I’d felt
That relieved a deathsome dry
Would never be again,
As it had never been before.

The sun still stern
And rising like the beat of the cicadas
The burning orb that turned my vision red
And spun me to ground
Now seemed tame;  out of the cool
Its touch was welcomed again
For the voice of the stone
Had soothed me
It set my path to know
What the nature of man can be,
And need of water and want;

Finding the faint prayer's answer,
It was a truth of sun and life.

Mother's Memory

 

she had the way to forget
from the pain of my birth, to the excesses
of my spoiled upbringing.
She had mother's memory 
when i disappointed so often
and treasured the moment's i'd won.

In the end of her days, she held
the treasures of her life
and in Mothers memory I was there
when the world moved away
and only the Love remained..

morning gray

 

The mild morning air made a mark
fog gathered the streetlights into soft glowing balls
and the beginning of chill met the end of heavy warm air
thick, grey mists take on the colors of night.

Red sky at dawn and the clouds have fallen
across the dew-wet lawns; i watch
as it swallows the red tail flare
of a passing yellow cab, gone before half the block
passed into a zone of unseen vibration and muffled roars

I treasure this cloud-bound time
because it fades with the bight coming day
yet, resisting the onslaught
of mercurial rays it somehow grays the morning
and stays in the aspect of long streets and winding avenues
i watch trucks emerge and buses disappear

Fog in the city
a morning of light vignettes and evergreen shadows
adds to the magic of sudden appearing and vanishings
like an endless set of doors
opening and closing on the recently seen.

after the rain

The branches bow to ground
as raindrops weigh it down, and they
sway slowly as mists rise.
Drawn to the beauty, perfect red
sculpted blades, I lift it close
unto my inadvertent touch.

I kiss the flower after the rain
and softly the  petals stain my lips
with evening's scents, and floating
-a moment adrift as if in a dream.
As the warm wind lifts
the traces of flower touch;
it leaves my whispers in an inward stare
among the slow beat of verging drips.

parking plot

My eye slowly reforms, and makes
the icebergs and iridescent lakes
all over the big store parking spaces.
The mind is a treasure,
and imagination is its leisure;
it takes journeys to faraway places.

The glow of street lamps shine
turn asphalt into wavy brine,
and a dead leaf into an exotic isle.
Tree to tree in thick canopy
with power over all I see;
I rule the honeyed land by wit and guile.

 The angry sea would punish me
for sins of poisoned air and greed.
Its deep inhale strands sails; into alarm
as it builds itself until fearsome roars
sends it pounding towards crowded shores.
Sensing doom and the  awful rolling swarm,

I call the Sun to pull to West
and wind lifts me to crescent's crest
Swing from the moon and grab a falling star;
riding on doubtless faith, and air
lifts my reach like a golden stair.
My hand made firm, belief is the power;

I yank the tide and stretch it low
return the sea its peaceful glow.
Save the land and the people that I love
Brown skinned shimmy as hips gyrate
the wide eyed beauties celebrate,
wine and laughter fly to heavens above.

 Fond embraces raise body heat
 dance of love, doesn't miss a beat
 it simply seems the natural thing to do
fantasy so real, I want more
 cross the lot and open the door
a dream, and a car seat to sink in two

street corner cool

waiting in the cold wet snow
for a city bus that never shows
the biting cold cuts straight through
the big ideas and things you'd do

It grinds you down to a single thought
about the old car you should have bought
standing in the slushy snow and ice
wouldn't that warm car air feel nice
and the women who go rushing by
would slow down and smile, maybe say 'hi"
Then cold wet snow would help you find
the sweetest lips and roundest behinds
that the City can offer, and lookig down
the snowy boulevard, is that the bus comin'?
or just the way the trucks keep runnin'

Regrets bite like the flying snow and icy sleet
lo and behold, orange lights comin up the street
I bind my collar, and flinch into a sudden  huddle
as the bus soaks my pants when it raises the puddle!

touched by wind

a heart laid bare, shivers
like a newborn touched by wind
the moving air raises its tender skin
and it shivers for want of warmth

a heart, exposed to the whims
of passing gusts and clouds
that hide the sun, feels so much
then quickly goes numb
and feels nothing, but there
in the solitude of distance
from any loving touch
is its moment of truth

An acceptance that the heart
is forever alone, and touched too harshly;
its weakness is its power, and
its strength in its needs.

For it open the eyelids unto dawn
impels the first step of day,
and fuels the long and desperate search
for human warmth and more, and more
human warmth

red in the shadow

three bright planets in a row
Venus beams, Jupiter gleams
faint Mars, red in the shadow;
Orion stands and Rigel streams
above beautiful stars that have no name

a sawed down fir, sends fingers into the sky
it waits celebration of Forgiveness
a hidden sacrifice of nature's miracle
three bright lights at five AM
and I have a day to gain
everything i have never done, not won
and the itch of each second, tingles...

a slow descent

Now is the time
to speak of love, not in a whisper
but  roars like the howl of storm and sea
like thunders in the belly of world
when Titans shift brawny shoulders
and the Earth groans

Now is the time
to raise voice and claim peace,
for it is not easy on the hardest day.

Now is the time when innocent ground
hungers, and dry leaves of the season
have nothing to give, it is the time
for the higher part of the heart
to sing a song in future tense;
when we can look back and see
a season of our hands raised in anger,
and a slow descent into reason.

far from dawn

Some things only make sense,
in a quiet pause, resenting sleep and
far from dawn
slowly sipping Irish Whiskey.

The little bite on tongue dissolves into flavor
and one savors thoughts
as if tones on palate
slowly sipping ...

Intruding rudely the loud report
of little men once again
making ruin in the jewel- Paris;
Lives spilled, run red on ancient streets
we meet once again the face of loveless life
a banner of carnage, upon the soul of innocence...

I fight back the wells that verge, and
get lost in better possibility, and prayer
for some things make no sense at all, even when
slowly, sipping Irish Whiskey.

an Autumn Blues

When grasses slow then cease to grow
their green blades wither to rust
and the slanted sky brings a sad goodbye
to warmer days, and now a leafy crust
finds the sole of my shoe
and an empty wish for something lost

So soon, the warmth gone, and cool days
and bundled-up ways come crowding through.

The birds see it too, and gold finches flash
to gather hard seeds, as summer's missions
find completion; in the glad recreation
of spring yet to be, is a recipe for perfection.

The ground firms in coolness, silently
fat, red worms relent and go deep.
They seem like the baring trees, ready
for wintry haze and sullen sleep.

I feel the urge to south, grow wings, fly
rise on lifting winds, as scented air comes forth
in lotus and nightly lilac- such unwanted pause
this frigid pall; the descending crawl from north

comes whether I wish it to be.
 I wonder as eyes scan the rainbow canopy
if the stoic evergreens can sense  my envy

Autumn song

Alas, I have no simple words to bring
the carefree ways made summer days stand still,
nor vividly relive  the giddy spring
as sun-filled  thrills suspend the winter chill.

Once again, I step upon the crossing roads
tween season loved and one that needs to be,
and spy gaunt specter of  its heavy loads,
a path to joy in stony misery.

I fly and glide with blades made by sun;
its dried bones take wing in final flight.
Each leaf a mark to things that time has done
uncovered green to shades of captured light.

 In the play of life, time writes every part,
its echoes ring the seasons in my heart.

the rare air

sometimes the softest lips  leave a mark,
a sign of passions, a small cherry on skin.
Fading quickly and nearly forgotten
until a casual glance brings back a memory
and the skin reminds us of who we have been

a Lover, a cherished pair, a casual reply to an embrace

Passions can trace time and we can know
the sacrifice of a few cells was nothing in compare
to the rare air that only exists
a moment before touch, on the verge of a kiss.

hallow's evening...

Warm night and starless sky
at the pagan time of harvest; as night neared
the hopes and fears of ended year
hung in a palpable balance, for their walls
unseen between this hope  and that dream
seemed drawn, thinned to the point of nothing.

Everything here could pass to there
souls and evils, loves and un-willed passage
all blended in the thick autumn night.
Oh starless sky, where has Orion wandered
and the great bear? No pole star to guide
the conscience of men, and once again
the tale of the harvest bespeaks
a future fine or famine, and weeks of labor
under bright moon found them alone
all saints and hallow's evening, into night...

They wondered of this newer faith
and the far more ancient ways, as they
blend into a finer truth;
as time and men distill  a lasting elixir.

woman song

a composition without effort
flowed from full red lips
rising above the drum brush
high-hat, downbeat and strings,
soft reeds combine, and her deep wide eyes close
as her curled black hair slides
across bare brown skin, shoulders
that have carried so much for so long
and her delicate back shimmies
to the movement she has made.
I revive moments of joy and sadness
in the pauses of her soft inhales

the corridor showed signs of wear
and the incomplete blessing of skills,
repairs that smoothed away a slow torture of time
The old carpet seemed new
in the wet residue of a woman's effort
rub, clean shampoo, rub clean
and the sinews of her neck express
the giving from her inner form, she pants
low and slow; unbends the back
stiff and tired, her spirit reports, a call
from every aching part...smiling
as the guests pass by so carefree so
un-seeing, as she moans soft...bends again

In the corner room, laughter brings
signs of spring and hints of gathers
before sweet rain; transforms the sultry
heat of late August amid stirrings
 an ancient city in celebration
for the crisis points of an infant nation
all flow, across balcony doors. A window
on a world in flux.
From the deep smile beneath
her deeper furrowed brow the weight
that slips past her sensitive lips
and rises to the walls and floats down the hall
and begins again when skin denied for so long
rediscovers the genesis of woman song.

The sweetness of life, rustled on sheets
the needs of the moment past flowed to the blossom
of a wish...now filled, and another
and she is like the gentle breeze through linens,
she bends like tips of trees. gently 
whispers grow to rush and hush,
in counterpoint to her breathy rhythm
as love holds her close, in the velveteen air.

the winter of small men

winter urges the world
to rest and gather, precious water
and the spirit feeds its need to soak-in
the blessings of seasons past and rest
that eases tomorrow's burden

The spring that rests like a seed
in the spirit's ever fertile soil
sown in the want for more and more life
it is the path to happiness in the reach
for the healing warmth of the sun
and abundance.

So unlike the winter of small men
spare and ungiving, lost in  a fruitless
search for a greater emptiness- the seeming strength
to ignore the suffering of others, and find
an abundance for the few...
so unlike the world, as it cradles all
so unlike the gifts the world has given
to each of you.

Trains...

Footsteps flow like cascades down busy corridors
up and down automatic stairs
luggage-d and billeted, worries and smiles;
the vaulted ceiling fills with noise, and nearby
the rails still beckon the faraway;
still enchant the wanderer's spirit.

The oval dome holds us like a hive
and the constant swell of human sounds
fade into a buzzing hiss.

We settle eyes to eyes
a final touch before leaving
a kiss that will be remembered
as empty air fills your space
leaves wet traces-  your last kiss...

we both turn to go,
carrying so much more than before...

on the wing

two vultures cross bright  morning sky
 contend with a strong southerly wind
that takes one east too low to soar
and the other riding high to the west

Two vultures -a mating pair it seems-
flew close, wing tips nearly touched
until the lift of wind and gust
drove them apart, now hungers
must find them in their separate ways.

Two vultures driven here and thus
do not reconnect as I spy the breakup
of clouds and hatted heads,
of child's balloons and the dreams they held
and the touch of hungers on the wing
such is the work of wind and sun.

As I reach for the cover of my coat to clasp
keep the warmth of my chest, lest it too,
struggled in gusts and hunger, shall be
 the untouched wing.

the rainy eyes

 

only nine...and the bare white walls
and beeping machines make a strange lullaby
when sleep is for healing, and healing comes like a dream
and the busy doorway
brings strange eyes with deep frowns
and the wonderful smile
of Mom and Dad, friends and their
Moms and Dads.
The things they found make them frown
the brain, and it brings the rainy eyes...
but when nine, storms pass quickly,
the frown cannot linger and
every chance to find a moment of joy- is like
her infectious smile in this antiseptic place; it is
simply...irresistible.

Church…

In a feeling like the growth of a tide

Soft tones rose  beneath the wooden cross

And the agony of Jesus replayed in my eyes

As the crimson robed choir began a gentle sway

And their eyes closed or upward cast, they waited

For voice and spirit to join,  praise sounds

like a song of life when life rises to connect

a moment of feeling to an endless journey

As faith joins the ragged seams

Of beginnings and ends  Into a circle,

bound and unbroken, passed from slave to free 

To claim that faith brought us thus far

And it will carry us forever through.

Loss

A window pane can separate

The seen from that we can touch

But it leaves the airy space open

To that which we can feel

As if you were last there

Near the corner turn, and away

From my sight you go,  and I

Must imagine you, and all I know of you

Is in memory.

It is this way today

The bright sky perceived in a patina, gone gray

The way a bright gull becomes dull, mottled brown

As it floats to ground and sheds the sun

So another breath gone still, nothing in this space

Nothing in that tomorrow…

I close eyes and see a boat passing by

The water swelled in its bow and quieting in its wake

Until still, and moving only

Because of the wind or the unseen tug of the world

And I think the boat has gone, until

The water swirls again; reminding me of

the ceaseless ways of a journey.