When she emerged in me I recognized
a Volcano:
in her the world changes
there are no maps,
no Truth
save the landscape she breathes
into Myth
she is the madness that creates
Fantasy in the compulsion
shadows left behind.
Dreams
The Song of my Heart
A blanket, wrapped, did fall
from over wicker cage—
a basket or a golden carry-all—
and with it flew an ebon rage
upon the doves of heaven.
They pirouetted, by and by
yet though we cried for thoughts to leaven
they flew on until the sun between them sighed,
us standing pinioned beneath
daggers flown beyond their sheath.
Ghosts of Remembrance
the tide
—–ghosts left behind
suckles at devils’ smiles
and sops marionette strings
shining in the moonlight
huddled in the marrow
of eternity and dreams
without faceless distance to
spare me the darkness
of beautiful remembrance.
Crass Costumes Dreams Wore
Deep down in the marrow of costumed bone
lies the lonely bastion where hope might roam
she cloaks herself in mercy’s skin,
constructing strength, as warmth, from within
scores the walls to scale the rain
before the river dries within the drain
hips akimbo, straddling the lands
once stoked and carved by swaying hands—
it’s more than stubborn brow,
it’s something less than the weight of a farmer’s plough;
yet prisoners don it day by day
with gloved flesh, lest humanity wash away.
A Fairy Tale from Celtic Hearts
Burrowed into the emerald hills
I have found the ghosts of waves resonant
in every whistle of the reflection—
it lay beneath a stream dark as indigo.
I found the horse that would carry me back
across grey scale and falling sand
hoary as the one that held its hours
as a cloud its gift of rain.
There we rode across the moon
under baths of silver light youth made
sparkle in that distant sky, eternal
save for the need to breathe, and live, and love—
It touched my palms, this dream of mine
without cause or grace or end to mystery;
yet it fell, as perfection always does
until the next promise of a nightly love.
Bare Foot Education
(Miss the good news? Be sure to check out my previous post for details on an upcoming poetry reading, award, and radio interview – it’s a busy couple months ahead!)
Exploited feet
diminished spirit
ashen world detritus
clogging pores and pouring
out live within
sanctuary of knowledge
fortress by education, maze-like
without the cheese, just history and
ink dripping from the binding—
not a prayer
nor a thought,
it’s the brick and mortar keeps me
it’s the paper worlds that defend me
it’s the flesh and bone that births me
beyond, the living
not made, clandestine
nights of exhaustion for figments
and apparitions—yet
no imagination save “away”.
Familiar is the chirp
of the restoration aria
gentle minds contemplate
as they dream bare foot dreams.
Down, Down
born of flesh
borne by earth
choked divinity caught at the thresh
lay numb beside the kindled hearth—
fall down, fall down,
let vaulted rain yet drown—
the wriggling flames
of dancing dreams
cannot survive the niggling games
blacktop shadows wove within the seams—
lie down, lie down,
buried by the wetted crown.
