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.