hard to write poems
when your mouth dries up, dusty
and the words wither
Tag: poem
Poem 20151130
the minute hand waits
for the second hand
and for a fraction of a second
they touch
advance
and then the second hand is gone
in her point of view
is she racing ahead
or did the minute hand
let go too soon?
Poem 20151129
weaving
the shuttle moves and clacks
all the strands are the same color
save one
a single red thread
a thick as a threat
dark as blood
never pumped by human heart
the weaver
swears there is a pattern
though the skeins
seem all the same
colorless as dun
against the heath
the hands move
the threads move
save one
that wraps around stars
that wraps around us
Poem 20151128
bright-burning, but not enough
to drive out the night
her bared skin reveals stripes
scars made by other hands
where she was seamed together
assembled by who knows what hands
not mine is all i know
there will be fire yet, oh yes
and there was blood, for certain
and lost feathers from wings refusing
to be broken. freedom and will and safety
one she wants, the other she has
the last a consideration
you may pick two, of course
these crepuscular woods fill
with birdsong and the sound of flight
the ringing of an anvil
delight and tears
Poem 20151127
all lean muscle and taut nerves
something there in the trembling
in the hand
in the clenching
of the stomach
of the small fibrous tangle
muladhara
open and expand and explode
lower your lids like sunset
Poem 20151126
everything can use a little editing
a gentle stroke of the pen
to make
what does come out
what should come out
–wait, i didn’t mean that–
would never be uttered again
because everything would be composed
pored over
marked up
submitted as galleys
and approved
before the words pass
carrying less weight
perhaps for the extended process
conversations would stretch
for days
and saying i love you
would take from the first glimpse
of morning sunlight
to when the full moon sinks below
the horizon
Poem 20151125b
give thanks before you are asked
before the request passes through the lips
before the thanks seems less like
gratitude than like a duty
give thanks for her smile and soft skin
and for the tenderness of her hands
for the curve of her neck
and the way the light catches her eyes
give thanks for hearing laughter once again
and for the corners of her mouth upturned
and for the scent of her when you embrace
and for how she lingers in your mind
Poem 20151125
the view at lunch
clouds sailing over freeway
cars streaming under
Poem 20151124
there are gray clouds
of a stormy nature
and they loom
above the horizon
proudly displaying a gap
between heaven and earth
all about separation
things not coming together
division is the natural
order…
the firmament above
from the firmament below
except…
when the rain falls
Poem 20151123
the cell vibrates
the wall pinching
from an enzymatic signal
strands of identical
feelings and caresses
split down the middle
fingers barely touching
as they are pulled apart
by clockwork
and the division
is the first time we ask
is this a good thing
Words and Feathers 