I came to a pit.
They had dug for my forefather in the road.
Many trances away, the fire of old times left me.
Buried, he sits looking over the edge.
A crag was my head,
A halo my home.
circa 2002
Friday, August 27, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The Tree That Encloses Me
I am its veins
He is my eyes
Heart is ours together,
Reach is shared,
Rain on us is cleansing
A purgation of tattered leaves,
Quickly.
Circa 2002
He is my eyes
Heart is ours together,
Reach is shared,
Rain on us is cleansing
A purgation of tattered leaves,
Quickly.
Circa 2002
Forgive me for my hesitation
Forgive me for my hesitation,
Forgive me for my pain.
Two budding trees crossed my path yesterday
They counseled me and said
Far is nothing you can manage
Close is what you need.
Circa 2002
Forgive me for my pain.
Two budding trees crossed my path yesterday
They counseled me and said
Far is nothing you can manage
Close is what you need.
Circa 2002
edited 2010
Brokenness trinkets strange wads of future
Serrated inner teeth the crushed parts of a mirror that don't reflect
The echo that doesn't answer you.
circa 2002
Serrated inner teeth the crushed parts of a mirror that don't reflect
The echo that doesn't answer you.
circa 2002
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Ophelias (edited 2010)
The Ophelias
Who walked into the fire
They were with me
Breathing
When my skin cracked.
They were on the other side, but
With no more partition
We watched it together
Floundering in flame.
Circa 2002
Who walked into the fire
They were with me
Breathing
When my skin cracked.
They were on the other side, but
With no more partition
We watched it together
Floundering in flame.
Circa 2002
Singing on the Silt
The last left signs
Of an awakened world,
The mountain they chained to me
Saw a green morning dew.
Was there no horizontal motion?
No stir left when the soft soil cracked?
I heard her singing on the silt of the Nile’s bank
Forty odd-numbered years
That were estranged from her.
circa 2001-2
Of an awakened world,
The mountain they chained to me
Saw a green morning dew.
Was there no horizontal motion?
No stir left when the soft soil cracked?
I heard her singing on the silt of the Nile’s bank
Forty odd-numbered years
That were estranged from her.
circa 2001-2
Sir Reality- 2003
It will be surreal in the end,
But Sir Reality is my friend
So maybe that is good.
1/17/03
But Sir Reality is my friend
So maybe that is good.
1/17/03
untitled prose, circa 2002-3
Poetry distilling on the soul like sweatbeads. Comes up from the center like magma. Conversation pregnant like the days in spring that are humid. The triumphs that are out of tune.
The Golden Hour
A fitting introduction to this blog....
The Golden Hour
In the emptied sieve of afternoon
Poured away into the rays and beams that drift
I find
Lovelier than all treasures
A sheen of the Divine
That casts a gleaming cloak and a burning scepter;
Fueled by last moments and enveloping ties, lingering
Offering
The candle to the eye of dusk.
This, tasted bitterly in leaving
But sweetly for its bronzing beauty
Escapes the glass.
Touch quickly, for we strain our eyes
At the last sands
Of the Golden Hour.
8/24/10
The Golden Hour
In the emptied sieve of afternoon
Poured away into the rays and beams that drift
I find
Lovelier than all treasures
A sheen of the Divine
That casts a gleaming cloak and a burning scepter;
Fueled by last moments and enveloping ties, lingering
Offering
The candle to the eye of dusk.
This, tasted bitterly in leaving
But sweetly for its bronzing beauty
Escapes the glass.
Touch quickly, for we strain our eyes
At the last sands
Of the Golden Hour.
8/24/10
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