#13 5/4

Morticia

How many of us
Devastate the ones we love?
at least she warns them.

Shiny scarlet sign
Could she be more obvious?
Time is running out.

Hurry now and love.
Red sand falls with a vengeance.
Belly full of stars.

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#12 5/3

Dimes in my pocket
Forge another link
In the growing chain

Bells explode inside
Another broken
Foot steps in the grave

Too many red lights
Too much sound, too much white smoke
Sleeping on the job

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BREAK

It has been a remarkably busy weekend, so I have taken a few days off.  I shall begin again on Monday.

#11 4/29

Wake up!  The light is fading from your eyes
and soon I will be left here all alone.
I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise.

The time is near to part with your disguise,
cast off the only robes you've ever known.
Wake up!  The light is fading from your eyes.

Will I forgive the multitude of lies?
The angel's kiss will turn your flesh to stone.
I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise.

The air here is too heavy for goodbyes,
pregnant with every sob the wind has blown.
Wake up!  The light is fading from your eyes.

Is this the echo of your labored sighs?
The chisel of spirit escaping bone?
I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise.

The rattle of this dark soul as it flies
away from me can only be your own.
Wake up!  The light is fading from your eyes.
I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise.

#10 4/28

Young girl, awash in enchantments
the magic of great journeys

Hands entwined, eyes full of oceans
a long and winding road

A heart is knit.  A heart unravels.
the tyranny of time

An alien land, a thousand voices
alone inside the din

The tiny mouth, demanding eternity
so many empty rooms

His whiskey smile, quivering flashbacks
a fool's gold promise

Wet pillow, waking nightmare
some deflected blows

A slamming door, clicking locks
another final straw

A heart is hardened.  A door opens
hands are always out

A fat grey cat, who used to be skinny
lounging on the porch.

#9 4/27

I hope he knows,
in his quiet moments,
how beautiful it is
to do the right thing.

I hope the cloud
of scrutiny
hanging constantly
above him doesn't

shower too much
doubt upon his
"I have a lot to prove"
smile.

Easy to say --
Love your neighbor
Honor your parents
Give your possessions

to the poor.
Lay down your comforts.
Give up your notions.
Open your heart.

I hope he knows,
somewhere in dreams
how rare is the
flower of justice.

#8 4/26

I've had to post a few recent-ish but not new poems.  It's harder than I thought to come up with something new every day, but hopefully I'll get better with practice.

UNTITLED

There is never enough time
between one breath and the next
to say it properly
and so we stutter
clumsy drumbeat dreams of love,
lies that never stood a chance,
or just shut our mouths and dance
to the rhythm of our own blood.

There is never enough space
between one step and the next
to get to you
and so we stare
through the microscope of tears
at the people we've become,
deaf and lame, blind and dumb,
grasping across the void.

There is never enough love
between one pulse and the next
to stem the flow
and how I long -- I've always longed
to reach into your chest
and clutch the beating shards
with all my weary might until
they forget to be broken.

#7 4/25

No

sunlight

penetrates

the walls of this

invisible box,

imaginary cage,

in which we spend our days

waiting for reprieve,

waiting for some

prince who will

let us

out.

No

promise

of delight

colors our hearts.

We only see grey.

We dream of a rock face,

an enormous expanse.

We race for the edge.

We pray for wings.

We give in.

We jump.

Yes.

#6

Cricket in the Parking Garage

I guess the cricket too
got lost in the concrete jungle,
so I ferried him home in my palm,
that one of us might drink
green air and sleep in the grass,
before the end of things.

You said,
"it'll probably die anyway,"
and I knew then that we would,
regardless of his fate.
How could I ever have loved anyone
who left earthworms on the sidewalk?

Blind in the neon cave,
we stumbled drunk, like children,
and wondered, whose sharp eye
is watching for our missed steps,
whose hand will lay us down to rest,
in what golden pastures?

#5 4/23

"Regarding Tomatoes"

"You have to plant them deep," he told me.
"Bury them alive. Leave nothing but the
very tip above the earth's surface."

They need the darkness.
They need the depth.
They need the smothering
blanket of earth.
Plant them shallow, and they
will be weak, unable to stand
tall on their own.

"And if they start to form blossoms
too soon," he added, "you have
to pluck them off."

You can't just let them run amok.
They crave structure. They
crave boundaries. Everything
in the universe wants to grow.

You just have to help it form
strong roots.

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Flashback Fridays

I have decided that on Fridays, I'll post one new poem and one old one.

New:

Some days you are so
tired you can only come
up with a haiku.


Old:


Releasing my Brother

Away!  Away!  Into the deep
we cast you, under moonlit skies,
and, voices chill with February,
warm with wine, we called your name
and many other words that night,
the sound exploding from our lips.

I almost read a Bible verse
because it would have pissed you off
but settled instead on Dylan Thomas,
a poet, playwright, and fellow drunk
to sing the holy road your dust
would follow to eternity.

I hope that you can rest now,
rocked and rolled on the western waves,
shrouded by the gulf.  I hope
your soul will find a kind of peace
wrapped in the salty arms of God,
in the only place I ever saw you
happy.

#3 4/21/2011

Nightmare


In dreams, no one is safe.
Apparitions crush the eyes
like sharp-clawed boogeymen
leaping from closets,
like piles of tiny clothes
from your skinny days
falling from closets.
Nothing stays stowed forever.

In dreams, his face is clear;
the dust of wasted time
has all but disappeared.
You are defenseless.
Years spent forgetting
vanish in a blaze.
You are helpless.
Nothing can be erased.

Awake, you remember
where the bread crumbs led,
why you ran the other way,
how you both fell out of love.
In dreams, the path is hidden.
You can't see behind you.
No one falls out of love.
They just learn to be content
with starving.

#2 4/20/2011

It is frustrating not to have any time to edit things before I post them.  But, I guess that was the point.

Untitled

These days, we are surrounded on all sides
by poems on two feet, most unaware
the groaning of their broken bodies hides
explosive music, grasping at the air.

The butterflies are naked in the mist,
the hunters net extended quick to snare one.
Examining the wings, he checks his list
and hopes his prisoner will prove a rare one,

but you and I, we read the heart of things,
the loveliness behind his jealous hope.
The most mundane of moths -- the dullest wings
are just as fair beneath a microscope.

The lowly and neglected we extol.
We long to sing the song of every soul.

Poem #1 4/19/2011

Scripted

Someone down the line
rattles off the same words
he tells me every time,

and I can see him --
his eyes, beautiful and
empty in the blank glow

of a monitor,
flicking out its poison
tongue and freezing him in place.

He remembers it
now and again, the bird
that once lit up the room,

remembers how her
towering sparksong
drove away the darkness,

but now he wanders
lost in the neon cave,
clinging to that same line

like a trail of crumbs
luring him backward
into the dragon's mouth.

I want to touch him,
reach through the receiver
and stroke his thinning hair.

"There, there," I would say,
"it's all right, little bird.
I, too,
        once had
                      a soul."

If at first you don't succeed...

I have tried several times to start a blog, but it always turns out the same way. I start off with a lot of energy and enthusiasm, and then I fizzle out.  Just like knitting and scrapbooking and higher education and every other project I have undertaken lately.  I am great with beginnings but not so hot with the follow through.

In the hope that my attention span will one day mature, I am trying again.  My goal is to post one new poem every day for one year.  Some of them will suck.  Some of them will be very short.  I just want to get some things on paper - or page, at any rate.  #1 will be posted this evening.