Wednesday, February 23, 2011

arbor




I should play among  
the sun’s reflection 
in the cool trickles of 
liquidy perfection
‘neath the quiescent 
observation of oak roots 
exposed by erosion.

 
I should chant a
mantra of pure joy
smelling the soft soil
newly rain-soaked 
under my feet, 
at the rustle of toil
of an unknown 
companion in
the thicket or 
an answered avian call
over the canopy.

 
I should sit for
longer hours amidst
the leaves, the
verdant foliage calls, 
vibrant and seductive
as it pleads, 
bark encompassing 
a lineage hidden.
I feel as father and as son
on this hill in the wood
there is nothing profane 
here, nor forbidden.

 
I should live by my heart
forever in this land
encased in the bark and
rooted in the soil
created by deity’s hand.
 
I should.

Monday, February 21, 2011

vertigo lightning
















Mixed sorrow and fear,

never laughing o'er the night.

Circling above my wooden terrace

clouds trace moon away from sight,

I shudder, arms drawn near.



Skulk place-to-place, then hide

your face in billowing wonder.

Skyward searches find you missing,

ears they hear only your thunder,

when comes midnight and I should be inside.


Billowous clouds, like armies marching

through the battlefields above

fill the wind with biting teeth

and the startling brightness of

death that from heaven comes arching.


Wind shushes hope from mind,

wild twirling, branches fall.

Snatching leaves early from haven,

while the ghosts of brothers call,

and dual charges grow in kind.


Engross me in willow and oak-

do not suffer my body rain,

descending acid from distant reaches

of a barren lifeless plain

with frigid fires and cadaver smoke.



Storm will take me in my slumber

sooth my wounds with electric silk

for my comfort has been neglected

the very lifeblood of my ilk

spilled in some unwitting blunder.
 

Swallow fear and then my tongue

healing agony from flame

salvation lies in execution

lascivious licks of crackling pain,

from my body, affliction wrung.

Monday, February 14, 2011

fingers and toes (2011)

To explain a couple of things for those who may not know- my daughter Amara used to "miss" sneezes when she was a baby. She would start, very quietly ah-ah... then it would grow... aH...AH... and then, as if totally disappointed it would deflate into an Awwwwwww! Cracked me up every time.

Garron, the blond, blue-eyed boy-wonder is always ready for a competitive challenge, especially if it involves something physical. Eilena is my fairy princess, the girliest-girl I know (and thats okay!)

* * *

Fingers and toes

its all well I suppose,

met me skimming a the tank top

to escape my death-throes.

On a hot summer sultry

wearing wheels on my feet

waiting writhing and faithless

to come in from the heat.


Poetry and prose,

caramel candies, a rose;

tried to woo you

from the outset

and ignore the echoes.

Was I suavely successful

reaching out to grasp words?

Or were you rolling your eyes

at every second or third?


Good-byes, hellos,

then its me that you chose

since our midnight moonlit strolling

knew that I would propose.

Apartment life so nervous

as each drank the other in;

who'd have thought a Presbyterian

and a Baptist'd live in sin?


Strangers and foes

leaving exes and ohs

struck out bravely

towards a reckoning

on this path that we chose.

On a chilly autumn crisp

in a mantle picture frame

immortal green together

as this unit we became.


Tables and clothes

eating chicken and crow

went domestic

but what's best it

wasn't forced for show.

Had our frostbit winter windburns

when the temperature was ill;

stayed in-float and never capsized

even when our boat was filled.


Ribbons and bows

little eyes and little nose,

a surprise wrapped in suspense-

could we survive with one of those?

Brought us springtime

flower sweetness

with her smiles upon the breeze

and a loving bunch of laughter

every time she missed a sneeze.


Yes's and no's

when a dragon imposed

on our castle at the hilltop

hoped that he was comatose.

Southward exodus from demons

with some help along the way

ever glancing over shoulders

to preserve what we have made.


Now, fingers and toes,

something new from you arose-

a blond, blue-eyed boy-wonder

second chapter to close.

We wrapped our home around him

in a velveteen vice-grip,

taking moonlit stroll aplenty

and enjoying every trip.


Boyish toys & trumpet blows

and a sister’s daily dose

of reminders she is older:

with our rabbits, in our home.

A loving competition

as we strive to hold the peace

through academics, dance & soccer,

we are ever-awed by each.


Wait, fingers and toes,

deep inside you new life grows

a fairy princess spreading magic

with the pixie dust she throws.

arrived just in time to shield us

from malignant sheets of rain.

Guards our family from the hardship

of great economic strain


Now moved by what we chose

plains to mountains in transpose

take our family to new heights

hot-air balloons over arroyos-

westward watermelon mountains,

sparkling city in the night

who’d have thought the dried-out desert

would manifest our paradise?


Now, onward we flow

couple of unlikely heroes.

Bearing burdens

strong emboldened

'til we earn our due repose.

Keep beside me, lean upon me

Nobody knows what futures bring

sit astride me and abide-

fingers and toes to which I’ll cling.

* * *

Thank you, thank you

for this lifetime chance,

for waiting by my door.

Thank you, thank you

for each season's change

and every season more.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

past presence

Do you even hear the wind

as it rushes o'er your valleys?

Stop to see the remnant hissing

of the leaves which mourn its pass?



Do you ever miss the rainstorms,

miss the nourishment they'd replenish?

Stop to ponder cool sensations

as your skin was gently kissed?



Prior shoulders robust and grand

now thin and wrinkled, parched by heat.

Flesh now dangles in delicate feature

from cold hands and blithe fingers.



Squalor of a barren prairie,

stripped to bare skin without water.

Worn to bone in delicate feature,

fragile; unforgiving still.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

hardwood heroine

Sometimes 1 + 1= 11, at least that's what the CEO of America Online would have us believe, upon acquiring my beloved Huffington Post. I'm usually a little more cynical looking along those lines but then I happened to recall a time where I mashed up a couple of pieces I had written & it worked pretty well. Add just a smidge of touching up here & there & I had myself a workable would-be poem!

* * *

On the outside

she was coated with green muck-slime

mixed with brown

a camouflaged soldier

gnarled roots stabbing ground

at her muddied bivouac

laughing at tact, lunging with zest

limbs sprawling wide

as if calling to heaven

her arbor request

to halt fungus and scales

from their molestations

as out her pores they spill

parasitic on her body, alive

imposing their will.

I split the hard wood and

color explodes

rings shout to life

sable amidst bright yellow rife with

secrets where exposure is fresh

she sweetens the air-

the sawdust flies as blade shreds flesh

and I can shape her into a rocking horse

or park bench or a desk at which

to quench my parchment

an exhibition of lust, a behest to her beauty

reduced to possession, her prizes relinquished,

spent, used, torpid and stale- no addition of rings

nor spreading new scent

now hollow in color

marred by spackle and stain

no mystery left within

arthritic, contorted in pain

She stood in the forest picturesque

now in her nakedness in my cabin

lays awkward wronged and grotesque.

Monday, February 7, 2011

red lion, since 1773

Inspired by a business trip that was a true pleasure, back around 2006. Freezing cold weather & bad live music in Massachusetts made bearable by the venerable old hotel in which I was privileged to stay, The Red Lion Inn.

* * *

The place called to me-

not the glum-strum player- his pawnshop six-string

nor the grain alcohol served-


rather the rickety creek of the hardwood beams-

the scent of a spent firelog looming heavily

with lost dancers of light.


Grain alcohol competes for muster

with salt grains

and my pensive hands-


With headlong motion-

I heard the call,

clarion o'er the players strings-



In nighttime on walls

cracked remnants leak ghosts-

pursuing their recompense-


Silent as a wisp-

stirring the ambiance-

archaic, heirloom-heartened.


Grain alcohol stirs chance-

the painting spied in hall-

a Bible I once knew-


Porchtop glistening-

now-noonday rain upon-

my pensiveness subsides.


For the place called me-

with unusual inflection-

history's ring.


Naked of troubles-

endearment of cloud-light-

I ponder antique scents


and days gone by.

Friday, February 4, 2011

it's mutual

Sit near and observe me

do my bit here and write

words on a microscreen

lacking the grace of paper

vaporous wisp smirking

from the hole in the corporate coffeecup lid

a velveteen taper of life

obese with pretension

I lack the courage to

linger in conversation

here by myself even while

you cross your legs

in dire anticipation-

but anticipating what? I have no recollection

of promises made

much less vows unspoken

mistake me not- your neck was craning

eyes darting wild and wet

lips complaining the

simple secret dimples in your cheeks straining to

compose your thoughts,your self and emotions

your theme uncompleted

your silent protests

inelegant and pouts unfeted.

If there's anything I can do

anything left unfulfilled

a verse or chapter or comment

unmilled and mined

directed and refined I

stand readily corrected.

Instead here I still sit

my eyes engrossed by

minute electronics

and yours by my flickering fingers and

chronic yet fleeting

fantasies of more.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

warrior born

I enter as solicitor into the breech, I

shimmy through a spinney of oak and beech, I

smolder I stutter-step hillside-bound, I

worship at a cromlech with reverent sound, aye.


I revel in primeval heresies hailed, I

peel away pretense brandish what’s veiled, I

quest for veracity, from all whom would speak, I

seek rectitude for the shunned and the weak, aye.


I trip down footpaths long over-grown, I

convulse on the altar of rain-etched stone, I

gasp at the lightning in the night-bird sky, I

ken to the eidola of eons wild, aye.


I rove companionless as streams flow past, I

quaff their waters my drought to cast, I

taste aged mosses and sod underfoot, I

mingle with the mysteries of the twilight wood, aye.


I relinquish these boots, this crown, this shame, I

breathe malcontent extrication exclaimed, I

move to recompense my lady, my land, I

make an invocation to all women and men, aye.


I present to the heavens my chest, my face, I

plea for forgiveness of my race, I

burn from the fire and bruise from the stone, I

writhe hands and knees past a gauntlet thrown, aye.


I return to the hearth to the village I adore, I

rush along the promenade a warrior born, I

recite the story to the curious child, I

thrill and fulfill her or render him riled, aye.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

bravado!

Every politician, talk show host, minister, CEO, manager, salesperson or poet needs a sort of confidence about them. The best of them combine that with humility. The worst of them don't.

For the latter, this behavior often disguises the pain of feelings of inferiority. I dedicate this poem to that group and to myself. I've alienated too many people in my life by acting in arrogance. My apologies to those I have hurt.

One of the oldest poems for which I'll still claim credit.

* * *

I am power!

Don't roam near me

lest I crush you 'neath my feet!

I take the written word

warp it into my image

move the mountains of language

bowling over the frightened masses

that before drove me under

those very protrusions.

I am thunder!

Booming, roaring

into the nighttime air!

None stand who can rival

my monotonous rumble

my sonic scream of dialect

carving notches in your skull

etching completely the percussive force

of my chaos.

I am lightning!

Flashing, fiery

into the storm I go!

The overwhelming surges

commanding your synapses

are caused by me -

they are born of my electric soul

originate in my will-

you are helpless to conform.

I am giant!

Corpulent form

shoving others from my path

freeing my mitts to thieve all glory,

treetrunk legs to mount all summits.

I bludgeon all foes with

knees and elbows until...


i am all alone.