rainy day release (6-11-09) - {this title might change...}
silver sage hands
and deep veined green thumbs
flicker and twist
here the storm comes
gutters hush
and anxieties flush
in a sluice of cold desire
raging within is a burning fire
writhing limbs
entwine and entangle
completing each other
in every new angle
pillows float by
in a cloud-laden sky
and a rhythm is reached
as the storm clouds pass by
bursting from within
the end is so close
as thunder heads mount
and lightning bolts stroke
the final release
floods window pains
mingling with all
yet ready again
gentle winds rumble
and tickle the skin
as two lovers sigh
and don’t even notice
the clouds in the sky
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
But I think I went one too far...
Sometimes you should stop while you are ahead... Here I go back into trite cliche-ville! I am only posting this one because I want to be honest about this cycle of poems... The others are MUCH better... Maybe I will tweak this one or maybe I will just let it whimper off into the sunset where it belongs...
left behind (6-10-09)
i yearn for the comfort
of your warm embrace
because the emptiness left
makes a poor bedfellow
and the harder i try
to put on this face
the farther i fall
away from this grace
i have carved for myself
and everywhere i look
i can still see your face
and cannot escape
from this hollow place
you left behind
today is the first day
i did not cry and i yearn
for the comfort
of the day i can say
i cannot remember
the last time i cried
for someday i know
the tears will be
left behind too
and that doesn’t mean
i don’t love you
it just means
i will no longer be
and no longer see
myself as the one
left behind
left behind (6-10-09)
i yearn for the comfort
of your warm embrace
because the emptiness left
makes a poor bedfellow
and the harder i try
to put on this face
the farther i fall
away from this grace
i have carved for myself
and everywhere i look
i can still see your face
and cannot escape
from this hollow place
you left behind
today is the first day
i did not cry and i yearn
for the comfort
of the day i can say
i cannot remember
the last time i cried
for someday i know
the tears will be
left behind too
and that doesn’t mean
i don’t love you
it just means
i will no longer be
and no longer see
myself as the one
left behind
When you're on a roll...
superstition (6-10-09)
hooty owls cry
in the dread of night
thrice heard but
never forgotten
merely searching for love
or defending a nest
but inspiring fear
in the listening ear
how many times
did the lonely owls call
disproving that myth
before you died
and left us all?
on this dread night
as the bull frogs moan
and the hooty owls cry
tiny insects
fly headlong
into a flickering flame
victims of instinct
and harbingers of
nothing more
than an insatiable
quest for the
comfort of light
hooty owls cry
in the dread of night
thrice heard but
never forgotten
merely searching for love
or defending a nest
but inspiring fear
in the listening ear
how many times
did the lonely owls call
disproving that myth
before you died
and left us all?
on this dread night
as the bull frogs moan
and the hooty owls cry
tiny insects
fly headlong
into a flickering flame
victims of instinct
and harbingers of
nothing more
than an insatiable
quest for the
comfort of light
Why stop...?
to end a thirsty night (6-10-09)
etched and echoed
in subtle shades
of blue on black
darkness falls
to sheets of light
orchestrated
by a symphony
of croaks and moans
punctuated by the silk
of distant rumbles
as storm clouds skulk
across the hills
and gentle breezes
caress the trees
to the plippity tap
of lazy drops
soaking the sand
and spreading relief
as insect melodies
weave an alien song
to the beat of the night
and the sponge of life
sucks away this drought
etched and echoed
in subtle shades
of blue on black
darkness falls
to sheets of light
orchestrated
by a symphony
of croaks and moans
punctuated by the silk
of distant rumbles
as storm clouds skulk
across the hills
and gentle breezes
caress the trees
to the plippity tap
of lazy drops
soaking the sand
and spreading relief
as insect melodies
weave an alien song
to the beat of the night
and the sponge of life
sucks away this drought
And finally a little rhyme time
sycamore song (6-10-09)
twisted and gnarled
shaped by the wind
your fibrous arms
sway and bend
in a lover’s dance
of arches and roots
dappled shade
passes underfoot
and your bark tells
of stories seen
and others things
that might have been
protect me from
this world tonight
as try I may
and try I might
to see the world
in your loving light
twisted and gnarled
shaped by the wind
your fibrous arms
sway and bend
in a lover’s dance
of arches and roots
dappled shade
passes underfoot
and your bark tells
of stories seen
and others things
that might have been
protect me from
this world tonight
as try I may
and try I might
to see the world
in your loving light
I like my new stones! :-)
singing with the stones (6-10-09)
suspended on chain
and humming with strength
you beckon me closer
your truths once again
dazzling my eyes
with blind memories
of secrets untold
and vague shimmering
as futures unfold
in mountains of time
all worn down to nubs
yet building again
in resurrections of life
and these ashes of mine
suspended on chain
and humming with strength
you beckon me closer
your truths once again
dazzling my eyes
with blind memories
of secrets untold
and vague shimmering
as futures unfold
in mountains of time
all worn down to nubs
yet building again
in resurrections of life
and these ashes of mine
See what happens when you open the gate???
resurrection (6-10-09)
(was that a sigh
in the darkness of night
or the winds of change
blowing again…)
crystal fingers lift
from the cradle of dark
prisms of life
and light will ignite
in a thousand jagged sparks
as flesh meets with stone
and rock becomes bone
in an ancient dance
as myriad as life
unfolds in the crease
of the breast of the night
and a new life is borne
on the wings of the light
that bounces and plays
in the lives of our days
a resurrection of time
the circle has been found
your time has come round
(was that a sigh
in the darkness of night
or the winds of change
blowing again…)
crystal fingers lift
from the cradle of dark
prisms of life
and light will ignite
in a thousand jagged sparks
as flesh meets with stone
and rock becomes bone
in an ancient dance
as myriad as life
unfolds in the crease
of the breast of the night
and a new life is borne
on the wings of the light
that bounces and plays
in the lives of our days
a resurrection of time
the circle has been found
your time has come round
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
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