Darker Air

It is not only that my eyes are brown,
that (before this frost) I used to wear
sable in my hair.

All my life, unknowing
alike with knowing, I have breathed
this darker air.

All my songs a blacker shade of blue—
my cheeks are yellow roses. Darker too.
These aren’t colors I can choose to wear

or unwear. They’re painted on the inside
of the eyes that view,
that see me through a glass of darkened air.

Who knows me, who sees me true
and where?
I drink strong wine and fly in storms. My wings
are full of agate eyes
and yellow roses decorate my hair.
I breathe dark air.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside

Attic Light

Light... I don't mind the light
it's quiet in this attic, though it's cold.

The flare of sunrise at the dirty window
is all right. It's all right

the window's bright, but peaceful. I
heard traffic murmuring all night.

Once a squeal of swerving brakes—
the VA gave me stuff for nerves

to help me sleep. It didn't keep me
from waking, grabbing for a weapon

but there was no crash, and the flash
of headlights on the wall was faint.

I crept into the quiet corner and slept
again, and now it's light.

Only light. No noise. No screaming
bleeding piles of shattered stone and metal,

don't look underneath. No smell of death.
I breathe the dusty attic air and watch the light.

I'm hungry, but it's quiet here. Maybe one
more day without food, without fear

it's all right, watching shadows drift across
the floor with gifts of light and silence.

--image by Shane Gorski via Read Write Poem
Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Caterpillar Cub

He looks a little anxious, as if he's just realized how far he's climbed...

Caterpillar cub
creeping up a tree
how will you get down?

Thought it would be fun
stealing from the bees
furry bear-cub clown

but now you're very, very
far above the ground.
Caterpillar cub
how will you get down?

--for Cafe Writing
Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Lollipop Girls

Lollipop girls are posing on sticks
attracting attention
getting their kicks
high over the crowd.
Everyone licks
the lollipop girls.

Candy-cane fellow got hung in a case
trapped behind glass
hiding his face.
Don't like attention?
It's a disgrace
to the candy-cane race.

Bon-bon people are so good to look at
no good to eat
sugary-sweet
will rot out your teeth—
don't give it up
for a bon-bon treat.

photo by Lucas Rocha, courtesy of Read Write Poem

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Lacemaker God

lace image courtesy of Eva Serna
Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Crimson Signature

Bombardment shattered
stucco off the crimson-spattered
walls and left their wire-mesh skeletons exposed.
I bat away the dust that pricks my nose.
Candy-sweet geraniums by a broken door
give their plaintive cry:
is this revolution? Transformation? Alchemy,
or just the crimson signature of war?

--for readwritepoem's Wordle prompt

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Here Again

Well, here we are again,
just like a black dog tied up on a chain.
Just like a lover waiting in the rain,
we’re here again
back where the whole thing first began
before the curtain rose, the credits ran
before the audience sat down
we were here and now we’re here again—
just like a kingdom waiting for a crown
just like a traveler waiting for a train
we’re here again.

My Name is Clark

Weekend Wordsmith's prompt is: Seuss.

If you grew up on Dr. Seuss, you might have read One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish.

And if you did, you might remember the picture of two little kids carrying an enormous jar with... something... inside it. And you might have wondered what happened after that...

They found me in the park
in the dark.
They put me in a great big jar.
It wasn’t far.
They didn’t drive a car.
Did their mother like me? No, no, no:
“That thing has got to go!
Go right out and put it back!”
Why? I don’t know.
I’m just Clark.

I’m living in the park
in the dark.
I get bigger every day.
The little boy came back to play—
he saw me and ran away.
Why? I don’t know.
I’m just Clark.

I’m bigger than a house.
I’m taller than a tree.
It’s lonely in the park
when you’re me
and the children don’t come any more.
They put a new sign by the pond:
WARNING: SHARK
but I’m just Clark.

Darkness in June

The solstice is hanging in heaven
like the hand of a clock
stopped at eleven.
Away from the zenith, the zodiac
falls like a fraying ribbon
torn by the teeth of elliptical gears.
Lately the years
are eccentric in shape.
There is no escape from escapement.

Heart Of Gold

Where was I at dawn when the eastern sky folded
in gold-foil layers? Unselfed and forgotten
a knot in a ribbon untied and unstrung.
The first words were sung as the sun rose behind me
to blind me, unfind me, to turn me to sand
a scatter of gold-flakes from God's open hand.

--with thanks to Neil Young and Sirius Classic Rock

Unfinished Story

Last night the waves were rough and high. We watched the jellyfish go by, by morning stranded high and dry, stranded on the sand to die like dreams that make you wake and cry. Why did you say goodbye?

My heart must ride the breaking swell or be an empty sounding shell. So now I dwell far out at sea where living jellies swing like bells. Farewell, my love, farewell.

The wind is low, the tide is slack. The sea won't bring my mermaid back. Though fins and gills I lack, I'll plumb the depths to get her back. Though parted now by wave and wrack, I swear I'll win her back.

There is no ending to this story. The windswept shore will speak no more of loss or love or glory. We do not know what went before or what's in store. Listener, if you're inclined to worry, write an ending for this story.

Loss Is Part Of Living

The woods are brown with fire or frost, but oh, don't count the cost, for loss is part of living and what is gain but giving?

Let it go. The risk of fire today is low. The chance of rain is high, the clouds are heavy in the sky. The maples turn to rust and brown and now the leaves come tumbling down, for loss is part of living. And now the rain comes pouring down, for loss is part of living.

Grief is child of love and hope gives birth to sorrow. Today fathers tomorrow. Apples ripen in November, glowing bright as embers, last trace of red to disappear at fading of the year. For loss is part of living.

I Swear I Slept Here

All day the horses lumbered through their paces, obedient to whip and spur and rein. At night they kicked over their traces and rambled all directions on the plain. The white horse grazed in salt-grass meadows and dissolved in tossing foam. The black one disappeared in shadows over by the standing stones. I couldn't catch the palomino or the pinto or the bay-- but fellow dreamer, do let me know if you see the dappled grey.

I swear I slept here by your side, I did not swim off into the surf. I don't care if morning light shows hoofprints scattered on the turf. Whoever danced all night down by the sea, it wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me. Whoever tripped the light fantastic by the sea, it wasn't me.

--after Leonard Cohen

Cat Under The Hedge

You hardly see him there--
sleek as shadows coiled up, but when he blinks
flash of green like leaflets gleaming. Dreamy cat
beneath the hedge, you walk the edge of my untroubled sleep
sleek as shadows dreaming.

Black Rock Desert

Emigrants to California thought the Black Rock route through northern Nevada would be a good shortcut. Unfortunately the trail guides had seen Black Rock during the rainy season and didn't realize the spring was seasonal.

White borax crusts
give birth to bitter dust
broken metal scoured of rust
by winds that whispered wanderlust
to travellers on uncertain trails.
Water fails. Was it last year
a waterhole was here?
Miragelike, water disappeared.
Sand and emptiness, sun-seared
cradle bleaching bones and stones, unrolling wagon wheels.
Bleaching bones on desert stones by blowing sands revealed.

Cut Grass

Cut grass lies heavy on the lawn,
stifling new growth. Rake it clean.
Let the new grass grow green.
The dead past is gone,
so burn the dead straw and clear the thatch.
Tend the new patch.

All Things Answer

Distant shout of the surf
Crackling fire close by
Wind wild overhead
speak my Beloved's name.
He is near. Give praise, give praise.
Earth echoes His footsteps: give praise.

And the sand answers the waves:
Wear me away, wash me away
Carry me out to sea, to be one with Thee.

And the log answers the flames:
Char me away, burn me away
Turn me to ash and air, to be with Thee there.

And the dust answers the wind:
Bear me away, blow me away
Cast me up into the sky, that I may be Thine.

And how shall I answer the earth?

Hearts (Not A Valentine Poem)

Hearts of...
stone will wear away to dust.
iron will be gnawed by rust.
wood will split and fray and tatter.
glass will chip and crack and shatter.
ice dissolve at touch of sun.
water dry when rain is done.
fire die away to ash.
lightning burn out in a flash.
blossom die in winter's chill.
wind eventually stand still.

From dust and ashes, fragments, desolation
broken passion, sore humiliation.
a new heart grows.

The Last Tiger

Mad Blake, and Borges blind
Saw you pass, burning, in darkness of the mind.
They named you Terror. They named you Mystery.
It's flames make shadows dark, beneath the trees.
Where should we turn for golden inspiration?

Did he who slew the Lamb slay thee?

God Train

God Train rolling in the tunnel
Nowhere run, nowhere hide.
Burning headlamp eye consume you
Take you 'long for the ride.

You hear that distant whistle, make you cry
You don't know why.
It's God Train's voice, make you want to die.

They call you crazy, holy.
God Train make you dance in the street
Sun burn you head and in the dust
Bloody rose grows at you feet.

You hear that distant whistle, make you run
Into the sun.
It's God Train's voice, call you come.

God Train got no track
God Train mind no signal
God Train sell no ticket
Sweet God Train! Call me come.