This Color Blue

I’d by lying
if I said
I wasn’t worried
about them
changing
the color
of the sky.

So nowadays,
like today,
for instance,
I try not to take
this color blue
for granted
like I always have.

Because,
I hate to think it,
but it might not
always be like
this; this color
blue, this vivid.

Not when
such mad men
exist and want
to color our
world different.
Or should I say,
discolor it.

And so,
I hope and pray
this Easter Day,
that everything stays
as it was
created.

Tagged ,

Where Time is Silenced

But I fear there won’t be time for that
grandest thought I think
every time you cross my path
and how unfortunately seldom,
but does my heart not leap?
as my eyes do trail after you,
wishing that it were, if only,
time could stand still, if
but for a moment, not looking
forward, not looking back,
but simply in the here and now,
to be with you where time is silenced.

Tagged ,

Burial at Sea

What weak remembrance,
through fitful sleep,
of rapid, swiftly moving
plunged head deep
into undercurrents
of the psyche,
who, without regret,
drowns the conscious nightly
in this burial at sea,
to lift the unconscious
(mind and soul),
to travel into dreams,
as though a train passing
loved but blurring landscapes.

Tagged ,

These Moments

These moments –
like dying embers,
pitch, spark and jump
from a once
blazing fire,
but now these cooling
embers, in hopes
to land, ignite,
and burn, the whole
god damn fucking house down;
the carpet, the hardwoods,
everything you said
you’d be to her and
everything she isn’t,
and how you wish it were,
but it isn’t different,
it’s always the same,
as the curtains peel
back from the windows
and fall into a burning heap
upon the floor,
and the neighbors finally see
all those veneered smiles
you’ve all been wearing,
and for how long?
that you almost forgot –
how smooth enamel really feels
against the tongue.

Tagged ,

How Many Times?

Let me go on sliding, sinking, believing
how the image of your face
keeps coming back to me, again and again,
and why? Like how every day,
and without fail, the sun rises
and the morning light, a violet haze
wakes me into the quiet calm beginning
of each and every new day,
and even though I’ve tried to push
the light back, back into the night,
to hold it at bay, it rushes in still,
where it pours in at the window, my eyes,
till floods the room where I’ve drowned,
and how many times? In all these thoughts I’ve had of you.

Tagged ,

Language

Words so often
go round about
in circles,
like thoughts
I’ve yet to sort
out the words
that do eventually
aright themselves
presenting only
what my heart
it cannot say
without their help.

Tagged ,

Defy Gravity

Feelings of questioning doubt
and inadequacy, as though
fifteen has come back to haunt me
all over again, however momentary.

Album on repeat, songs with lyrics
both powerful and fleeting,
full of themselves to take on authority,
to stand up for something.

And we must! break the concrete
around our feet and quit,
quit being afraid of everything,
and finally find, our wings do – defy gravity.

Tagged ,

Seedsman

For who knows not,
how many sounds
and silent letters
hold up in the throat
daily, till cleared.

And might we write
at least a thousand
more, today?
And put our fingers
to the page,
so that Muse,
who travels
so incessantly
might not forget to
visit us?

Impetuous her,
that we should
catch her
by the tail
and drag her
from the air,
until she does;
“pull these letters
from us.”

So that all these
words
we are compelled to say
are finally released,
dispersed like seeds
upon the wind
to fall – where they lay.

Tagged ,

Travelled

If I told you, “why of course,”
there is a gnawing ache.
Would your ear be so attuned
to find it? For I cannot tell
the cause, or where it
comes from, or where it starts
and doesn’t stop.

“Does it hurt here?” you ask,
but you must, leave your hand
on me “long enough,” to feel
the process. Because the cells
of the body are constantly changing,
“long enough,” to know, to find,
“the beginning.”

Because I am in here somewhere,
and along the way
I know by touch you haven’t forgot,
all the paths in me your hands
have travelled.

Tagged ,

At The Window

How peaceful the light at the window rests
on the vibrant fuchsia petals of the orchid
I’ve somehow grew and regrew.

And how heavy its blooms without scent,
that gravity pulls by the weight of the stem
where three more buds appear.

When honestly, all I do is give it ice cubes,
and of course, the light, “that we both love,
don’t we?” and thrive so much in – at the window.

Tagged ,