Knowing,
that precious illusion,
needles and digs
until
a gasp can puncture
and
welcome
Unknown
back into the dance
That precious illusion
16 Wednesday Mar 2016
Author Archives: feralpoet
Canvas
15 Tuesday Mar 2016
Being a canvas
life- God- paints upon,
wouldn’t you say it’s only right,
natural,
to celebrate
each bit
from soft eye, scar,
scratch divot curve and curl,
shorter leg and smaller foot
to brisk brilliant sneeze?
Divine art doesn’t exactly
deserve
a critic like you-
or that guy from the coffee shop-
in the end,
does it?
Stars burst into being
15 Tuesday Mar 2016
I am not your secret,
a thimble to tuck in a pocket.
Entire universes buck
at being diminished thus.
Fires rage, planets tremble,
stars burst into being.
If contracting a life into bite-size squares
soothes your longing,
please chop yourself to pieces instead.
Thimbles protect.
Creation expands…
On the front line
14 Monday Mar 2016
Utterly afraid
to look foolish,
we look foolishly at the world
expecting a straight face and the right shoes
to buy us into the awards ceremony.
On the front line of sorrow and pain
a mouse would scurry,
a bear would sit
scratching its bum
on the perfect tree.
Rain and blue
13 Sunday Mar 2016
Outside, blue.
Rain and blue.
Carried by streams-
waterways we can not
understand
try though in mercy, in plight-
pollen floats,
a liquid gold.
Creation takes us
wherever it might.
Heavy rain
11 Friday Mar 2016
Heavy rain keeps falling,
and the creek keeps rising, singing
the canyon to sleep and the flowers awake.
Now, little wildflowers, now.
In the disturbance of sliding mud and uprooting trees,
every sweet squall and turbid cycle
does call us
to raise our heads
and offer a soft smile
as we are washed clean.
Falling in love
08 Tuesday Mar 2016
In the honey-lined quagmire,
fantasy brews laughter, chemicals, climax,
a limited union, the earthly grail.
Perhaps,
perhaps reaching
after fascinating projections-
dazzling confections of human wonder-
helps us
to find lost parts of ourselves calling
calling
for expression.
Falling in love may be a seeing
of our pieces, scattered and buried,
and a coming home
to what had been left behind.
The best drumming
05 Saturday Mar 2016
The sound of the rain
is the best drumming offered my ears
in longer than can be said.
When telling a friend
I’m proud of you,
despite how patronizing it may sound, and
I recognize your fortitude,
a clear prayer was spoken-
fuck fortitude.
Amen.
In all the wriggling and stretching and pleading
and embracing,
Love’s got way more faces
than we can imagine.
On the riverbank
28 Sunday Feb 2016
We played with our shadows on the far riverbank,
and danced to droning rhythms under redwoods,
my sister and I that night.
Nothing we couldn’t touch, that didn’t touch us,
with laughter, stars and river song
mixing our blood
and pleasing our bones.
Out of mud and desire,
family creates itself.
Ceaselessly
26 Friday Feb 2016
I close my eyes
so thought and word can find each other.
I close my eyes
so they won’t.
I close my eyes
to let the other bump up beside,
within,
and bring somatic waves
to crescent-cove silence,
washed sandy moons
of sheer cliff and no access trails
beyond verbal traffic
technology buzz
storyboard flash of decided outcomes.
I close my eyes
to find you.
Through darkness
with palms open,
toes bare,
mind still
in offering,
Thank you for meeting me here,
ceaselessly.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 