19 Saturday Sep 2015
Beneath skins and fur
I too rest in beauty
Let not a hand touch me
and still
I smile
For what it’s worth-
which, in a blink, may stack higher
than last year’s wages-
there is no fading value,
nor lost horizons
Forever always reaches towards us..
In a crisp pink angle of morning light
my heart is yours.
18 Friday Sep 2015
Cold coffee
Footfalls in the dark
Walking nose into web
The scurry
A mosaic
Labyrinth allows both
Entry and Exit
and maybe only one
My hand is warm
It will find your shivering skin
Bring fire to blackness you fear
Being alone is part of the mystery
Finding each other in shadow
A turn of the veil.
18 Friday Sep 2015
Turning the corner,
two winds blow.
The old blasts my back,
picking up tacks and sharp-edged photographs
along its path.
Those shes are afraid to let me go.
Losing habits,
the groove-cut ways,
riles folks.
The wind in my face,
cold, fresh,
hasn’t yet warmed with the bodies of the unmet,
invites like a new swimming channel
whose water is clear, dark,
hugging smooth stone,
knowing well the course and direction
in which it takes me.
Turning the corner
dances my hair on end,
and has me falling forward
into invisible arms I must trust
to catch me.
13 Sunday Sep 2015
A sacred hunger grows
and tonight can’t possibly be the right time
to feed it,
but wine and the Hammond organ
sure carve paths through
this wicked churchyard of a settlement.
Knock on my door in the morning,
my sight won’t be so cloudy
with delicious nostalgia,
and what sorrow erases clear vision
will lighten
with sunrise laughter.
13 Sunday Sep 2015
In the company of ghosts,
today moves not with breath
but dark memory,
heavy and present.
I may call
to ask if you’re there.
Placing my hand on your chest
to feel the warmth of skin
and the play of caring blood
would remind me that what was
is not all that is.
12 Saturday Sep 2015
While hands rest on sink edge
and skin drips above dirty bowls,
eyes see wall and window and trees in view
of an idea
who drops in,
pulls as much space
as a full day gathers snow,
and says,
Your wound is their wound is a wound
far-reaching with cold, gnarled underground fingers.
Hold the hand you fear,
befriend the dead.
Bring here of the gifts
your people await release.
Possess the expanse
and embody the unspoken…
Hearing the music of you
in a flooding of my entirety,
more life rises in death
than even a painting of night
could dream.
06 Sunday Sep 2015
Nocturnal orb weaver
has tucked herself away,,
Vulture, high in dead pine,
splays tail, fans wings wide,
back to rising sun.
Soft voice and pedal steel round the room
while Crow wanders the rail,
head cocked, assessing what’s new.
Birdtalk through treetops-
woven richness of life
finding life.
05 Saturday Sep 2015
Mistaking him for It
or she for It
or it for It
Well that’s when everything-
cries of passion, clods of pain, and the ever-living all-
circles the drain and
without the swirl and presence
of boundless Love,
you are ensnared
because nobody,
no matter the who,
or the what,
can ever
step in for Spirit
as He/She/It will always find you
in the end-
and why on earth
wait
until then?
05 Saturday Sep 2015
In slightest wind
strands quiver, quicken,
sense
whole
broad reach and taut sensitivity
carry messages,
bring motion
close..
with no element lost,
nor breath unnoticed,
silver sun target dances
against my eastern window.
26 Wednesday Aug 2015
Crisp morning,
Scrub jay tapping acorn into the ground,
Autumn, you flirt.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 