The stream (all workshops)
Today the daises rot. Her hair, so fine
it seeps through head and heart. The fungus, root,
affliction hard of bones and fingers. Brittle
hate of daughters, sons. Come! Take my hope!
No-more is it I need, my dreams lay shattered, broke
beneath a mild tide: like glass trying to
reflect a hollow ghost. Now claim my words
surrender every pen, my tiny triumphs,
heard by none. And still no-one will be beside
my bed tonight. Alone among my useless dreams,
I tire, feign sleep and scream to gods who don’t
i. The Other Shoe Drops
The silence
before
the river weeps
Can you hear
the wandering minstrel of truth,
like clean wafts
of remembered seas
crossing the senses
with a warm January breeze?
Snow covers
the landscape of climate change
Hearts are thawing.
ii. Civilizations Fall
The emerald forest
does not argue with the prairie wind,
telling it which way to turn.
A warm thin line
setting the insistent horizon gives
way to both the darkness and the light,
Two toilets guard a driveway's start
and both of them filled up with dirt
so odd they gave me a mild start
And then I grinned so wide it hurt
on seeing flowers start to sprout
Then I nearly wet my pants
When Susan took time to explain
what I beheld were"potted" plants
I laughed so hard it hurt my brain!
and now I guess that I'll sign out
serious poem from serious poet lmao........stan
I had a conversation the other day
About a part of my life best forgotten
My father spoke to me and I listened attentively
The sweaty palms dry to the sound of his calm voice
Is he being sincere or saving a man filled with fear
He told me how I silenced doctors, and specialists
How I overcame their predictions by leaps and bounds
Born high and mighty, a Troy
Now but a broken toy
With no one left to cry
No matter how hard the try
From hero to zero
He has but become a Broken Hero.
I opened your liquid dawn with my ring finger
drips plumed from bigger steam puffs;
I licked your crema, listened
to the ripped plush whispers
but there was nobody there, thus
I was left with a leaf’s wine:
you left
every French pressed forest murmur
here’s Kintaro bowing to your kimono
here’s an obi, wandering
the fields of the carcass savannah
countless rice paddies, falling,
gently,
into an ocean of your mouth –
the texture of bean grinds
like my stubble on your supple lips.
On a darkly shadowed tarmac
with a night color to match
and a brisk-like chill that tenses up my hair,
my shadow's dallying behind me
then at times, way up ahead
attempting, quite on purpose to give myself a "scare".
Off in the dim lit distance
towards the direction of night's breeze
muted sounds I can't decipher tend to drone,
I'm uneasy with the quiet
indignation in night's eyes
and the way it makes me feel I'm not alone.
I first came here in middle fall
a hidden place in the dark pines
when hunter's instinct came to call
and led me 'mongst the wild and vines
Along a road near disappeared
shoulders slumped and crown eroded
and homeplace where old shade trees reared
tall but of leaves then unloaded
The home and barn both fallen down
with piers and chimney slowly crumbling
miles and miles from nearest town
or highway's distant diesel's rumbling
What tragedy. What monstrosity
Has granted to us this lifeless breath
We are the unwanted stars
Cast out of the skies and out of their eyes
Our beauty, they hindered
And in blazing speed, we burnt down
And like fallen embers, we cindered
Into stardust; zilch, like the dusts of the earth
Calamity; monstrous conception
Born we are into this vast emptiness
This world wild with nothingness
To relish and to witness
Our birth as a curse
Let's dwell in the mystic land,
where birds and humans,
fly hand in hand
across the vast sojourns,
of deserted life.
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