Sunday, May 19, 2013

Dirt Road IV


I urgently shout
I desperately run
I wave my hands
To get a ride to town.

My mothers sick
The broken gate,
The funeral to which
I know I’ll be late.

No matter how mad and disappointed
My black eyes and bowed stance be
You don’t stop,
You never stop for me.


Sunday, May 12, 2013

Housing VI

I hear the voice of my mother.
She cries loudly from the temple mount
Of the contentment of stolen water.

Without looking up, I listen, but through my tears
I have no words, no rebuke, no comfort,
Only wisdom, always dressed in black, sits with me.

Among the mountains I hear the call
Of a silent spring, hidden and blue
Under fir and spruce, awaiting the summer
Toll of its feast and unveiling.


Sunday, May 5, 2013

Housing V

At first I ground my teeth
When asking myself why I was gone.
Later I would wake up to clenched hands
In the dark, next to me a pillow--lonely.

Do you ever discover fists
When sitting, walking, thinking?
As if this divorce would be over
If I could hold onto her breath’s air.


Sunday, April 28, 2013

Left Behind III


As your excitement bubbles
A wrench knots my innards.
With each item you neatly packed in,
Undone is my social sweater.
There is no exaltation without a sundering below.

I am left behind as you are freed.
A sentence of solitary freedom.
As you fly away I’ll take a picture
To touch that assoiling wind
In captured film, my instant shuttering.


Sunday, April 21, 2013

Left Behind II


Sounds of an electric toothbrush
Ring at the sight of crusty outlines
On porcelain sink.

Drawers only half empty from packing
Done too slowly, of a broken e-reader,
A family portrait, used paintbrushes.

A colorful collection of permanent markers,
Bottles of empty beer in a line up against the window,
None looking me straight in the eye.

A half drawn plot plan, like the final walk and goodbye,
We rushed to avoid the end by sitting around. Now
The course to come is left to intuition.

It doesn’t take a discerning eye to see
I’ve been left to clean up their mess.


Sunday, April 14, 2013

Left Behind I


This place hasn’t changed. 


My space remains constant
While yours has been vacuumed
Formless and void.
I bump into traces drifting around all morning,

Specters of a world forlorn and lost.
If only they weren’t real, horrid reminders.
Birds you named continue to fly about,
The handmade beehive still buzzes,
Fish swim gaily, trusting your hand
To feed them at the dimming of day.

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Huddling Pigeons on Warming Tile Roof


Eight, dun grass in mauve setting light,
The trees that exhale by dropping leaves
Having held their breath all summer
Relaxing in the worst of wurthering winds,
Finding a pilgrim's fire in the deepest mountain winter,
A stream whose trickle continues months past rain,

Whispers that the end of life isn’t just being riven
Into cavernous silence, but climbing into a cozy bed—
Dreams that manifest when all things stretch
For spring rays beyond the solstice, bounding in ecstasy,
A  limning of verdure again.


Sunday, March 31, 2013

Housing IV


When cracked like a nut
No protection left
In the blinding, drowning world with
Silvery, prying devices,
Make like seeds and let fall

The hard withholdings of your outershell—
Bitter, brittle small—
And sink, sink deep
Into the ground around you—
Soft, cool, satiating—
To the root you will find growing until

Once your legs are strong
You stand up into the sun for the first time
Finding harsh rays the source of your energy
And storms refreshing to the core.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Housing III



Would you feel it
If I told you I wanted to hurt you?
Would you stop
If you heard the wedding had already past?
Would you come back
If you saw my suitcases, ready to leave.
Would you care
If you learned of your grandchildren on graduation day
                        Having excelled with a quarter of your brain
                        Both brilliant eyes.

We’ll never know how the future would have come,
Until death we’ll be apart,
Lunches missed and cancelled,
Letting ashes go to ashes
The dust of loves to settle on the mantle
Of the house I grew up in
Now sold twice over to indifferent markets. 

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Housing II




There’s my house.
I’ve just come from out of town.
Finally, a summer at home.

Weeds. Dead branches. Patchy grass.
Did they put a TV in the living room?
Don’t they know it’s for conversation?
Are those Christmas lights still up?

You leave for a year and all has changed.
I wonder how they’ve painted,
And how big my cypress has gotten.

The garage is open.
We did build this house.
It’s alright to invite myself in, right?
13 years we lived here.

You’d think new owners would respect
Instead of pulling—frantically?!—a gun.
I love that color though.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Housing I




A vision:
After years away, coasts and oceans apart,
You will return to the place from which you ran.
Your thoughts have never been far from it
Though the replacements have been spectacular.
You will fall in love, build a home, and take care
Of your parents. Life will be love and all is complete.

As you pull off the covers to turn on the coffee
Sober realizations. Most dreams never come true
And there’s no going home. It no longer exists.
I’m late leaving for the presentation. 


Sunday, March 3, 2013

Sitting There



 
I wish you were sitting here
To tell you all that happened
And ask how your weekend was,
How your sister is doing,
If your expectancy grows as hers does,
For an intimate future.

Why do you study alone,
Dark night by lamp light,
Cold to the finger on the window?
To read from the pages
And but find subversive sages
That delve us into soils
Where we are charged and adsorbed

By inner-sphere surface complexes,
To find bidentate our covalent bonds,
Stable through low activities,
Working at substitution to have and to hold
A place within structure to last
Throughout the ages or at least
The completion of this inexplicable titration.


Sunday, February 24, 2013

Life Has Been Spinning




Spinning
Spinning
Sweetly, with energy and filling
Since the third spin last dropped.

This rotation is coming
To a stop. With it will die a universe
Of friends, places, feelings, memories,
Securities held together by a force so centrifugal
It's predictable that I'd let its motion stop
To respin the direction of life,
Yet again

For a future that seems to continuously jolt
And close a past, endings
To the person I am and now was
To never be again with such definition
That those who never go will never know

As a line whose waters mix
Over time with tides at the ocean,
Only adrift in itself.
Place my line on these currents
And the fourth wave looks finite.

The importance of this wave diminished
More and more by the progression
Until such a day that waves should be wished
To leave a still pond to a life beyond.

On this wave I will ride, as long as his hand
Helps me spin life greater than before,
With promise that the one to follow will last
Until the final waves where reality isn't broken
But rested in.




Sunday, February 17, 2013

I Can't Tell You How Deeply I Care



We displayed all the reasons how,
Letting alone the reasons why
I look at you,
And want you.
Your smile brings me close
To a home, warm couches waiting.

Looking out the window at a budding maple
I need to see you
Sitting nearby for class,
At your desk when passing by, 
Approaching as I turn the corner.

Hearing the wind through the window's cracks, 
I need your voice to come to me,
The day about which to talk,
At least a text to say hello,
How'd it go,
Good for you.

While the pain smolders
The last of my carbon gasps for air.
It is life in chambered pressure that consumes
A spirit and yields a heart,
Released after burning
Much truth
Such power
Love reborn.


Sunday, February 10, 2013

Butterflies I



When the phone cut out
Those would be the last of our words
Hanging as a fog to obscure
The reasons and way back.

If you could see the way I
Look at you and feel the way
I want to touch your hand then
The skies might clear and you’d
Hear me again.


Sunday, February 3, 2013

When One Can Summon Enough Energy



Waking up early can be sublime.
Without needing sleeping bag, backpack or food,
You summit highest mountains.

You see light born brilliantly on each leaf,
All trees born again in the rays,
The quiet of a scene that will turn riotous,
Hearing prophecy from birds of an awakening world.

The stillness allows you to see that you unfold
Into being by early sun too, a slow awareness
That alarms protest. The morning air is so cold;
Even the hottest of days rolls out gradually.