Ocean's SongForgive my weakness, woman,Ocean's Song4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and my albatross-hands that roam
from island to island, in search of rest.
Forgive me also
for my fish-school eyes, they dart from side to side
in search of something that glitters - prey
or the great white Kraken, or both:
"I have wrecked too many ships, and seen
them scream, I have held them like a lover;
come, my children," it tempts, and lies
softly at the bottom of the sea, singing.
Forgive my oceanic absence,
and the lapping and the lapses of my tongue;
it writhes in my mouth like the Kraken -
a treacherous, twisted creature
is love, and I do, make no mistake.
On conversationsIOn conversations2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
have upset the order
of things, birds
fall fast and featherflappingly from
shaken skies, and leaves
curl backwards into trees
from frost in summer, my heart
is a bell that rings until
glass shatters and frost falls
fearful on the ground and I
just do not know how
to tell you.
Letter to a former loverI wrote you lettersLetter to a former lover1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
of these hollow woods,
perhaps your tongue was tied
or planing out your teeth with supple motion
licking forth a better smile
a brighter future, at least
you never answered or gave word
that you had seen the fog riding
from beneath the trees on grey stallions
or that the woods themselves were
leaning out and giving way and
turning grey, mist breeding
hollow spines on brittle branches.
A MeetingYou will notice first, the bone juttingA Meeting2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
from my meat, it is called teeth,
These are my lips;
This, like so, is called a smile.
And then there are the fabrications that I wear
The layers of silk, of wool,
of iron air
(indeed there is an air that I am not quite there)
- And feathers I have wrapped into my hair
And Afghan pearls, and finally
My hands, hare-fleet, and meeting
of coffee and loveI have lived too long on coffeeof coffee and love3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and of sighs in coffee cups.
Powderdays are blowing
from night to night.
I have stained and strained
my heart, dear heart, with coffee
and with you. I have held
the sun off my nose, and known
there are no easy roads.
But if there were, here:
This is my hand, I am your man,
let us walk, or run, this place
has frightened me too long.
A Summer PoemYou broke like thunderA Summer Poem2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
from a heavy sky, you spoke, then
of summer, of naked bodies meeting
in the rain, and then the way your hands
could not find hands, the way your heart
could not stop beating, beating, beating
until you were shaking, until you were -
A building falling;
A crumbling shell
The dying of the fairies.We have been dying for some time. Some say it is the children, that they do not believe. They say they have forgotten childhood, that they have forgotten how to play in the streets with scrapes on their knees, like we did and do, still. Others blame the clouds of poison that roll across the earth, carried by dark winds across the country. Some blame the metal of the modern world, the iron that is everywhere you turn these days. There is even iron in the air, and we breathe death with each lungful of it. The flying ones among us say the skies are turning gray. They say they can see flames and blue sparks everywhere they go.The dying of the fairies.6 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
The truth is, we do not know why the gates are closing.
The birds speak numbers these days, and chitter air-wave nonsense. Their necks twitch violently from the strain of too much civilization. The squirrels are starved and dress in rags, and the foxes no longer trust us. They once had such beautiful red coats, and now they look like children wearing their parent's c
amphitrite IIif my lip will still be split when the austral summer starts,amphitrite II10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and, all wrapped in rising sun, we're coccooning,
if we're throwing all the good things into a bucket of riverness
(and lawn flowers),
will we want to wake up?
I know I'll want to pour
my slice of eternity into a bottle of coconut essence,
make my foreverafter sweet and tropical,
and if your hands are balsam I can
carve my song in stone,
and I will never die.
But don't you ask yourself
why paper boats always sink, in the end?
I don't think I care.
I think they just sail off to a land without horizon
deep in the underwater of the bathtub.
You'll know when, and
you'll hear me sing a sea shanty, maybe.
I want to take my ship until the end of the river.
I want to see the spring pouring down blossom offerings
into the ritual water, I want
our coast of muck and destruction to be aflame with
I'm a shellfish and my fingernails are painted green,
I'm silent-all-these-years and fallen,
I'm wondering where my watercolor
on watching the night close its eyes on you1. I will not tell youon watching the night close its eyes on you1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are pretty.
How can the halls and angles of such honest humanity
be so pinched between sounds as elementary as these?
2. You need not be two stringent boughs of syllables
nor weave your viney bones abreast these five petty letters,
whirling in the fire of the river
Do not attempt to peel yourself layer for layer,
leaving all the disgust behind.
Do not tally your body six lines
too short, hemming the holes into
puckers red as those volcanoes of strength
bursting at the base of your hips.
3. Blood is not satisfaction.
Blood is not patience, waiting for the rooms to empty
astronomer's anatomyi.astronomer's anatomy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so gracefully stepped;
exhalation of debt
owed to none
a miniature trek
of the tongue
laden with melodies
sung to the back
of the sun
there's a wonder in hearts,
a pull to the stars
from the oceans,
from the moorings
there's a wander to hearts
as sure as the stars
fill the oceans
till the morning
all held breaths
and all heroes
can you tell
is the fire
worth the burn,
worth the struggle
if you can
if you're able
trick the words
into stable forms
shapes ripped from wavers
torn straight out of air
I will answer
I can dance around
skim surfaces sweet
there's a blunder in hearts
short circuits the stars
fill with motions
of our mourning
can you call it adoring,
being subject to the spin of the system?
I took a stroll
through the orbits
let the gravity enormous
have its way with me
i said, "it's alright, i stillTo know completely in yourselfi said, "it's alright, i still3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that you have love inside of
you like a clamorous reservoir-
and to know the pressure of
inner space reluctant to
explode like light from
to know the only neck
your fingers will ever
articulate with is
that of a
I will reside inside of your
boyishness like an ever
darkening sea ready to
coagulate like the
blood that stirs
within my guilt.
Uncoordinated LongitudeWhen I picked up the phone she told me that she missed the trainsUncoordinated Longitude3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the way the rain smelled in the summer.
I scratched a pattern in the table with my thumbnail. I stretched
the phone cord between my fingers and said I was sorry.
She asked what I had to be sorry about and I told her I didn't know.
I twisted the cord into a clover shape while I remembered
her laugh when we picked up the penny off of the tracks, tossing it
back and forth, watching it catch the light and throw it back.
She asks me where I am and I know she does not ask where so much
starspunobserving the romanticismstarspun1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
of hooded cemetery kids,
smoking cigarettes pretending
they are not dead.
you were always so sure
about my uncertainty,
all my pick up lines
we built the heat
of the evening from the solidity
that two teens at the park
is the stuff of teen novels
(cliches dim on
our leaf-gold horizon)
your eyes darted
from the gray expanse
of the churchyard & wandered
i wanted to ask you
if i could follow. shove
the words aside &
remember that i came here alone.
i remember our innocence
in the static b e t w e e n
about how youth without you is th-
awing out the lines in my whittled-out eyes.
look to the hooded
wonder what we'd have been like
if we grew up as nothings,
like them. teenage
nothings with chiseled
marble in our
out of our parents' adulterated
lies and the excitement of alcohol.
i settle for a star.
it's almost as luminous
as the after
One Day I Shall Lay Down And Dieone day i shall lay down and dieOne Day I Shall Lay Down And Die2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and so for now here is my kiss, my golden-ness,
my forehead pressed against yours
like two strange animals lost on a plain of
red sand. one day i shall lay down and die so
now here, let these birds pick me apart,
show you it all, the torn underwear
and the girl gazing at the soft glow
on trees, the ferocious lion-love
weeping under the kitchen table. one day
i shall lay down and die
so for now i feast on beaches, your breath,
the flutter of my dress sore against my skin
someday i will find that peace,
plant a spring-flower deep in my heart, land one last cool kiss
on the bow of your mouth and slip away, i know that one day
i will lay down and die but for now
feel your fingers spread across my heart,
feel my roar in the night
BrackishAfter the wet season, beforeBrackish3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the midsummer night's drought,
I flight for the floodplains, where
the northern downpour bleeds out
and sweeps its love to the mouth
of my lungs. I sleep in the crux
of an oxbow, let my dreams flux
and flow fractured, deltaic. For this
is the way I piece myself apart,
a resolution, my absolution
in a new avulsion.
During the day, I move south
towards the river mouth, picking
pebbles, coral fangs from the riverbed.
A loose tooth is a common truth
in these parts. Bones are febrile,
eyelashes are made of chalk, salt.
Tears turn brackish. They cake
and crack on the flats of my hands.
This is my Pangaea,
this swollen geography,
this slacken land.
The point of no return.
Here, all else ends.
By dusk I meet the saltmarsh
and dehusk, grow halophytic
in the nightlight. I pull out
my hair, my fingernails, and
fill the gaps in my spine
with reed rhythms, saline.
The final rite: turning flesh to grass.
Tomorrow, morning mist
will drag the whitewash back,
ashes to ash.
Dogma: a sestinaDogma:Dogma: a sestina6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
So we began, as was the world, from air,
So too, in the beginning, was the word.
We met as strangers, as in some ancient idyll,
Caught among an unexpected course:
Lives lighted with those soft, celestial rays
Our eyes, our lips, our tongues a hymn of praise.
And what cannot be thought enough in praise,
Those words oft-said, but spoken with an air
With which the mountains crumble; angels raise
Their voices from the veil, or Holy Word
Echoes from its pages, lauds its course
Unstable though it be, but seldom idle.
Then falling from your grace, my love, my idol
To whom this lonely soul kneels down and prays,
My soul, my heart for which the vessels course:
Vanish; water droplets to the air
Glimmering to the sky without a word
Forever lost among Apollos rays.
Thus night becomes my temple, mine to raise
A sanctuary, my self-serving idyll
Kept hidden from the sun, and every word
Locked safe inside my vault, for who can praise
Or worship great enough to fill the air,
To take the sp
a narrativea crow,a narrative3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
perched on my shoulder,
on my shoulder,
and soon his crowing,
his gorgeous crowing
he turned his head from my ear
so he could point his beak towards a man
catching his gold-haired daughter in his arms,
and turned back to my ear,
that man, that man over there, over there, over there,
his is as filled with dissapointment
as the sea with water,
look how he drowns;
looking at the gold-haired girl,
a bundle of giggles,
a bundle of giggles,
in her father's arms,
I brushed the crow
off my shoulder,
off my shoulder,
and watched him go,
and crow, so beautiful,
and crow, so beautiful,
in someone else's ear,
I miss him so.
Who knewWho knewWho knew3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The man you visited in a dream,
The one you re-traced a half-remembered
Path for, in the off-chance of
Surprising one another again:
Polychromatic flannel and subtle sighing
Through the teeth, gently
Warm eyes softly exotic
Slavic vodka on a late summer night,
Sweep by, wearing blinders of
Deep conversation, still
Smiling with an accent
His arm around a waist
I want to sit in my room, arms wrapped around
Knees against chest in the solace of the sun,
I want to watch the endless journeys of
Sidewalk strangers from the fire escape
But it's ten to four and
There's no time to cry anymore;
Only time to join the chattering
Choir girls practicing for
petrichorNiobe weeps.petrichor2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
gold scattered rough across
cracked earth and the last
remains of summer - they fell
like leaves in the arms of the wind.
some scents cannot be captured.
the gods bleed onto rock,
and the stone sends her prayers
in return: petrichor.
listen - the heavy thud of
rain on parched ground;
the monsoon sealing life back in;
the sky bows and kisses earth.
27 [I]273 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she cried 'transubstantiation' -
why don't you eat dirt and
feel closer to Earth !(?)
i slipped ,jointlessly, seemless
quicksilver ,going downdown
until I wrapped my serptentine form
around the core
, a cold static stone
/mornings are not sunrises,
and arenot accompanied by angels/donot
underestimate them they are
mother, can you mendi.mother, can you mend3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for those freckles to glide down
the bridge of her nose and
into a generation of fresh sunspots,
but the daughters got the sun's affection
through their hair, one wheaten braid
over another, sometimes
under the needle's eye of the wind
and sometimes split ends
were all there was to mend.
and mother tried to reteach
her Indian braids unity
on young heads,
she tried to get her worn moccasins
to move too-small feet into dance,
but they ran through rivers
rather than around them
and too often had they sinned
before the hands
trampled azaleas under bare soles
and petals between toes
but sometimes the land
was all there was to mend
and truthfully, Mother was
afraid of crossing bridges,
in her hand-me-down car
or on her own two feet.
she told them,
don't you ever lead traffic over
quiet water. You'll startle our world
into a change.
last time she had,
the current came in alto
with a dirge of capsized trout
and for once the surrounding willows
dove in after something
AlterAllow me just this:Alter3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I fell into a deep forest. My femur
put forth roots. I did not say: oh Lord,
take me from here
like Rebekah, this is another
My mouth remained resolutely
closed. The moss
grew over me,
Oh Lord, I am scared.
Mother is reading, brows
at half mast. In the kitchen,
Father organizes sardines
on crackers. Home means
this soft quietude.
Five thousand six hundred
miles away, I am watching a donkey.
It stumbles on three legs; the fourth
is loosely curled, like a child's fist.
There are wild dogs in the fields beyond,
waiting. I am a dog, waiting.
The wind settles down
into the moor. The purple heather
lowers its head, then forgets.
It seems natural, as if the wind
was always there.
My neck bent,
I am lost in this.
Wandering, my hands
abandon their shape.
DementiaThe old man sits with stooped back.Dementia5 years ago in Other More Like This
The room is cold, just like his hands.
Thoughts have wandered like small children.
He wonders if he will see home again.
Thoughts have wandered home again,
with stooped backs and cold hands.
The room sits with the old man.
Like small children, he wonders if he will see cold.
Back stooped with thoughts, he wanders.
Like a child the small room sits, wondering.
Home again is cold.
The old man will see with his hands.
Thoughts have wandered with stooped backs.
The cold hands sit with the old man.
He wonders if he will see like small children.
The room is home again.