I know fairy tales, funny sayings
and a few foreign phrases.
You know constellations, cell composition
and names of clouds.
I know Jabberwocky, a Shakespeare
soliloquy, and one moth's Latin name.
You know trigonometry and how to invest
money. You speak Spanish fluently.
Maybe I could keep your house clean, do
your typing and proof reading.
Maybe you could teach me things, like
how to love a hurricane.
Toothless Lion
Do you dream, toothless lion, of conquests;
the gazelle's neck, bloodshed, the golden floor
falling away beneath the pads of your paws. Do
you hate the hand that feeds you, faces between
the bars inspecting you, analyzing, speculating
on the origin of your scars. You blame them
for disbanding the pride, for the road lines that
divide your territory, for stealing your former glory,
your teeth and claws, muzzle, mane and maw.
What remains but memories? Security destroys
you. They feed you soft food without bones and
lead you on a rope around a small enclosure. A
kept lion without enemies, without cause to roar.
Sometimes at night you wake with the scent of
the Serengeti on your breath, a whiff of sun and
heat, a wisp of dream and its daylight death.
You feel concrete and straw beneath your limbs.
Your rising voice dies in your chest.
the gazelle's neck, bloodshed, the golden floor
falling away beneath the pads of your paws. Do
you hate the hand that feeds you, faces between
the bars inspecting you, analyzing, speculating
on the origin of your scars. You blame them
for disbanding the pride, for the road lines that
divide your territory, for stealing your former glory,
your teeth and claws, muzzle, mane and maw.
What remains but memories? Security destroys
you. They feed you soft food without bones and
lead you on a rope around a small enclosure. A
kept lion without enemies, without cause to roar.
Sometimes at night you wake with the scent of
the Serengeti on your breath, a whiff of sun and
heat, a wisp of dream and its daylight death.
You feel concrete and straw beneath your limbs.
Your rising voice dies in your chest.
Green Field
Softly slowly sunlight melts yellow
and blue a stream running green
washing away salt, sand, impurity, the
ice encasing me. As I stand from each
strand of my hair winter falls. Stars shower
shining down the green field around.
and blue a stream running green
washing away salt, sand, impurity, the
ice encasing me. As I stand from each
strand of my hair winter falls. Stars shower
shining down the green field around.
Eowyn
His kiss was not the expected promise.
Waiting in your cold chamber is worse in winter
without the sun to cheer you, without your walks
by starlight, consolation for long nights alone.
In the end, Eowyn, it is the same: cook a meal,
pick up a broom. Clean, wait, remain. Live
in your moment of glory remembering
the one demon you slayed.
Waiting in your cold chamber is worse in winter
without the sun to cheer you, without your walks
by starlight, consolation for long nights alone.
In the end, Eowyn, it is the same: cook a meal,
pick up a broom. Clean, wait, remain. Live
in your moment of glory remembering
the one demon you slayed.
Best Wishes
I wish you a white dog, the touch of her fur and
tongue, and six sided snowflakes to melt on your skin.
I wish you wide silent roads and a dog who watches
falling snow, a dog whose joy feeds your own.
I wish you brown horses wearing purple blankets, safe within
the angles of their paddocks, still against a backdrop of sugar
flakes and tinseled trees and a dog that leaps and dances beneath.
tongue, and six sided snowflakes to melt on your skin.
I wish you wide silent roads and a dog who watches
falling snow, a dog whose joy feeds your own.
I wish you brown horses wearing purple blankets, safe within
the angles of their paddocks, still against a backdrop of sugar
flakes and tinseled trees and a dog that leaps and dances beneath.
Music
Over the phone his voice is
the smallest part of a man who
fills door frames, towers and leans
like trees. But his laughter leaps
through the line, spreading outside,
touching tips of pines, the talon of an owl.
Startled from its reverie the bird rises
ponderously, wings softly sifting,
the sound of waves rising to the
clean stars, mingling and ringing,
the owl's and the man's music.
the smallest part of a man who
fills door frames, towers and leans
like trees. But his laughter leaps
through the line, spreading outside,
touching tips of pines, the talon of an owl.
Startled from its reverie the bird rises
ponderously, wings softly sifting,
the sound of waves rising to the
clean stars, mingling and ringing,
the owl's and the man's music.
Light and Fury
Water sprites whisk over the lawn's wrinkled brow
Sprinkler streams stand straight and bend back, bowing
to a greater power.
God of the wind, whirl me up. Sweep me
clean to Thee.
A sun storm of light and fury, strong enough to bleach bones touches twister-like before me.
Bluebirds flash glass and fire, jeweled jets burning
trails of air.
God of light that blinds, blaze and shine
so I may see.
Sprinkler streams stand straight and bend back, bowing
to a greater power.
God of the wind, whirl me up. Sweep me
clean to Thee.
A sun storm of light and fury, strong enough to bleach bones touches twister-like before me.
Bluebirds flash glass and fire, jeweled jets burning
trails of air.
God of light that blinds, blaze and shine
so I may see.
Wish I Could Write You a Love Song
Wish I could write you a love song
But the words come out all wrong
Don't know the letters to say I love you
That's not enough, it simply won't do
How You held me
When like a child I cried
All the sobs bottled up inside
Came tumbling out, they tumbled out
And I'm peaceful now
Quiet now
If I wrote you a love song
I'd sing it all day long
I want the world to know you
You are Love and this is what you do
How You loved me
When on the cross you died
Blood and water combined
Spilling out, spilled out of you
And I'm washed now
Clean now
I want to write you a love song
My gratitude is strong
For your goodness to everyone
Shining on us like the sun
The stars, sun and moon
Combined cannot outshine
The beauty of you, the beauty of you
You've won me now
I'm yours now
Guess I wrote you a love song...
But the words come out all wrong
Don't know the letters to say I love you
That's not enough, it simply won't do
How You held me
When like a child I cried
All the sobs bottled up inside
Came tumbling out, they tumbled out
And I'm peaceful now
Quiet now
If I wrote you a love song
I'd sing it all day long
I want the world to know you
You are Love and this is what you do
How You loved me
When on the cross you died
Blood and water combined
Spilling out, spilled out of you
And I'm washed now
Clean now
I want to write you a love song
My gratitude is strong
For your goodness to everyone
Shining on us like the sun
The stars, sun and moon
Combined cannot outshine
The beauty of you, the beauty of you
You've won me now
I'm yours now
Guess I wrote you a love song...
Bubble
I had a dream of sadness, though
now it's fading and not half
as real as this valley of children
and animals playing.
"Come, little one. Sit with me
beneath this spreading tree."
"What are you doing?"
"Thinking of something far away,
so small it's disappearing."
"Like a bubble?"
"Yes. A feeling--the name
escapes me."
now it's fading and not half
as real as this valley of children
and animals playing.
"Come, little one. Sit with me
beneath this spreading tree."
"What are you doing?"
"Thinking of something far away,
so small it's disappearing."
"Like a bubble?"
"Yes. A feeling--the name
escapes me."
Follow
I follow forest signs that point to you. The maple leaves,
fiddle heads and lady's slippers whisper, directing me.
Is this my destination? The old foundation
of a house, a suggestion of grass and stone. Here,
my feet have found a hollow sound, it's reverberating
underground. I pry back with little ease a door laid
in the floor long ago. A cellar, a hideaway, who knows
what for. Stairs descend into the deep.
Subterranean shade envelops me, absorbing light
and the sound of my feet. I trust one foot to follow
another, how far down I do not know, though it has
grown cold. The stairs cease suddenly--there, I have
arrived. Where?
I sit and wait, wondering if this cave is part of you. If
I lit a candle, would I light it inside you? If I called,
would my voice ring through you? I feel a presence
in the stillness. It is you, and then you are gone, leading...
How long this cave, the dark? I am blind like a worm
and what do worms know of meters and lengths measured
painfully slow? I only follow.
Was that a breeze? Yes, blowing softly at first but it grows--
there! A light, a sheet of white beyond the cave, or whatever
it is, this cradle of dark.
Before me, a downpour of living light, a molten crystal
stream. Neither its source nor end do I see, only vapors
rising from the deep, shrouding the sheer cliff beneath.
Shall I make my way back to the forest, fiddle heads,
and stones or step through the door of the unknown? Will
the flood strip my skin, leaving only my spirit to step
through the mist, or will I plunge headlong to certain death?
You know.
You lead on, I follow.
fiddle heads and lady's slippers whisper, directing me.
Is this my destination? The old foundation
of a house, a suggestion of grass and stone. Here,
my feet have found a hollow sound, it's reverberating
underground. I pry back with little ease a door laid
in the floor long ago. A cellar, a hideaway, who knows
what for. Stairs descend into the deep.
Subterranean shade envelops me, absorbing light
and the sound of my feet. I trust one foot to follow
another, how far down I do not know, though it has
grown cold. The stairs cease suddenly--there, I have
arrived. Where?
I sit and wait, wondering if this cave is part of you. If
I lit a candle, would I light it inside you? If I called,
would my voice ring through you? I feel a presence
in the stillness. It is you, and then you are gone, leading...
How long this cave, the dark? I am blind like a worm
and what do worms know of meters and lengths measured
painfully slow? I only follow.
Was that a breeze? Yes, blowing softly at first but it grows--
there! A light, a sheet of white beyond the cave, or whatever
it is, this cradle of dark.
Before me, a downpour of living light, a molten crystal
stream. Neither its source nor end do I see, only vapors
rising from the deep, shrouding the sheer cliff beneath.
Shall I make my way back to the forest, fiddle heads,
and stones or step through the door of the unknown? Will
the flood strip my skin, leaving only my spirit to step
through the mist, or will I plunge headlong to certain death?
You know.
You lead on, I follow.
Sun and Fog
Sun draws the soaking, drenching fog,
shooting it with light at the bottom, while
the top is the obscure white of clouds, as if
the earth’s spirit is gone and only the body,
still warm and glowing, remains.
shooting it with light at the bottom, while
the top is the obscure white of clouds, as if
the earth’s spirit is gone and only the body,
still warm and glowing, remains.
Truckstop Waitress
Honey, darling, sugar, baby, anything but Lacey, though
my name's right here where any Tomfool Dick
or Harry could read it if he cared to, 'stead of leering
greasily like a coyote, licking buffalo sauce off his fingers
like there’s a napkin shortage in Kentucky.
Winking, squeezing, grabbing, sticking out their hands
on the sly like its an accident when I walk by: some day
I’ll sling a handful of nickels at ‘em and scream,
“Keep your filthy grubs offa me or I’ll run you over, Charlie,
Mack, Ed, Billy honey, darling, sugar, baby”.
my name's right here where any Tomfool Dick
or Harry could read it if he cared to, 'stead of leering
greasily like a coyote, licking buffalo sauce off his fingers
like there’s a napkin shortage in Kentucky.
Winking, squeezing, grabbing, sticking out their hands
on the sly like its an accident when I walk by: some day
I’ll sling a handful of nickels at ‘em and scream,
“Keep your filthy grubs offa me or I’ll run you over, Charlie,
Mack, Ed, Billy honey, darling, sugar, baby”.
Winter City
The old man is talking to his cat again
in the next apartment I can hear him, the walls
are so thin, just layers of onion.
Today is grease splatter and grey sky
more soap in the dishwater and I
wish it were hotter, I feel that dirty.
Its the dog crap on the sidewalk
and cigarette smoke and people
who won't talk when you go by
or look in your eyes and sometimes
you want that. Sometimes I want to be
touched so badly I cry.
I'd like to take off in a Volkswagen van
camp by the ocean, sleep on the sand
feel the sun, my muscles firm as I run looking
like an ad on TV where the blues are more blue
and green is more green than you've ever seen.
But the girl in the ad doesn't need kerosene
for cooking or get tired of eating hot dogs
and beans because she only has enough money
to camp for a week without working and
the ad doesn't have to tell me I'd be as alone by the sea
as I am in the filthy grimy city.
in the next apartment I can hear him, the walls
are so thin, just layers of onion.
Today is grease splatter and grey sky
more soap in the dishwater and I
wish it were hotter, I feel that dirty.
Its the dog crap on the sidewalk
and cigarette smoke and people
who won't talk when you go by
or look in your eyes and sometimes
you want that. Sometimes I want to be
touched so badly I cry.
I'd like to take off in a Volkswagen van
camp by the ocean, sleep on the sand
feel the sun, my muscles firm as I run looking
like an ad on TV where the blues are more blue
and green is more green than you've ever seen.
But the girl in the ad doesn't need kerosene
for cooking or get tired of eating hot dogs
and beans because she only has enough money
to camp for a week without working and
the ad doesn't have to tell me I'd be as alone by the sea
as I am in the filthy grimy city.
Seven Stanzas
I like the way shoes wait for the impression
of a foot and their next destination.
I like the way ivy greets sunlight: always with eager
arms, even if the sun is not having a good day.
I like the way flames kiss a breeze fluidly, agreeably,
acquiescent. They never say "no".
I like the way a leather chair agrees with a body
on where it should and should not give.
I like the way the earth balances a house
on her head without letting it fall.
I like the way ribs cradle a heart jealously
from the world’s sharp elbows.
I like the way words meet a page honestly,
black on white without a trace of grey.
of a foot and their next destination.
I like the way ivy greets sunlight: always with eager
arms, even if the sun is not having a good day.
I like the way flames kiss a breeze fluidly, agreeably,
acquiescent. They never say "no".
I like the way a leather chair agrees with a body
on where it should and should not give.
I like the way the earth balances a house
on her head without letting it fall.
I like the way ribs cradle a heart jealously
from the world’s sharp elbows.
I like the way words meet a page honestly,
black on white without a trace of grey.
Seven Hallelujahs
Heaven's a blue so clear its ringing
ice bells, chimes in branches clinging.
We've come for diamonds in drifts a' winking
and a glimpse of the moon, low it's sinking
o'er the eve of the world's last turning, or
perhaps it's first and brightest morning.
We are hailed by seven spirits singing
hallelujahs, or the final warning.
ice bells, chimes in branches clinging.
We've come for diamonds in drifts a' winking
and a glimpse of the moon, low it's sinking
o'er the eve of the world's last turning, or
perhaps it's first and brightest morning.
We are hailed by seven spirits singing
hallelujahs, or the final warning.
The Green Beyond
In memory of someone who loved this place-
an inscription on a greening stone marks
the trail we took to see the catfish dance-
slowing then starting, shivering in unison,
intent on the surrounding cloud of eggs
they didn’t notice when we slipped our hands in
and felt their fins.
Winter found the faces of summer cottages
forlorn, boarded windows staring like empty sockets
across the ice-bound lake. We skidded long trails,
looked for cracks and any sign of our fish,
frozen mid-shimmer in the greenish glaze.
Next year someone we loved was captive
beneath a stone. We lay on the green grave
feeling down, through the ground when
a lucent flutter above us showed
our fish had broken free. Released
mid air they danced once more.
an inscription on a greening stone marks
the trail we took to see the catfish dance-
slowing then starting, shivering in unison,
intent on the surrounding cloud of eggs
they didn’t notice when we slipped our hands in
and felt their fins.
Winter found the faces of summer cottages
forlorn, boarded windows staring like empty sockets
across the ice-bound lake. We skidded long trails,
looked for cracks and any sign of our fish,
frozen mid-shimmer in the greenish glaze.
Next year someone we loved was captive
beneath a stone. We lay on the green grave
feeling down, through the ground when
a lucent flutter above us showed
our fish had broken free. Released
mid air they danced once more.
Navy
Rain drowned the windowpanes
as we lay- me half asleep, you
dreaming of being deployed.
I brushed the would-be curls
of your military hair, forehead
cool with logical thoughts,
submarine facts and radar,
my fingers a continuous convoy
of rippling waves on the sea
that takes you away from me.
as we lay- me half asleep, you
dreaming of being deployed.
I brushed the would-be curls
of your military hair, forehead
cool with logical thoughts,
submarine facts and radar,
my fingers a continuous convoy
of rippling waves on the sea
that takes you away from me.
Keeping Time
I loved you. Oh, how I loved
you through winter's ice
and August's moons, in
springtime’s greenest glow
with thawed crystal drops
on willow trees and rainbow
fish below.
In the dusk of gloom
and deepest night, the sighing
breaking dawn; I love you,
oh, how I love you still
as time trudges on.
you through winter's ice
and August's moons, in
springtime’s greenest glow
with thawed crystal drops
on willow trees and rainbow
fish below.
In the dusk of gloom
and deepest night, the sighing
breaking dawn; I love you,
oh, how I love you still
as time trudges on.
Irish Ex
He’s one of the Flaherty, Braugh
O’ Dea, O’ Dell, bumper-sticker bearing
T-shirt wearing imported from Ireland
assembled in America proud-to-be
Celtic tattooed crowd.
He’s crazy about The Quiet Man with its
sod roof cottages and he’s crazy about Fiona:
chestnut curled, ivy-eyed Fiona with a
Green Isle sized rock on her finger.
As we hail them to their honeymoon
I say, “Be sure to kiss the Blarney Stone!”,
knowing at night Irish kids
piss on the Blarney Stone.
O’ Dea, O’ Dell, bumper-sticker bearing
T-shirt wearing imported from Ireland
assembled in America proud-to-be
Celtic tattooed crowd.
He’s crazy about The Quiet Man with its
sod roof cottages and he’s crazy about Fiona:
chestnut curled, ivy-eyed Fiona with a
Green Isle sized rock on her finger.
As we hail them to their honeymoon
I say, “Be sure to kiss the Blarney Stone!”,
knowing at night Irish kids
piss on the Blarney Stone.
The Viewing
Here is the church
where I will look
on the leaden cheeks,
plastic lips and powdered
eyes masquerading as yours
beneath layers of paint.
Here is the church
here is the steeple
where row upon row
of eyes will watch me watch
you, lying as if asleep
almost.
Here is the church
here is the steeple
open the doors
see all the people.
where I will look
on the leaden cheeks,
plastic lips and powdered
eyes masquerading as yours
beneath layers of paint.
Here is the church
here is the steeple
where row upon row
of eyes will watch me watch
you, lying as if asleep
almost.
Here is the church
here is the steeple
open the doors
see all the people.
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