You love to hear the sky in
tumult, grimly booming
in the morning overhead.
The rustling curtains
of showers whipped
over the trees and roadways,
Spilling through commerce's
arteries, washing away
a few would-be commutes,
Pattering upon the roof,
and the few times the doors open,
echoing from the street,
Mixes with the buzzing
freezer hum drowning
the consumer pop out.
Hallelujah!
the peace of white noise,
a fleeting wave of bliss.
A siren cuts the drone,
emergencies arising
from a wet road perhaps.
What's the price of my leisure
when I'm supposed to be working?
I suppose I should
prefer them in here to out there
if it's a question of danger.
Either way work
will be slow;
rain rain go away,
Come again another day;
probably come every day,
but at least I'm off tomorrow.
I guess that just means I
can enjoy the rain
without getting paid to do it.
We do whatever we do,
it dwindles to a drizzle,
the sun swells like business.
People come and go,
time mercifully quickens,
sirens continue to travel.
The clock is a sliding scale
moving from negotiation
in public to private and back.
A smile is a worthy tool, makes
things easy; easy things
don't last long.
Category: Tercets
Something I’m trying to hold onto
Always insisting
on the most extreme
nothingness,
Bitter and afraid—
not of being ignored,
you've never been noticed—
But of having to wait
in the incalculable queue,
already dwindling and gray.
Unwilling to gamble
living in vain (until when?)
you want another nothing? Now?
Nothing is nothing,
yet here you are:
something I'm trying to hold onto.
Splashes of colored ink,
papier-mâché fantabula,
cryptic libido,
Note taken of the yellow-
striped grasshopper
who climbed over your shoe.
Afraid of inertia,
quiet home days
indistinguishable from graves.
But we have luck, not pine,
we have four walls and more;
we have time.
Though we're aging, yet to emerge,
bottle up each vintage of art
with experience and tenderness.
Each episode
when I call you or you call me
in excitement, look!
The cardinal in the backyard tree;
the woodpecker
rapping on the windowpane.
We are small,
but we have small things
that can sustain us.
Since we weren't born
into great things,
let us accumulate
These tiny, common
miracles anyone
can have, yet these are ours
And ours alone;
when you dream of blood,
wake up beside me.
In June
In June he plants
His pennant upon
My abdomen.
At night I find
Connections come at
The right time.
But warmth can soon
Fade into coldness.
Surprise doubt
With repetition,
The right time
Is one replayed
In devotion
Time and again
Until it is known.
Unpicked
Every grain of sand is consuming.
Winter after winter culls
Our offerings, and our reserves,
Overripened, go unpicked.
We only rehearse our songs to Silence,
But if we were heard, and approval
Laid on us, would we know what to do?
If it is a genius that alights
On me, how do I form a technique
From it; and where beyond the sand
Can one find a base to build?
The words and directions of others can't
Reveal memories' inner world;
But to be there with them and to share
In the common dream, like beholding a peacock,
The world beyond yet partaken in,
If you could just accept and exalt it.
Even the unpicked fruit gets eaten.
Needs
I need the capability
to pay the way
through time and obligation toward happiness.
Power of movement's what I need,
flux's freedom,
the faculties of change and of stability.
Fame and fortune are not required,
only some wealth
for the bills, walls for the nights, and food for our friends.
Just enough to afford my car
and gasoline
to go from Spring Hill back to my soul in Tampa.
Are all of these things possible:
to help construct
machines and monuments from some semantic lens?
Can I fund the signal of dreams,
can I foster
candid portraits that understand their own façades?
And when I meet with frustration,
what is the strength
that will be hammered out of my emotions' storm?
Will I withstand the melting down
in raging ore,
will I be annealed or will I crack in the cold?
I'm climbing up the diving bell
beneath the thought
of what warrants efforts buried in silent time.
Never expecting to survive,
will I write these
words enough times a poem can be discovered?
Parting is always sorrow
Parting is always sorrow,
Fear of uncertainty,
Discontinuity.
These ducks that have made their home
Here are the most beautiful
And precious creatures I've known.
I've depended on
These days we've shared together;
Who says it has to end?
The fears I have for the future.
Granite's adventuring,
I believe he'll return like George.
Even so, Cory
Misses him. As do I.
Will they miss us?
Nothing ties them down,
Inspiring as it is frightening.
We're united by chance.
How could we let them know
We're leaving but will return
To visit them forever?
What compact could be made
To tie our souls to this place,
Returning after time?
I think I'll be visiting
More than twice a week.
Easing into absence.
I can't bear the idea
They might feel they've lost us
Or grieve the lack of us.
Will they start to think,
"Did they move on;"
Well, won't we have?
We've both lived in so
Many different places,
Why not animals too?
Darling Granite, we miss you.
We miss your happy laughter.
We miss your squinching eyes.
I do believe you're safe
And probably not far,
Likely with Patch or Millay.
We've become accustomed
To your familiar smile
And gentle friendliness.
You've been here the longest
Of all the ducks we know.
Your presence is joy's communion.
Always and forever
We will search for your profile
On the grass lounging serenely.
You will always be
Cherished and remembered,
You and all of our friends.
Our hearts have expanded domains
Grown from Granite; from Marble;
From milky-eyed Mama;
From Armor and from Helmet;
From the fly-by-night girls;
And from poor little Miracle.
I swoon for animals;
They understand hello,
But never know goodbye.
I think of Lefty the mallard:
Against all odds, born
With a malformed wing, he thrives.
Lefty and all our friends
Who make this place their home,
Aren't we of them too?
This place, this time, this pond
Has found us all together
In our liberty-laden lives.
I think of Franklin and Percy,
Loyalty and Norm,
Steve and Zebra and Mama;
Helmet, George, and Edgar,
All of whom had left
And yet returned again.
This is what we have chosen.
We all may come and go,
That's how I know it's love.
I know that we'll come back,
And so I do believe
Granite will too.
***
Just yesterday Millay
Came swooping down to greet us.
We instantly knew each other.
The little outline of white
Around her beady eyes;
How she ran to us;
Her single tiny squeak
As she jumped onto the grass
All confirmed it was she.
She said hello then flew off.
I'd bet she's seen Granite.
Can’t I reach and touch you
Can't I reach and touch you, Break the grasp of paralysis, If I cry out could every jagged word cut into fate? Why must caution stay me, Force our sighs to reverberate And chill the emptiness inside this dungeon that we share? God I long to find you Standing clear of the crowds and poised As lonely as the silent morning at the terminal. Everyone is waiting. How we long for the world to thaw, But those too eager show their neck for reaping Winter's swing. So for Spring so distant, For the lovers, and you and me, Oh, none of us can share a touch, as such I only sing; Sing for now however, Though the meetings ahead we crave, These words are for today and you whom I can't touch just yet. When the day comes music Playing sweetly in meetings held In crystal stasis effervesces, flowing free at last. Silence now is louder, That is why I compose for this, These times detained alone together: this to bridge the gap. Let my poem touch you, Take these words for the company I can't yet give you, take them as a surety of our bond. Keep them for the quiet Night, and listen when you desire To hear that music of tomorrow; know I'm waiting there. Waiting there but waiting Just the same in our lonely now– You house me in your heart, and I rejoice from far away. Please, for the caresses I would give, for the kisses you Deserve, a touch that oughtn't be delayed, let this suffice.
I want to breathe in your hair
I want to breathe in your hair And the air you displace That's tinged with a trace of your essence. In dreams I see you, your eyes And the sighs from your lips Like magic eclipse and entrance me. The spell is cast! I'm undone: So I run to your side, I follow the strides of a dream's love And kiss you dear. Kiss you more Than unsurety allows: The how of our love is not stronger Than what it is. Finding ways, Be they days in a dream, A note of the stream of its music Will always call me to you. In a clue from your smile I wait for a while, and we keep on.
A place for my poems 