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.
Tag: life
This Living
I won't refuse it, this living of mine.
Frustration glares at me like a sign:
My era is ending; I'm losing my way.
That's been true, but why decay
When once I bloomed upon this vine?
You know, once I would decline
Handshakes out of terror. How fine
it is now! Kenny drops by and says hey;
I won't refuse it.
I thought I had to change my line.
I thought I had to leave behind
This chapter. Before I never ate,
Now I do with laughter. Why say
That now this humble life's supine;
I won't refuse it.
Whatever
Whatever can be a beautiful term,
Not just a juvenile linguistic squirm.
The word exists in many forms.
Despite it earning my partner's scorn,
Sometimes the word helps me stand firm.
On occasions when rage in traffic worms
Its way inside, extinguish the burn.
Even if they honk the horn,
Whatever.
When my lover fears I'd spurn
Him for something shallow as a derm;
When he asks me so forlorn
What I'd do to help but a thorn
Of his dreams come true; I reaffirm:
Whatever.
That’s How it Goes
That's how it goes when you're not like the rest:
They lay down the rules that suit them the best,
But some of us play from a different book.
I don't think I'm above it, I'm no crook;
An addict perhaps, if I have transgressed.
Those of our kind, our static's possessed
By demons of sickness set to divest
Us of joie de vivre by their seething hooks.
That's how it goes.
How can one live at the system's behest?
None can be civil with spirits oppressed
By an inner void which hurts just to look
At, let alone have the courage to brook.
I have nothing to add nor to contest,
That's how it goes.
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.
Fragments 2
Wasn't great today
But what is there to do,
Lay down ready to die?
Leave it like days do too.
***
Playing up the sham,
You know it's such a shame;
They'll make your name shimmer,
But only when shown tame.
***
Living through changes
But we remain unchanged
In love, for the danger
Lies in growing estranged.
Reflections on how I got here
"Beware this reckoning,"
Glares a spectral pair of eyes.
Blood quickens in frozen veins,
Stricken as though paralyzed.
Leering back from inside
The mirror, a crack which grows
The distance facts drift at one's
Insistence; then slackens, slows.
And crawling over shards,
Wounds are all to show for wants
Slicing black weals of static
Lack of any real response.
The daunting pain of silence
Spawning deranged interviews—
A prison with no orders,
Visions thrown to trinkets' truths.
Worst is when it's within
The first sentence of doom speaks.
Overpowered by black bile,
Loathing and foul wrath it wreaks.
The dreadful sensation
In the head made manifest:
Seizing trips that mark the sick,
Squeezing grip of panic's press.
Heaviness dimly drapes
Every limb, as though submerged
In water's lips; every move
Murmurs, stripped like a soul scourged.
Beneath this awful weight,
Seething, clawing to maintain;
While fearful of this deep hole,
Here the soul can greatly gain.
It's a cage, and no skill
Engaged will, it confounded
Me; but blessed with room to pace,
They dressed patience around me.
Basically life support
Is the grace the dice produced
To hand me a family
Withstanding my sorrow's sluice.
To think they looked at hell
Without blinking, it took more;
More than courage, more than faith,
The surge of strength love looks for.
Looming death, fate diseased;
Assuming the weight of both,
How they faced it despite dread.
They allowed my glacial growth.
They paid for my prices
As I laid, a dying mind,
Withered body torched in hate—
Delivered by a fortune's find.
They believed in a time
When even I am able,
Condoning this path to shed
Loneliness's black label.
It was pure chance to meet
Him, to endure and advance
Past privation and piss-drunk
Starvation's soul sunken stance.
My family props the sky
Up while hammers drop on nails;
And my head has turned up for him,
Ready to earn grace's grails.
Am I a wretch reborn
By a lucky catch? Of course;
Without either my life's in
Doubt, but strife still stalks its source.
His presence builds me up
A pleasant hill to defend,
But misaligned spheres can soon
Find my spirit brought to bend.
We've grown this better sense,
Sown medicines, worked what found
Subsistence, a miracle
System sheer as sculpted sound.
Our one-room made of smoke,
Blunt and bespoke, fleeting home;
In a flash what saves me could
Crash like waves of frothing foam.
I cannot guard, protect,
By forethought or by power,
Against illness, accident,
Killing events' furled flower.
There's much I can't make kneel,
A touch could steal all I care
About. My dear, meekly tread
And scout ahead. Best beware!
Talking with Muscovies
Muscovies are delightful companions.
When I approach they hum and purr
And vibrate like little engines
Cooling, then settling down.
When my muscovies are enthused,
(They're not my muscovies,
But I'm their person,)
They pant aloud as if laughing.
Norm is a conversationalist;
He'll announce himself even when hidden.
George and Percy sneeze their greetings
Softly, while father Franklin snorts hello.
Steve and his girl, Zebra, are quiet,
But he'll nod and puff, she'll sweetly coo.
Brothers Edgar and Loyalty
Hype each other up with chants.
Patch squeaks and Mama gently trills,
As do Millay and nested Helmet;
And when he's surrounded by friends,
Granite erupts in exuberant laughter.
I’m going to sleep
I'm going to sleep—
Every day takes this slope
While we're here. Look! the poles:
Even the stars list hope.
What does a dream hold?
Often therein dread looms,
And what we feel hard melds
With soft inside lead rooms.
What can a dream give?
A background where dooms verge
Upon something more vague
When thought and void merge.
What it takes to wake
Up: no more than to walk
One step further, to work
For the space/time we talk.
Balance
All things are balance,
So all comes with billings.
Joy's price—sorrow—belongs,
But good comes, God willing.
A place for my poems 