~
I don’t fear melting into this earth.
Each morning
I wake into the air
I do not rise I do not move
I do not open my eyes
until my nose has sensed persuasion
my tongue has tasted sweetness
and my ears have heard the world
~
I was a child with dreams of becoming
Now I am older with dreams of being
~
Transformed
Nothing and everything is changing.
I am like a snake shedding its skin
and
biting its tail
~
erasing the lines
of time
~
~
Still pressing up against the hardest surfaces
the ones made smooth and polished from stroking
the oldest deceits stand effortlessly smirking
no longer disguised in trick wrapping
nor granting the encumbered insurance of knowing
power cradles itself suckling from the lives of the many who trustingly feed it
~
Why is it our children are taught only humans may realize potential?
Was this the start of the game?
~
By bedding these apocryphal gods
we’ve found more synthesis than birthing
as we rotate each new upstart
this long line of rulers, healers and salesmen
organizing the most popular projections
when even they are fooled into being
just the face of the mask
~
worn by indifference
~
I wrote this poem about twelve years ago…overwhelmed, angry, frustrated. If anything, the situation has become worse but I am encouraged now by small, intrinsic, heartfelt actions that turn this tide. I am a human being who loves and is loved…this has to count for something
~
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/origamijoel/7235241870/”>origami joel</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>cc</a>
my animus came to me
bleeding
in a dream
a mountain goat
standing
he showed me
between his strong legs
thick hairs
a rag soaked in the moon
the smell of his strength
and compassion
it’s the small intimacies…
the ones that gentle
boundaries endangered
that have weathered
our distance
~
touching yourself
surrender
until you are
only
slow aching
in the lightning
capsizing this turbulent abstinence
~
and set us free
~
~
We are the salt of tears
the returning of the seasons
Bees collecting pollen from every flower
Butterflies rising at dawn
We all become the ocean
when it rains
~
~
~
~
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/paulobrandao/2544963964/”>Paulo Brandão</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/”>cc</a>
the sweet rhymes my mother sang to me
long gone
coat my tongue
~
I must have been soft clay as a child
~
It’s a comfort since
in the long and long
I have learned
that it’s in the telling
and then the listening
that memories become songs
that live on
in the living
~
here they are
singing in my bones
every morning
these songs
~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/39106736@N04/4225760662/”>atelier de betty</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>cc</a>
like smog shadows rifling valleys
the mountain holds its breath
~
Fragile like feverish water
the ocean aborts the moon’s children
~
Fragile like bees loosing direction
and stamens playing their last hands
~
Fragile like children born overwhelmed
by viruses perplexed
~
Fragile still
like a flower abandoned by the garden
in blooming makes no mistakes
intelligence in its unfolding
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~
~
drifting sleepless
by
many things unknown
a restless moon sonfonia for
cello and viola
~
Here you are old man!
come on in
the war is warm in you
a symphonic humming note
too vibrant with life
to carry with you,
too bold with memory
to leave behind
perched in between but
your moments are slender, Sir
shall we dig a hole
in North African soil
and
return these vibrant seeds
of your youth?
~
Troubled still, I see, by
the pestilence of
a virulent union
still yielding the stubbornness
of stone upon stone.
Here’s the shovel to
bury the house
that joined you in flesh
and may I advise you to
forgive yourself now
since you’ll not forgive
your trouble and strife?
It may unwind the same clock
for your passage
~
(a last kiss on each cheek of the moon)
~
What a wonder !
spirited fireworks
over the skies of East London
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
May your spirit rest in peace A.L.W. 1918- 2013…that’s 95 years!
Cockney rhyming slang for “wife”…. “trouble and strife”
~
~
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/chanc/374344530/”>Christopher Chan</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>
my sleeping fingers hear night rain
they sweep wide
opening a window
my waking skin is dampened
smelling wakened soil
~
my blood is pounding
melting runoff
~
breathing it all in
deep as my lungs will take it
tender buds
unfurl in my brain
~
verde corazon
“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
~
~
“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
~
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/nodie26/2541275902/”>nodie26</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>
~
white petals
drifting on air
through open doorways
pollen eyelashes
leaving
golden trails on our cheeks
our footprints in petals
laughing down the street
~
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/rhockens/5633598368/”>Ralph Hockens</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>cc</a>
The Poetics of Light 