Tuesday, November 15, 2011

fleeting glimpses
absent, coming, going
a few moments more

Sunday, October 23, 2011

ball dresses falling
float into heaps on the floor
disrobing Autumn

Thursday, September 29, 2011

The Spoils of Silently Watching

Arising before dawn in ritual pursuit
aware of austerity, sharp, acute
a chill that has settled
and defines for a time
the spoils of silently watching.

As the hoary frost on crimson leaves
succumbs to the center,
succumbs to the sun
as ice becomes rain
and the dew is undone
and the bluest of blue
frames vivid prisms spun
of the thread of a love
fleetingly grasped
desperately held
and quickly lapsed
into seeking again
into hoping for when
that moment will lend
less furtively.

Retiring at dusk from the ritual pursuit
aware of austerity, dulled but astute
exhaustion has settled
and defines for a time
the spoils of silently watching.

Friday, September 02, 2011

Monday, August 22, 2011


Sleeping, sluggish, a dormant desire
is drawn from the dog days of summer-
as the front is unfolded
the summer defrocked
I return from a lazy warm slumber.

And the creak of the hasp
and the shake of the aspen
spark dreams of October fire.

And the velvet glance
and the cyclic dance
an alluring chance to conspire.

Rising, alert, an ancient urge
springs forth from a change in the weather
it will not relent
breathing deeply the scent
of the chase and the blood stained tether.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Night swimming

Night swimming
and I am towing
a boat.
Night swimming
and I am pulling
a rope.
a hope.

I am kicking
I am paddling
I lose myself in the darkness
feigning calm
for the hopes
of the passengers
on the boat.

We are far from the island
far from our shores
there are hours
and fathoms
and whole dreams
to go.

I hear them singing
hear them chanting
"we are the pirates
who don't do anything"
and I choke at the irony
and on warm weedy water
and I swim
with a rope
and a boat.

She died.
Dead in the water.
I can stop swimming
by entering the boat.
But the boat is not
where the boat is to be
so is less useful
to the destination
less desirable to me.

And they're in.
And I'm out.
and they're chanting
and I shout
"an hour or so more"
as the dawn takes its form
and the skin on my feet
is blistered and worn
from fins and conveyances
to overcome forms
of the body, resistance
and I have been here for years
night swimming
with a boat
and a rope.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Monday, July 18, 2011

dry shrinking soils
clusters collapse into cracks
drought in the vineyard

Monday, June 13, 2011

beguiling allure
shameless in too short summers
Moccasin flower

Saturday, June 04, 2011

Wednesday, June 01, 2011

I hear your echo.
Awaiting your next preening call
I lie motionless.

Friday, May 27, 2011

Lioness, Lioness

Lioness, lioness bring all to swift right
lioness, lioness strike surely tonight.
And you
caved in
to triage traps
let down the furling freedoms
and retreated with taps
where the trick
is to try
not to look
like a spy
or a trite
little trollop
or tramp.
And the message
is garbled
by gambit
or goad.
And the cypher
is cracked
with camp
or code.
And if only the comments
and the deft smirks and nods
could escape the shake-downs
and stamps and jihads...

Frisked, frowning, fucked by the scrutinous
followed, failed, felled by the mutinous
tickers, talkers, tellers of truth
rickety, crotchety, stealers of youth
who insist on a sin and a stain on your virtue
for writing and writhing in stills that won't hurt you
in springs and in flings and in rings like a hearse
hewn in hackneyed hickory shag verse.

Wigwam, a womb, a warm place pleading psalm
where a body lies still to be christened, embalmed...
internment I wait, and wait, for a tourniquet
reeling, risking, rollicking, riveted.
Please stop the bleeding and tell me its you
please stop the hiding and tell me what's true.
Lioness, lioness bring all to swift right
lioness, lioness strike surely tonight.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

yield and embrace
lilacs like love-making

Thursday, April 28, 2011

40 & counting

The chorus, the chorus
and the pregnant air
brings me back to tall places
to a promenade bare
of promise or purpose
or pretense or price
or penny royal tea
or pixies enticed
by the prospect of plucking
fireflies from ice
or possibilities of kissing
the rune-stone twice
but full, so full
of a flickering hope
that a breeze will blow
you to our elope
our elixir
the fixtures
of pagan ropes
that bind and bind
and forbids a Pope
from fashioning edicts
and obstructing the twine
from tying the unions
too long let unwind
unwound, unwooed
let slip down a slope
where the best to be done
is stack memories to grope
but we age and wither
and the time passes by
and we know, but vaguely
that the hour is nigh
for a fleeting duvet
for a last foray
for one more flicker
for the bats to obey
to the glades of our glories
to the desire of the day
yet we hide, as imprisoned
better angels at bay
and the question lingers
will we be once again
can we see once again
how to taste what has been?

Sunday, April 10, 2011

liquid crimson
embers emboldened by winds
leave their marks within

Tuesday, April 05, 2011

Escaped Bowerbirds
the end of a bloodline
lost to apathy.

Sunday, March 20, 2011


Wanning gibbous
but still full of fantastique
in the face of the impossible.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011


Under tall palms
in a thirsty parched place
held the last drops of light
between my fingers and my face
in the valley of the sun
a vision undone
held only once
held only once
held only once.

Under the red sandstone
I embraced the moving light
the roving gaze of God
the same as all nights
but different
by moment
by moment.

Under the water
the sounds became one
the souls are shattered
to rejoin and become one
and they cry in unison
for the sun
for the sun.

And in our own sorrow
and between our own pains
we breathe in and breathe out
and breathe in once again
and hold it
and hold it
like we'll hold only once.

Hold it
and hold it
we live only once.

Friday, February 11, 2011


You want light.
You want it more than most...
fight for it and spite
your consort and your host.
Increasing your fitness
while growing white and mossy,
defeat your only witness
while you become more glossy
and the moons appear and disappear
in a steady march towards mold
and we become a memory
successional, and old.

Saturday, February 05, 2011

True Light

True light.
What is out there is preferable-
what comes through is filtered.
Out there or in here?

Monday, January 24, 2011

Friday, January 21, 2011

a Harrier hunts for his meal
in the silence.

Monday, January 10, 2011

Losing Heather*

If I knew t'would soon be raining
I would have carried an umbrella.
Had I been told about the pain
I'd never have been convinced to tell a
a whispered spell
a wishful veil
a fantasy fell
from filling eyes
beyond the well-
ing up of tears
amidst the sell-
ing of the years
her flowered first
and then the bell
the toll of truth
the tick of time
of virgin youth
of virgin mine
of sweet vermouth
of sour wine
of bitter truth
of sowing seeds
amidst the pines
of taking leave
of the divine
and naivete
about the weather
is no excuse
for losing heather*.

*Heather’s scientific name, “Calluna vulgaris,” comes from the Greek “Kallune,” meaning “to clean or brush,” and the Latin “vulgaris,” meaning “common,” as heather twigs were once used for making brooms. Native to Ireland, Scotland, Scandinavia, Russia and North America, heather branches are also said to have been used to make baskets, rope, bedding, as thatch for roofs and even to flavor beer or tea. Symbolizing admiration and good luck, heather is also believed to have protective powers. The ancient Celts recognized it served as a great cleansing agent, breaking up blockages found in the body. Interestingly, brooms were most popularly made by the Celts with heather, another symbol of clearing, cleansing and manifesting purity. Perhaps these associations with purity made it a symbol of promise and good luck in the Highlands. Indeed, no Highland bride would walk in her joining (wedding) ceremony with out a bit of white heather in her bouquet or hair adornment. The custom still lingers today. What's more, not only were the Celts clever herbalists, they were also genius at mead making. Heather was a prize for meads (during a time before hops was recognized for beer making). When properly rendered, it made a heady, aromatic blend suitable for splendid nights of merry making. Here enters the symbolism of the heather dealing with romance, intoxication and attraction. Heather mead was some powerful stuff.

LESSON OF THE HEATHER - from The Wisdom of Trees by Jane Gifford

Heather is a symbol of passionate love, of sacrifice, and self-control. In the first place, heather represents enthusiasm and sensual pleasure, and the benefits that can be enjoyed from spontaneous self-expression. But within this lust for life and exhilaration lies a deeper lesson of the consequences that may arise out of unbridled passion. The Celts believed that you are always totally responsible and accountable for the outcome of your actions, so you were wise to be sure of your own true nature before totally abandoning yourself to the potent delights of heather ale and the pleasures that it could bring. Unchecked, heather is short-lived and unproductive but if burned yearly to the ground, it re-grows with fresh vigor. The lesson of the heather is that a necessary balance must exist between self-expression and self-control for both to be enjoyable and effective.

Tuesday, January 04, 2011

always will it be
the universe entire
between you and me