yield and embrace

lilacs like love-making

intoxicating

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?

Iceblink Luck

liquid crimson

embers emboldened by winds

leave their marks within

Escaped Bowerbirds

the end of a bloodline

lost to apathy.

Fantastique

Wanning gibbous

but still full of fantastique

in the face of the impossible.

under

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

moment

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.

Happy Valentines Day

Successional

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.

True Light

True light.

What is out there is preferable-

what comes through is filtered.

Out there or in here?

Trapped.

Shells

Listening

a Harrier hunts for his meal

in the silence.

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

tale

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.

always will it be

the universe entire

between you and me

Xmas

Approaching the darkest
night of the year
with blood under nails
and unkempt hair
and a thirst
for rare-
ified
air
and a dare
if I'd
taken
the shot
if I'd
taken her
spot
I'd be waking
and not
in this dream
where the prick
of the point
of a flickering
flake of snow
guillotine
or a bow
and a blade
and the broad-head
has done
all it could
call it good
call it game
walnut wood
where you hang
on your cross
from your vows
with your dross
and your dream
of a Wonderful Life
as a wife
as the Bride
of a Christ
that forgives
and lives twice
and then sieves
it suffices
to bleed
just a little
to rinse
in the riddle
of a rite
where the
night
might be bright
for the duramen
for a darker
knight.

A Breath of Wind- 風の息

A breath of wind
a timeless conversation
an answered prayer.

風の息
時代を超越した会話
と答えたの祈り

A Prayer

The fragility

of humanity

amazes me

when I fell into your skin

the world forever changed

and I am destroyer

a new Arch Angel

of Death

when I fell into your skin

a pulse of your mind

created eternal echoes

of an ocean

of last breaths.

Rules

A conversation avoided

a tale of two cities

of two citizens

of a brave new world.

Two lives

two flags

two sexes

two bags

filled with layers

and rings and burl.

Stuck in a moment

in the fog of a war

between modernity

and the urge to mate

is a space that is constant

in dimension or distance

but not in constancy

connubiality

or fate.

A frozen curtsey

a stilted salute

and intimacy

is vacuous

and vacant.

While we play by the rules

Eros arrows the fools

who are coy, constrained

or complacent.

color

Prize

I'm still writing somewhere

I'm still writing someone

still writing a history, a mystery a myth.

Still in the ring

still in the round

still just a foil, a fool, a fist.

Will there be roses?

Or still only ruses

or a medal that rusts away?

Are you still writing somewhere

still writing someone

or is art in waning decay?