The drape of blue, green vines
that hung and fell with beads of water perfume
of birds and flowers long since bloomed
Chilly winds lift feathery fronds
of red and rust on autumn ponds.
A shadow of summer
where sandhill cranes have flown.
A fallow field hazy in its gold and brown
stiff blades and grain that brace the cold
Alas snowflakes
soft as feathers falling down.
Who writes of me
without pad nor pen
or scribes with sharpened knife
a belly of lies unfastened from sheath
deep that bores the core of heart?
Illusions swift they swim
in waves as shoals
cold and blue
spawned from
tiny minnows.
Early in the dark hours
where no birds have flown
before the flicker and hum of stars
silence where daylight sweeps away
the cold occluded moon
amid a barren velvet white
lights a silhouette of trees
iced and caked in winter.
In the rain forest we heard the first birds
stood amid the cooling spectral fog
walked upon the spongy ground
the layered earth of moss and mud
along the path and further on
came streaming rays of sun
that silver lit the wild paphiopedilums
and smiling back toward the sky
stood a shine of silken stars.
I am green in these hills
I wait all spring long
wait through grey rains
too early for summer flowers
I dream of sun fields brightest yellow
my heart a wild field that burns
my lips, parched paper seeking water
desolate in this desert
your lips now merely
a mirage.
Today
it was felt
in heart
it came sharp
a knife
a hammer
deep the ache
the numb
that tries to escape
the resurrection of the fire.
All the blue of day slipped quietly away
the drowsy lake waved the sun to sleep
with glints of gold and blue in steely colors.
At the closing of day
the blackened pines faded away
a lone call was faintly heard
a sadness, the weeping of a bird.
In this moment I am water, grey rain
I cry with trees and all the streams running.
Fog and clouds, the twist of branches overhead
my mind a loop concentrically swirling
a trick – the swoop and slip
the black and falling birds
the scream of skies unraveling.
Tree, I have come to shelter and with the rain to weep
I am soaked, barefoot with mud running through
soft the moss, cool and cold
to soothe my heart that bleeds.
Our waxing nights of love and moons
now fallow a field that burns
damned our hollow bed
of haunting, silent screams
too soon the fiery devil
too far my lover
the spring.
Some days, this desert
under spells of sun and moon
think, I brood in fields of agave blue
the angled sun blares sharp to parch
to dry, to crackle leaves to dust
tricky this prickly pear cactus
bitter thorns laden with
impossible blood sweet fruit
while high and seen out the corner
of my eye, the half moon smiles
beguiled by the sun.
Fiddlehead fern rooted in earth
warmth of sunshine gives birth to your unfurling
green forest smiles as you reach toward stars
you are smiling like moonlight
shining back through trees.
On days like this
cool, with little winds
desert birds forage for sticks
they build nests perched in cactus
some build green in palo verde trees
always I think of baby birds in spring
hatchlings, the fledglings that fly
I travel far beyond the noise of towns
watch the movement of cooling clouds
the roundness of rain upon the ground
the grey banked scurrilous skies
of hurried birds, their silhouettes before a storm
daisies that close, cold amid the stones
beneath where snakes and lizards go
slither and crawl in this landscape of saguaros
and I, ever tethered can only dream to fly.
All day long with clouds and birds
greens and blues moving through the water
I wish my fingers were water color crayons
to paint these scenes on leaves of paper
to capture water drops on stones, lighter, darker
the sky, the soft rain I taste
all the ways I lived this day.
In the morning to wake up
deep and breathing in
an ancient forest.
Because our days are straying
and though the nights are spellbound
we are only ever falling away
only ever coming and going.
Near the blue banked shores
we are anchored, bobbing and breathing
the clouds are merely sailing ships
waves of swirling skies.
Upon the tide the moon rips and pulls
stars come to swoon and soothe
floating in the night lands
plush and indigo blue.
In an earth bound dream
found bare and green
blue between moss and splendor
cool and cold, our hands and toes
wild eyed through the mud we climb
these darkened steps
beyond the stars
returning home
to rest our souls
brief a dream before
the long sleep of
our rebirth.
In Klawock stands seven totems
and a madman, chanting under ebon skies,
embedded in cedar wood, he is connecting two worlds
a master carver, in a language without words.
Born of the raven clan,
he is tracing ancestry in the wood
seeks the ways of wolf and bear.
Born of water, amid the realms of earth and air
his spirit runs with salmon.
In Ireland, sea swept and green
against the wind, this mast salt lipped and bent
by the mad skipping white caps
farther out – the gray fading ships
closer in the tiny bobbing boats
amid misty fog they float
nets and fish, heavy they list
the watery wilds
toward home.
In the sweet of early morning
and only for a few precious moments
I thought of nothing at all
I stared blank at the four walls
in a state between awake and dreaming
and only until the startle of the first bird singing,
the wind playing in the wild branches.
I saw the sun clinging to roofs and trees
light traipsing through the garden lilies
I heard the chirp and groan of frogs
newly green, all the unfurling fronds
and from the broad leaves, the dew
fell sparkling in rivulets
and drank the carpet moss
softly green and splendorous.
In the northlands,
damp and drowning
come rains of spring,
and suns that sing
before the buds tightly spun
unfurl in worlds of greening.
In the shallow ponds
of ice now gone
are tiny minnows
gleaming.
In the evening comes the dim light, the swooping away of day,
the blue, gray clouds, the turbulent air of wild birds
small specs, black and disappearing.
After awhile only quiet,
and then a certain silence settles in
it moves like fog, alongside the moon
it comes cold, blanketing the soul
a depth of space unknown
a well of darkness, undiscovered
the losing of this day, this light
and in the long, lingering hours
dwelling in the dark caved places
touching the soul and flooding the heart
the crashing waves will come
to break one wildly apart.