Poems

Now these clouds, the cold mean greys

sideways rain, the north lands I remember

the drowning air of smoke and fire

nights traveling the dark road to your home

the black and spark of stars, we watched

through the night, before the killing dawn

before the fog, the cold that held us down

the clinch and grasp, the slow stinging wasp

the allure and hum of bees

the honey meadows of scattered petals

only a fleeting summer – we gathered

now swallowed in the autumn thunder,

the bruising cold of November.

In the evening watching blue, pink clouds

birds and clouds whirling round my head

they fly past the place where you live

I long to fly with them, maybe tomorrow

fly to some far off place I’ve never been

but tonight I go with the stars and moon

only starlit, I drive the dark road past Dragoon

and can never explain the magnetic force that pulls me to you.

It’s no good this round and round my love

they’ll be no surrender only the smoulder of fire

only a dream, the beautiful fusing

of we two in the star showers ­

fast and falling, to live and die together

of love and things to remember

somehow we got lost

chilly in the night cloud weather

blind sighted and now besides you

I too can never surrender.

The path of the sun, with its arrows shooting us toward home

the light, the lulling moon miles, the night roads we travel

in vast fields of star flowers we are born, reflections in the river

floating we ride, wildly glide, some days on the smooth tides

with these eyes, sometimes half blind

we live and dance, we hide, we fade and die

all too soon only a light glowing ghostly

a glimmer in the blue water.

I will tell you these things about the sky

and of summer going into fall, of berries nearly gone

the mountain ash trees green, gold and changing.

The yellow waxwings that perch beneath

the heavy laden leaves, cool

amid an autumn storm.

Half the sky is impossibly grey

then further away, turning black charcoal

a place where thunder is born, booming.

The other half, still deciding what to wear today

changing from pink, purple, blue

crashing its way into these luminous hills

meandering in sync with birds over the river

until the sun comes, igniting the clouds

on fire with red again.

On mornings like this, I have pressing things

on my mind – digging and weeding, uncovering things

I lay here thinking of that time last spring

wandering the green fields, or in the canyon lands

under a skyful of blue, and I can’t seem to move

cannot rise from this bed, I play records

spinning round my head, I play records on repeat

the bittersweet of you and me.

That time in spring, the sweetness

the yellow green of emerging leaves

the popping and exploding

the bright shattering of petals

lilac flowers in our hands.

Walking the woods with you

tracing deer trails for hours

along the rocky river bank

and in the sycamore forest

we saw the silver shining trees

impossibly branched and reaching

mingling in the vast blue sky.

In the deeper woods, mysterious birds

sang incessant songs, ancient and forlorn

always their singing is reminding me

of the endless beauty to be found

always a deeper feeling of love.

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.

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.

Sitting under these trees waiting

maybe all day for the moon

or the washing rain upon my face

lay upon this mossy grass, all sunk in

pay no mind to where I’ve been

no matter – awake or dreaming

I fly into the forest with birds

waxwings, Bohemians

under maple leaves

sun dappled, shining

or perched in the pinewoods

a safe place to hide away

a heart that’s dying.

With eyes, like owls – great horned or a night cat’s

his arms, tree branched, heavy laden, strong

with legs, sturdy pillars for mountains climbed

hair of silken silver brushed upon my skin

his essence, forged by nights and wildfire pines

his reddened lips, softly melting into mine.

The taste of your mouth

it exploded, salt bright

upon my lips and I fell

reckless, haphazard

as the night was – of shooting stars

blushed, bright flashed, gleaming.

I fell, the thump and tumbling

of hearts, by the moon, love spun.

Your arms, bands of gold, bronze

gathered me – each part

like stars, one by one.

All day from the canyon

the wind birds hover

the dance of pines,

the free water.

The long grass that flows,

green seaweed of the river.

September’s early leaves

paper, gold upon the water,

wild yellow petals.

The river’s edge

with bright blinking flowers, fully petaled

they are looking out upon the water

all day the blue, green, yellow of the water

all day until the red, gold of the evening sun.

The goldenrod now half exploded, on the edge

flowers cut across the path leading to the bracken woods

from the long grass, three young deer emerge

from the mist, into the forest they disappear

to shelter under fir and cedar boughs

just days old, they rest on mossy loam

I trace their perfect footprints

I want to follow them home.

In the cool stillness the desert awakens

night barely lingers, with dreams now afar

in the chill before the dawn

comes the fading of stars

blue before the sun

with birdsong

a new day

is sung

Here in these beautiful hours

of night’s deepest secret world

shines a speckled sky of diamond fire

blooms a starry portal of flowers unfurled.

I am thinking of that time

in the ripe fields of June

the carefree of our bare feet

cool upon the spongy ground

warmth of the afternoon sun

all the berries red and round

the mad deliciousness of

falling to the ground.

Over by the wild fields, crossing wired fences

climbing into view, we saw the sandhill cranes

like airplanes, impossibly winged

they weaved in and out of sight

stalking tall amid the grassy screens

prehistorically made and in the green

of murky shallows to wade

warming in the sun, they come

returning every year

and we can feel the air move

in a giant swoop, a flapping wave

breathing heavy winged

we sighed, at their precarious lift off

the feathery snow of sky

alas, the distant birds

silver streaking by.

Every day I awaken early

always I open the curtained window

to gaze upon the fire red sky

sink my thoughts into the tallest trees

distract my mind from these worries

I drift into the aromatic leaves of tea

try not to let flashes of you beset me

all your photographs I must quickly pass

I walk wooded paths for beauty to seek

and from my lips your name I shall not speak

and never think of our last road trip

the Colorado river, the ocean,

the weight of this sinking ship.

Very early, before the birds

the morning moon travels to underworlds

gathering stars and seas of glowing pearls

when swift, the sweep of darkness goes

the night from black to indigo

blue in layers, the light unravels

then wends the coming day

the dawning sky of gold.

Of all the colors

or incense of fragrance imbued

of lavender in fields, violet blue

or softer still the lilac florets all abloom

pale silk, sweet the honeysuckle dew

drips and drinks the yellow painted tanager

and flits afield the newly winged swallowtail

the thrum and dance of bees bright in floral symphonies

gathering, heavy laden in the bending breeze

of all the colors, this bird iridescently shimmering

blue into the disappearing trees

too soon another day to lose

of all the colors, a favorite

I can never choose.

Sitting in this void

you seem to fill my love needs

empty calories

In China, towering spires of green

with pine trees, the fog that hovers

breaks lucid in shades of mauve

blue flame of night’s dawn

gives birth to stars, the skies

white snow of clouds,

the evening cranes

that fly above.

Tiger, your eyes of amber

lull me hypnotically under

slowly sink, you slink in tallest grass

night, a steamy jungle where you sleep

scratch and paw, you claw my neck

I run, always you bite and bite

growl, and prowl hunting me down, to defeat

tireless in your clever games of hide and seek.

It is summer, and soon the Perseid showers

I have gone from my desert home

I wander far from crowded towns

my feet here in grassy, bee clover

on a summery hill, all daisy flowered

green, with wild blackberries

awaiting the August sun fire.

Here amid the slowing of mars retrograde

of my lover returning home too late

no long goodbye, only the weight

I watch oceans of seaweed sway

at night the phosphorescence

the lonesome, of sea stars trailing.

Today the rains came, without any warning

I watched droplets forming, pooling on the ground

the trees dissolving into palest fog

into the quiet of this forest, void of birds

traveling off to some secret world

perhaps to some cavernous mountain hollow

with glorious wings, I dream to follow

through the darkened woods, hidden by ferns

through harrowing clouds to be one with birds

with gorgeous feathers, downy warm

among the flickers, pheasant and crow

to be an evening silhouette in the alpenglow

a skylark winging in a painted sky.

Blue, sea green night

the moon’s gone missing

lorn shore, footprints and broken shells

my heart an empty ocean to fill

without you my love, further

than the planets and stars

how long this ache

of blood and cells?

Strange music playing

I never know from where it comes

always on a whim it wanders and goes

a flute, warm breathed upon my flesh

sometimes cool night jazz

a deep toned oboe, I breathe in wildly slow

drums synced in rhythmic beats

now a bass guitar strummed ever dark

a haunting violin that moans

ripping at the heart.

It was more like alabaster, but I could only be sure

of one thing; it was an exquisite lesson in anatomy

cold ancient, pale Roman stone, the arm half gone

strongly curved, the rippling of muscle, hair and bones

a man held by pillar, marble like legs of smoothest stone

his eyes deep set that wended near, then waywardly away

the kind that strangely follow sometimes linger into the next day

broad faced, cheekbones perfectly amid the shadows

and I don’t mind saying while on my museum trip

though he was a statue, I thought to kiss

those divinely sculpted lips.

I have lost all sense of time, hours linger

days fade, I look at photographs

those of you and I, unframed

in gardens, or mountains

or pictures from the hotel

the warmth of you, my chilly toes

lonely – I remember your smile

the window, the trickle

of autumn rain.

When I am a thousand miles away

and you are seemingly a million more

here where I trade the sun for rain

dwell in the intermittent patches of grey

I distract myself in gardens green

study madala art of spider weaves

decaying, diaphanous maple leaves

the cool of wet mud wriggling around my toes

and yesterday the black birds watching me

disturbingly, the cawing crows

and I could hardly think or speak

as I dialed you long distance on the phone.

Pink iridescent moon

shadows cast upon the sands

of endless moving seas, of broken shells

feathers and bones of seabirds we’ve loved so well

together we are tied by swaying seaweed ropes

our souls ever ebbing us toward home

to see the possibilities, endless in our lives

to let ourselves be wild, allowed to float

feel the arriving tide, the unwavering ocean

always willing, always letting go.

Wild geraniums collected

in pocket, red painted petal stains

my feet squish, squash in this forest

the earthy mud a mossy sponge

with fern and lichen the trees are hung

upon the ground greening with maidenhair fern

my satchel filled with dainty floral sprigs

in spring the sparrows gathering vine and twig

June’s an efflorescent carpeting, soft with lady slippers

in summer the wildflowers and grasses wed

when celebrates all the flying things

wooded bees and butterflies in the sun

sparkling with faceted, glistening wings.

I have left the desert

to live in forests, under green trees

ruminate, drinking rose petal tea

my sipping cup, salal leaves

always I am watching the beauty

of birds, the wonder of skies

I dream into the disappearing

imagining beyond any ordinary heaven

with wings gathering gentlest winds

soft amid fog and cumulus clouds

coming, going, disappearing

how brief this precious flight.

A good sell and soon I knew all to well

the glinting lull, the trigger pull

of flash floods and hot spells

the changing moods of wind

the hot and cold I rue

driving this desert

with you

Alone in this silent desert, burned indelibly by sun

after the call, after the blue, red fall of flames

here, after the dancing scorch of fire

I am left to the smouldering doldrums of desire

this bed, now an empty space, a wordless, lifeless place

here, where I have slowed, my movement stagnates

the memories, the sheets – they suffocate

some days feeling so trapped by love

I can only think to run, think how to untangle again

still some days I dream a life with you

in colorfully painted, magnificent hues.

When I don’t see you, here or in the places we’ve been

in prairie meadows or in these trailing hills

I am lonesome, listening to how the ocean spills

blue waves play a sorrowful song

I get lost in thought, ruminate long on our walks

my feet here in these tiny flowers, the ones that we picked

I think of all the gardens, yesterday, today and tomorrow

my eyes fly far off with birds, disappearing

into some heavenly place, where you are.

In the spring of warm grassy lawns, silver threaded

song sparrows high amid the bright lily bowers

they fly gold drenched in the morning hours

in the deep peace of this sanctuary shelter

we are far from the city’s maddening swelter

here beneath shade trees and roses, we sip tea

soft we float like petals, a dream life in these hills

smell the ocean rain, blue the way the sky spills

we walk scented jasmine trails back home

come to rest in each others arms

before this resplendent day is gone

with nature becoming one

connected to all things

we are never alone.

I think you are of clay

of red earth and water

smooth formed and forged

a vessel for holding fire

a warm copper bronze

sculpted, divinely poured

of ancient Roman origin

descended from Apollo

born of pure poetry and music

you walk the earth, a skilled hunter

with bow and arrow

Last night, so enlightening

the full flower moon, illuminating

somehow brightening our words

the sun had gone, taking only the birds

leaving the sky of red mars, the alluring stars

you and I, naked traipsing through the woods

the blazing moon of firelight through the trees

a splendorous love potion, we drank the night, celestially

Tonight, with its blue moving stars

and mars overhead, in its bright blinking red

the breezing leaves upon the rooftop eaves, calling

a falling star, impossibly high catches the eye, while dying

and I dream to fly, flit and roam amid night’s celestial home

but with tethered feet, can only gaze upon the sky, to drink

in the space within my mind, I try to be and not to think

but feel the distant seas, that crash in waves and never cease

the endless ages, ancient and modern ways of humanity

and tonight, I imagine you out there lying soft upon the grass

tracing the dying stars, reflecting on the things that have come to pass

knowing very soon I too, will leave in summer.

Here in this redolent rain, droplets saturate the ground

I watch the clouds move on, and then once more the sun to come

this sparkling desert is strewn with tiny diamond stones

the air hangs in petrichor, thick with chaparral

birds drink from puddles formed in the broad agave leaves

rainwater trickles with steam in the sun of the singing trees

songs of doves coo cooing in the desert mesquite

spiny lizards stop for rest and warmth upon the rocks

they are ancient, tiny dinosaurs with rounded teeth

for eating flashing bugs and beetles

here beneath the spindly ocotillo

the pale flowered saguaro, that blooms

amid this wild ocean of sandy seas

of cool nights and hot breathed days

tricky, the way the desert breathes.

It was windy wild – sunset on the California coast

we watched the birds seemingly fly backwards

seagulls and brown diving pelicans

I sat wrapped in a woven blanket

dreaming I was a coastal Indian

from the north land, Haida or Tlingit

as the wind bit my cheeks quite red

barefoot, we sank in the cooling sands

watching the final flashing, glassy sun

firewater reflecting on the darkened lands

the sky swallowing the sailing light away

the half moon askew above the bay

I have come to these woods, after the rain

rivulets, sweet where droplets in soul have pooled

where clear water washes away blue

I have come to hear birds in spring

to watch the air of butterflies floating,

newly winged, faceted and sparkling

I’ve come to feel the cool earth, green with leaves

my feet soft upon mossy carpeting

toes intermingled in a fragrant field

cool of hyacinth emerging

in a swirling world, of unfurling fronds

the sun streaming across emerald pond.

It is late, the sky is black slate, coal

a desolate moon glow, cold

this silent world flecked with tiny lights

diffused amid the softness of clouds

the night, only a blooming dawn

a field of stars that come.

White fleshed, the wild roots

cold in caves of soil, the bulbs, the tubers

burst through aged brown clay, wet through mud slick rains

sun drunk buds, of tulip leaves, petals painted pink

music, the chirp and groan of ponds, a soft bedded mossy home

of woven fern and forest fronds, built for night’s invisible frogs

dogwoods, white as moons, calls heard lovelorn

through an open window.

When I write these things

my thoughts fly with birds

sometimes grey in storms

sometimes winged in skies

so feathery

When I sing this song

my heart goes in beats, bittersweet

sometimes heavy held, my sorrow spilled

sometimes warmed, red flushed

and fluttery

When I paint this canvas

my brush moves in labyrinthine moods

sometimes shades, darkest blue cerulean

sometimes flowers white, soft as clouds

upon the page, floating heavenly

Blackbird, your wings – reminiscent of ashen skies

iridescent as blue morpho butterflies

the impaling of your sharpened eyes

tricky black witch, all knowing, you cackle

shapeshifter, a Yaqui Indian

desert bird, a grackle

Stirring, you stare me down

shaking mesquite leaves to the ground

the air is a thick musk of sage

smudged for peace, for prayers

a wish to cease the wars we wage

With vision, pure of heart

this message of love unfurls

breath peace – peace

in this world

Don’t make me lose my mind

you were so hard to find

baby can’t you stay with me tonight?

we’ll party like it’s 1999.

Why must you play this game?

when I only want to see you laughing

in the purple rain, purple rain

You know I won’t make a fuss

cause you don’t have to be rich

you don’t have to be cool to rule my world

I just want your extra time and your Kiss!

Don’t make me wait here alone and blue

cause darling I would die for you

you say – I’m not your lover

I’m not your friend, I am something

that you’ll never comprehend

and I would die for you

darling if you want me to, want me to

I’m not a woman

I’m not a man

I am something that

you’ll never understand

and I would die for you

the beautiful ones

we always seem to lose.

Somewhere in the red lands

thick with oils, she painted sands

clay hills of rouged mud rain

a sliver layered blue, a sun sky yellow

that broke from rust colored rain, from clouds of brown

it was found, a prominent grey, a white washed shell

stark amid the scorch of desert

a piece of ocean that from her pocket fell.

When I can no longer discern the path

when I am seeking a seer’s looking glass

I walk miles of desert alone, travel years from home

to stand hot or cold, in a wilderness, fragile or strong

in storms, sun sweltered and windblown.

I believe in fire, the burning into ashes reborn

look for defining lines, watch for the telling signs

I listen for the music of words, spoken softly sweet

for love notes, tucked in heart, to keep.

Some days I wake

in the cooling clouds and rain

float into the unknown of day

sometimes I am nearly froze

in wintry dreams of streams and ponds

sometimes my feet in forests, treading mossy greens

I walk amid summer trees, that shine in a sun path, glistening

one day with autumn leaves, I’ll go falling back to earth, so soon to sleep.

This space, of hot breathed desert

the searing swelter singes my soul

leaves me windblown and hollow

windy sands to bury my sorrows

of yesterday and tomorrow

of pain, the crying rains wash away

of storms here and gone, together now alone

of air we breathe beneath the same moon and sun.

Watching the budding vine of petals unfurl

all through winter I am looking for spring

the daffodil yellow greens, the lilac blossoming

of tiny star flower florets, sweet the songbird chorus

moss softly sunning, the trickle of forest creeks running

the remembrance and fragrance, the pungent warmth of rain

drops, wet and round, bounced from trees, upon my face falling down

cool splash, the startling of my eyelash

wet washing and alive, the resurrection, the cycle

of all things again reborn.

gentle water ripples

snow of falling flower petals

soft the landing of your lips

we merge like clouds in dream

become one, learn to breathe in sync

Verily we are suspended

to one another invisibly threaded

gold spun, finely woven

we breathe the air of summer

silken petaled, softly subtle

through these woods treading sun dappled

we come to rest, in a rosy heaven

lose the world of whirling much too fast

to gain the moment, lose the future and the past.

In spring, green along the river

amid ancestral foothills, we walk deer trails

wild in the woods of scented pine

of silver sycamores, silken barked

stark, they pale against bluest skies

their new leaves green and glistening

we are listening for songbirds, for a language without words

transfixed, through this portal, reborn in this world

warm winds speak sweet and susurrus of spring

melodious they sing, leaving far behind

the cold, the dead of winter.

December’s child

with fire you were forged

your eyes are liquid amber poured

always I dream to kiss

your perfect lips divinely cast

the sweetness of your breath

the warmth that moves across my flesh

your hands and arms are sculpted bronze museum art

indelibly in mind when you are far

the hot of your delicious mouth

traveling gently, slowly south.

In the water, some tears erased

below the surface, they slip away

only a watery grave of what used to be

a mirage, a vision of possibility

a looking glass, this moon-green sea.

For you the woods, the moon

night paths, I breathe the air attuned

treading starlit, sleep and dream

ever closer my love, to you

bright from the sky, like stars

ever into your arms, I fall

and fall.