poetry & things

Poems

This painting

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.

The bittersweet

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.

Remembering last spring

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.

Too far my lover

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.

Sonoran desert 2

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.

Of sorrow

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.

Nature lover

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.

Like stars

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.

From the river

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.

Foresters

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.

Watching disappearing stars

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

Breadth of night

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.

Strawberries

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.

Sandhill cranes

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.

Our last road trip

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.

Of dawn

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

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.

Chocolate (haiku)

Sitting in this void

you seem to fill my love needs

empty calories

China

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

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.

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