Category Archives: imagery

Touch

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Likened to an oval space
where I’m pressing to the wall
and move ’round its circumference
with caution and recall.

I sense it as a darkened play
just beyond my reach,
and substance in the shadows
are thin and disbelieved.

Her touch, in words, assuages fear-
a hold to ban the ill,
the empty holes and voids,
the impressions- touches fill.

Grip me with affection’s tongue
fast with lake and sun,
embrace me with your tumult
that leads us – come undone.

Such is this, caress’ way
in aftermath beyond,
a soothing wisp, a kiss she shares
and looming dark is gone.

footprints

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Yesterday, I cut back the burning bush
on the hill beside my house.

It never spoke to me.
Not once.

It had grown higher
than I stand, unchecked
for now thirteen years,
and never commanded me
to remove my shoes.

It is recommended
that the wings be trimmed in late winter,
before new growth begins.
The fly-away branches-gone now. Just
fragments discarded on some sad morning
and a rooted scrag in place
awaiting rebirth.

I see no divine providence
or transcription of holiness
in this. Hope will follow
in the spring.

Now, a deepening chill ebbs
-in vain.
Winter is not yet over,
and I tarry in the garden
alone.

blink

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In the green, a want
is growing – still and hopeful-
rapt. And knowing that the spell
is brief,
a pin-point moment -lust-
a thief glances – no-
it clutches
hold and deepens,
dilates what was touched
and seasoned.
Lines and edges, flecks and flux
core and flesh, entwined amok.
And somehow, moments in the end
a cured and coupled image
penned, a brush too lightly
to offend,
and focused there,
she starts again.

walk

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The public order
of the ocean,
a blur of mist and foam.
The captive sounds
of marching throngs
so felt this far
from home.

A crushing flood
of tides and breakers,
twelve bars into song
assuage the mystic
caravan singing,
everybody
let’s get stoned.

Shrieking, cry the gulls
above the din
of skin and groans.
I toss a shell.
It’s gonna rain.
I feel it
in my bones.

Among

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Among the quichens grows a kree
a site-astoric flustsymbly.

A kree is there, not roneously,
but freet and gorl and groverly.

And how it came to grow just there,
the primmets wonder with atious care,

For quichens do not keep or share
their time or place or own elsewhere.

The primmets garnered brave and asked
the kree just how it came to pass

that it was given reign to mass
and live with quichens, in their class.

The kree looked puzzled, audly moussed
the primmetts had not gaged – deduced

the kree was here for years to roost
and shared it with the quichens fruste.

aye

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Sometimes, I weep, yet cannot
see the edge’s line and filigree.

Add to this – dim appeal,
obtuse affection, not fresh not real.

Creek beds flow in pouring rain
tears evolve, invoking pain.

A polish on the floor reflects
the one light on, that one affects.

A square persona, mirrored there
in lust’rous promise, staid and clear.

Such consequence – o tainted eyes
beneath a sad and milky sky.

A song of origins

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When the leaves are swept away at night
and the chill cleaves to me,

I am reminded that I am descended
from those who worked the land.

tilled soil – tossed stone
to harvest, afford a life of

growing and yearning, splitting
and churning a song of origins

as a lantern tilted
sheds light on enclosed spaces

of circumstance. Places where poems
are seen, but not written.

Tuneful sounds once heard in the labors
of daylight, lulled by passing clouds

and mute when night comes on. Dirt is rinsed
from beneath fingernails and sleep arrives early

with a crisp quilt. Night whispers
it’s own beginning and the wind tosses aside
that which grips me.

even tide

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Somewhere, the moonlight
turned to give credence
to her tangled removing.
A breaker rolled in
that enticed
and embraced her.
Demands awakened-
her own hurt and pooling.

Somehow, a surging rush
made the unknown electric.
Bristling with joy,
fingered in choosing,
a lover in darkness,
confessing and soothing.

A Carol at Christmastime

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As with the angels that caroled
His arrival in stable, bare.
Praises, Alleluia, Hallelujah!
A King is there.

And with the shepherds,
Who worshipped with humble hearts,
Praises, Alleluia, Hallelujah!
The Savior has come. To start

God’s kingdom on earth,
A baby, a birth
Of Hope and Salvation
Of Love, Joy and Mirth.

As with the Wise Men
That wandered in wonder of stars,
Praises, Alleluia, Hallelujah!
We’ll find where we are.

At Christmas, our Hopes revive!
Yuletide, our Joy is alive!
Open your hearts and sing
Tell every living thing-

Praises, Alleluia, Hallelujah
The birth of a King!

********************
While this is unabashedly joyful (with many exclamation points), Christmas is a joyful time. I can just imagine this being sung with brass and tympani.

My hopes for you (if you do or do not celebrate Christmas)is a happy, blessed day.

A very Merry Christmas!

a murmur

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I want to see matters before
the sun rises, in a way
like mad hatters -yet still analyzes.

I want to walk slowly in
view of the mountains,
with flocks of black starlings
murmuring – counting.

I need to retrace you with
scripts of profession, the
kind that embraces, encourages –
freshens.

And here in my twisting, revolving
release- enlisting your
breathless entreaties – I cease.