Wednesday, December 30, 2009

2010, A Space

So tell me, if we throw all of our skeletons
up in the air, will they morph into space-
ships, transport us to the next level? And
will we really be that more evolved? Perhaps
we need a Hal to give us the answer, as to
exactly how we fucked everything up;

how at the end of it, we are just tail-less
apes making bones about nothing.

Monday, December 28, 2009

Just More Sky

We could have walked together
under the Elm trees, arm in arm
along Champs-Élysées, laughed
about how the rich and famous
really aren’t that important,
about how music is secondary to
the rapid sound of a sparrow’s heart
as it sits in your hand after thinking
a living room window is just more sky.

Had the window been open, it would
have been different, the chance of
getting closer than a poem
to an expanded world of fantastic
reflection was like throwing a bread crumb
onto a river covered in ice, there was no
possibility of anything but reverberation.
At times, I think of her when I see a horse
standing in the early morning fog

breathing a memory of its first mate.
I remember how quickly she gave it all up
for the company of scoundrel(s) and wonder
had she known everything she knows today
would she have done the same?
Someone taps quietly, translating words
into deeds in the middle of the night.
I could have met her there, in Paris
if she hadn’t been such a bitch.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Poetry Anthology

Check out this link to the book "Lilith", A Collection of Women's Writes in which I am featured.

http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/lilith/7923763

It's exciting!

Saturday, December 12, 2009

only the weather

I often wonder did anyone
really walk on the moon

and who named it
Sea of Tranquility

perhaps it should be
Sea Now Disturbed

honestly
who tees off when they reach

something like the moon?
Could the first man

not have written his name
in a brick of cheddar cheese

and left it to petrify
sort of like a joke or an R.I.P.

carved in a tombstone?
The Eagle has landed

scripted and announced
in a soundstage in L.A.

Osama Bin Laden and George
Bush reminders that Elmer Fudd

hated Bugs Bunny, or how Wile. E
in pursuit of Roadrunner faltered

while an Acme weight fell so slowly
on our heads

while inside an unabandoned house
in New Orleans a man believed

it was only the weather -
a hurricane never lies.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Jeremiah Johnson made his way into the mountains
Bettin' on forgettin' all the troubles that he knew
The trail was wide and narrow
And the eagle or the sparrow
Showed the path he was to follow as they flew.
A mountain man's a lonely man
And he leaves a life behind
It ought to have been different, but oftimes you will find,
That the story doesn't always go that way you had in mind.
Jeremiah's story was that kind. . .
Jeremiah's story was that kind.
The way that you wander is the way that you choose,
The day that you tarry is the day that you lose.
Sunshine or thunder, a man will always wonder.
Where the fair wind blows.
An Indian says you search in vain for what you cannot find.
He says you'll find a thousand ways for runnin' down your time.
An Indian didn't scream it, he said it in a song,
And he's never been known to be wrong.
He's never been known to be wrong.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Still

So much to say before the air
begins to turn

bells cease to ring broken
promises, steeples empty now of wings

only ghosts glimpsed in tatters
turn blue corners, in quick flutters

they dart in and out through portals;
elusive as minnows flickering through

gaping nets lost to the sway
currents fraught with undecided

still

Sunday, November 1, 2009

11/01/09

Again, the geese are flying
South, a flutter of words on
a blue page –

For a second, the world is full
of nothing more than black and white
wings that flag and signal

a start, a change of season.
I think of you on the other side
of a windy world

where waves lick at sea-scummed
rocks that have guarded shores
since before we were born.

With the instinct of a migrant
you will return and take root in dreams
in the roll of luminous waves reflected

in the sweeping eye of a lighthouse
as clouds puff up and grumble
shooed away by fair-weather winds.

I grin to think that we are so tiny -
grains of sand that spin pearls
into the mouths of oysters

split open on a beach at dawn.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Between Gasps

In the grandness of edits I live
in gaps and shadows; between
footsteps I walk to feel land’s beat.
To find a place in this air, I breathe in
taste wild cherries, autumn apples, dance
drunk as a bird lost in the sweetness of ferment.

At night I lose count of my sins
in the blackness between stars; my dreams
scale fortresses to find me. I burrow for them
overturn every stone, grapple suns until my
hands are burnt, follow them down into
silvery gasps between gills of a grounded fish.

Sometimes, I hear stories in the silence
just before wind moves through the leaves,
and my heart trembles like a paper lantern
strung between the trees. The bones of a fish
rattle on the shore below as high in the hills
a sound of chimes can only be heard as longing.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Over The Brim

Birds devour summer's last
insects, too sluggish -
escape not an option.
Overnight, a green world
turns white, chimney's offering
up smoke like peace pipes
to an indifferent sky that only
yesterday tipped its hat to
tomorrow; brimmed with blue.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Snow

winter has arrived
from the top of the blue spruce
junco's toss pine cones

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Parallels

If only stars were not
formed of ice and storms
centuries captured stare
through lifeless eyes of night -

But born of soft wishes
uttered from mouths
unclasping dreams
like open velvet lockets -

If only stars were closer
casting into open hands
ascending as they descend
rising as they fall

Monday, September 21, 2009

Small (fret)

Water painting rocks
in wet smooth laps
clouds turn to dogs
and back into clouds
again comes the train
whistling for something
long and low puffing hard
over a land that elastics
itself around

you are standing in a field
playing air guitar
lost in the beat of a track.

Monday, September 14, 2009

In

The clock drips 10:
17 lights below the door
begin to tremor

soon his footsteps
outweigh
she walks from room

to room switching off
everything that once held
light tenderly in

small -
small hands.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

The Heart

Like most things, we could have vanished
easily without fanfare, thought or care
Instead it was meant to be that we chose
to deconstruct each chamber, and not carefully
more like ripping a band-aid slowly from a partial
scab, more like dissection of the worst kind -
and yet in the background a hum of machines
whirring out the most beautiful music
reciting such words as 'love' 'respect' 'faith'
a poetry reading to a crowd of followers
that could not bear to hear the empty sound of flat-line.

- Debbie Calverley

Two Pennies (Crush)

A woman at a grave
Flowers in the field
A farm's reflection in a side mirror

Two pennies on a track
Two trains have stopped
Before their destinations

One points east, the other west
A cricket calls, another answers
A breeze ruffles the wheat heads

She stands between two tracks
The sun is gleaming, setting
across the iron backs

freight cars waiting to be told
stop and go - go and stop
She swears she sees him

Spinning under the signals
The wind blows in the ghosts
The whole world holds -


- Debbie Calverley

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Storm Front


Storm clouds billowed creating cold fronts
in the small checkers of her dress, puffing
her pockets like an intruder, invisible
bellows held close to the fire.

The rain began to speak to the tin above
outside the day strobed and forked
into instants that almost seemed real
the taste of air like iron on the tongue.

A farmer’s daughter, she understood
language of land parched to the quick
could feel its pores open and close
a lover’s heart spread wide to sky.

The hair on her arms began to shiver
as the storm built itself bolt by drop
fields flattened like golden dominoes
drought released in one great gasp.

- Debbie Calverley

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Fiddlehead

Between the clouds
shaped into leaping terriers
or fat hippos drinking long from
a river of sky -

fly little hidden time machines
stamped with different dates
exploring currents of past regrets
or future hopes, each one unzipped
spilling secrets into ears of lonely
lovers, humming songs of unborn
dreams held too close in the crook
of a mother's arms.

They will only reach the stars by thinking
there is no distance between them;
a quick turn towards a twinkle
earth shrinks into a fiddlehead curled
tight into the shape of its own gravity.

Friday, July 31, 2009

Soap Bubbles

I am tired of the world
all it's blue and green ways
filled with the have's
walking on the have not's
children with curious eyes
behind pulled curtains
peek out to find their place
while the adults play
at knowing.

Still
so many unpopped bubbles float
up from the dirty laundry -

summer rain on a tin roof
a smitten girl filled with smile
swirl of tadpoles in a puddle
sink of sponge moss on the sole
to lie in bed at noon knowing
everyone is scurrying to get
everything done that doesn't
need doing once it all begins
to end.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Furaden

Why do people poison lions?

They eat the cattle

The indigenous would kill

a lion

through rite of passage

to become a Man

and protect the cattle

now they are Lion Guardians

but now nobody new

understands poison danger

tradition and rite

and lions die

as do we.

The Box

I've run over it three times
it's sides unfolded exposing
cardboard emptiness -
a bit of tissue off to the side
that once held a gift.

Twice now, the box has caught
dragged along under the car
like a kid tailgating on an icey
winter street, but this time
there is no laughter.

I'm sure that little box has sat
there defiantly for over a week
ever since it spilled out from
one of the party bags
early last Sunday morning.

It doesn't matter if it disintegrates
fades or blows away. I won't pick
it up just as I won't clean the side-
board, hang up my clothes
or fix my fallen hem with anything

but a safety pin. Every little trail
leaves some evidence that I exist.
Drawers stuffed with poems, hair
in the sink, a cup rimmed with lip gloss.
Feel free to curse me when I am gone.

I am not home.
I am not home.
I have never been home.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

elephants

in captivity live ninety
percent of their lives
tails joined in chains

Tomrrow, the Wind

An angel lies bent in the grass
hands folded across an oxidized chest
eyes painted shut to the chance
of being saved

amidst yellow daisies a broken spade
a pail of dying weeds
a sparrow feather in a footprint
in the garden at night

solar lights begin to share the gather
of their suns one by one they blink
will wink forever until there is no more
bright to fill flattened pockets with shine

A woman sits awkwardly, hands folded
across the orange of her dress
sweating into the day
sky blue begins to bundle up the clouds

trundling towards tomorrow -
the wind

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

What Light Remains in Absence

What Light Remains In the Absence
by Eoin Galvin

It is not the sound of the lights turning off
but the full silence of you and I at home,
not the shape of you in my arms
but the weight of you asleep,
not the bright, terrifying joy,
the burn and breech of us,
but what light remains in the absence
who I have become of us.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

My Grandfather, Poplar Point

Lament

Show me the worm 
caught in a bird's beak
or the squirrel still twitching 
in the middle of the road 
while bloody tires 
revolve someone home -

I will show you the worm 
deep at work in the dirt
of a long abandoned farm
turning in continuance
of softening, cultivating
a soldier of the earth oblivious
to anything remotely human

or that the farm is empty, run -
down to nothing but old boards
license plates still nailed onto 
onto an old garage.   And you wonder
what the purpose is, why the farm
once stood proud - windows 
gleaming with fresh eyes

full with the thrill of reflection
green fields wet with dawn

PJ Harvey - One Line

Do you remember the first kiss?
Stars shooting across the sky
To come to such a place as this
You never left my mind

I'm watching from the wall
As in the streets we fight
This world all gone to war
All I need is you tonight

And I draw a line
To your heart today
'To your heart from mine
A line to keep us safe'

All through the rising sun
All through the circling years
You were the only one
Who could have brought me here

And I draw a line
To your heart today
'To your heart from mine
A line to keep us safe'

Monday, July 6, 2009

Super Slipper

Such things -
rolling through life
but not like when I was a kid
tumbling sideways down 
some grassy hill laughing
not a care in the world
in my little blue trench coat
eyes full of what was always
right there in front of me

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Kim & Deb

Hope

Beats in our hearts
Her laughter
Reflected in our eyes

And her smile
Part of these lips
Will always be



Hope, Kim, Deb

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Caught at 4:51

When it happened everything went
quiet and soft, as if to make her stop
and listen to the mute sun 
warming through brown silk 
printed large with white roses
blooming them a little fuller.

Nothing extraordinary in the passing
from one moment to the next - it all
happened in a click of life's finger snap
shifting her perspective slightly left
to a place where fences no longer stood.
A Mourning Dove trilled twice

as the wind moved a little quicker
tousling through her hair, intent 
on racing messages through the grass.
Something instinctive to that moment
drilled down tapping into her

with swift invisibility and she sprung
water over edges until she knew 
this time she was fully in love
with the music that had just played 
him into her.



I Crave Your Mouth

by Pablo Neruda

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.


I hunger for your sleek laugh,

your hands the color of a savage harvest,

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

 

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

 

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Cat Toss

I'm throwing all of my cats to the wind
flying fur, claws, teeth and bowls of food
water and everything that I thought 
they needed to survive.

Later on, tonight, all of my cats
will face off against one rattlesnake.
Tomorrow I will once again
face what I detest
up against a wall I may ask for 
one cigarette and a final meal -

My cats will soon learn -
it's all about survival.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Magical Pockets

I am so 
in love with you that 
all my secret pockets 
have been turned inside out
revealing old pennies
flattened by rusty trains
cat's eye marbles
miniature gold shoes
that my dentist gave me
when I was seven 
one small moon ball
that bounces very high
and glows green 
when you look at it 
in the dark along with 
the thing that now keeps 
me safe so I wear it 
to remind me just how
love feels disguised
as a thin brown cord
tucked beneath my shirt.



Monday, June 29, 2009

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Perfection

It's so lovely not to try
to just know
exactly how I feel about
you and how you feel about
me and to think about

how 

I am going to leap into
your welcoming arms 
open wide as a smile
as fast as a Porsche
let loose on the autobahn

The Door

How it opens and shuts
a valve of sorts letting 
things in shutting things out
in and out and oh how you
have unlatched unlocked
all the make-believe worlds
I always knew were real
from the time I was seven 
tucked undercover with a flash-

light and a book about a prince
who kissed a dead princess
back into laughter.

Storm Brewing

A red roof dulls 
beneath a gather of gray 
a bridge stretches endlessly 
as the horizon yawns 
swallowing the last drop of sun. 

A river sits expressionless 
waiting for a fish to jump 
and break the perfection 
of its composure while trees 
stand in soldier silhouette 

rapt with attention to a sky full 
of clouds brewing to overtake. 
At the water's edge a stirring; 
one reed bends a head 
to the weight of the first drop.

Semi

it's something much bigger 
than a breadbox
and has lots of wheels

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Hello, I Love You

won't you tell me your name?
-The Doors

The grass the desert the cold
air as it suddenly swooped
just as I arrived and you turned
to ask me where I had been
(all day)
when you really meant where
had I been
(all of your life)
and when I answered
(at the pool)
I really meant
(I just don't know) but

now that I do -
hello I love you
the grass has never
looked so green

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Metric


Get hot, get too close to the flame 
Wild, open space 
Talk like an open book 
Sign me up 
Got no time to take a picture 
I'll remember someday all the chances we took 
We're so close to something better left unknown 
We're so close to something better left unknown 

I can feel it in my bones 
Gimme sympathy 
After all of this is gone 
Who'd you rather be? 
The Beatles or the Rolling Stones? 
Oh, seriously 
You're gonna make mistakes, you're young 
Come on, baby, play me a song 
Like, "Here Comes the Sun" 
Come on, baby, play me a song 
Like, "Here Comes the Sun" 

Don't go, stay with the all-unknown 
Stay away from the hooks 
All the chances we took 
We're so close to something better left unknown 
We're so close to something better left unknown 

I can feel it in my bones 
Gimme sympathy 
After all of this is gone 
Who'd you rather be? 
The Beatles or the Rolling Stones? 
Oh, seriously 
You're gonna make mistakes, you're young 
Come on, baby, play me a song 
Like, "Here Comes the Sun" 

Gimme sympathy 
After all of this is gone 
Who'd you rather be? 
The Beatles or the Rolling Stones? 
Oh, seriously 
You're gonna make mistakes, you're young 
Come on, baby, play me a song 
Like, "Here Comes the Sun" 
Come on, baby, play me a song 
Like, "Here Comes the Sun" 
Come on, baby, play me a song 
Like, "Here Comes the Sun" 
Come on, baby, play me a song 
Like, "Here Comes the Sun"

She

Her love,  loss, lack of life 
unwaxed candle flickers 
out stairs fall away into such 
darkness risers treads risers treads 
nosing rough on fingertips crawl 
step by step disoriented inward dark 
is it up or is it down the knees say 
up hurts more down is a breeze 
good she thinks 

screaming into rooms 
pain shoots holes into corners 
she has not yet found

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Listen

If you tilt your head back just so 
under the leaves you can hear 
canker worms slowly eating 
like secretaries click-clacking paper 
teeth instead of keys and the trees rattle 
death even though there is not a breath 
of wind and you wonder - 

when did life become so full 
of such tasteless devour?

Prairie Fishbowl

It is world of parabolic
horizon, hastily razored fields
left-over stubble of unshaven farmers
where stooks stand at dawn. On the day

he is buried, land vibrates
knowing hands that have loved it
are returning.
Stands of poplars shake

their leafy lanterns unfold
sound crisp as linen, a memory
of dresses sweeping wooden floors.
Nothing can compare

to the way prairie breathes in
breathes out, embraces season
with sudden death, painfully labors
spring to green; and so it goes.

As he is lowered, no sound
but that of lowering, until the train -
its language leaving us before it begins.

- For REC - 1921 - 2008

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Dreamstate

I woke startled

scrambled for a pen

something about the

 

stars pressed white

sandwiched between dusk and dawn -

earth heaved into violet

 

and remembered your taste

as you shook into-

my mouth trembling



Dead Before We Hit the Water

"Typically, if you see intact bodies and multiple fractures - arm, leg, hip fractures - it's a good indicator of a midflight break up"
"In an in-air break up like we are supposing here, the clothes are just torn away."

What's the difference between that and this?
We are all just falling with no realization
that we are dead in the water
long before impact somewhere suspended
high up in the stupendous formation of cirrus
we believe in the theory of carry
believe in the philosophy of catch
buy into the theology that angels exist 
working below silver metal wings 
at the mercy of auto-god-pilots:

Just tear away my clothes
before I start to fall I want to feel
my bones fracture.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

O how I would love to write

about the sudden screech of tires
and how it arrives
crashing into the side of a once
sturdy building until it tilts -

just so

the same way his left hand travels
down the right length of her torso
while his right travels up the left
length of her arm

and all she can think of 

is the way he plays her chords 
sounds emanating from a hollow
watery spot that he is divining
with a only a sigh and a quiver

Sunday, June 7, 2009

So Far

You don't have to be 
closer you're the only one 
that gets it so far

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Signals

They creak and sway in communiqué 
instinctively tuned to that ancient curve 
found in the gentle hollow ear of land.   

These signals have stood for years 
witness to rail-riding tramps 
departure and return of geese 
curve of her Grandmother’s hip 
bent with harvest
 

And now they stand between 
old graves and warm tracks 
listening long to the length of ghosts 
whistling to the weight of trains 
he starts to spin 

like a weathervane lost in the echo 
of wind she starts to spin like a leaf 
lost in the branches of Poplar 
they creak and they sway 
in this magnificent silence 

very much in awe with 
what 
on earth just blew by.

Tilt

We depart in the swallow of footsteps

the backwards sweep of leaves

the what ifs

the why nots

treacle at the bottom of a maple tree -

we are born under spigots

catching and falling

in a world full with the salt of concern 

 

when all it takes

is the tilt of the tongue

to find the sweetness


Sunday, May 31, 2009

E.T.A.


The grass begins to stir
as if to sense someone on tip-toe
or the distant tunnel of earth-worms 
in their slippery persistence 
to surface towards a wash of rain 
impregnating the gather of clouds
still forming to the shape 
of their own forecast.

We sit and wait in the silence
between thunderclaps and count;
seconds into miles.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Trip

I have walked 
in many streets
through many cities
with you by my side
sometimes I'm steady
sometimes I'm falling
at times in tears
mostly laughing
always wrapped around

you have seen all of me
by sun or night-light
and yet you still want  
to walk with me 
and I still want 
to walk with you
and everyone can see
my eyes your eyes
always wrapped around.


Saturday, May 23, 2009

II. Porsche Meets Brown Dog

There she was playing with grown-ups
again feigning interest in their silly books
of Greek holiday photos 
(the sea looked so blue) trapped
in the living room of strangers

when their dog Charlie
lay down at her feet
put his paw on her leg
and rolled over as if to say

I trust you
please stroke me
and suddenly the blue of Santorini 
(in the surf and roll of a brown dog)
made utter and perfect sense.

America

Thursday, May 21, 2009

The Porsche Series

I.  Porsche falls in Love

Someone had finally made it all the way
through the funny video game she had created
across the make-believe moat to her 
bubblegum castle that many had tried
to swim before but had only been gobbled
up by their own psychedelic crocodiles or 
drowned by the swirl of whirlpools 
that really were nothing but chocolate 
ice cream in the bottom of her cut glass bowl.

There had never before been a prince 
that knew for sure that his white horse 
was made only of marshmallows and that
to get across the moat would only involve 
blowing bubbles into vodka and drinking
fresh squeezed lemonade and allowing 
that same breeze that carried her laughter 
to carry him too and now he had just simply 
arrived riding on the tip of a fountain pen -

and the castle walls suddenly morphed into
a big bouncy Zeppelin that carried them both
away across the fields and cities that at night
resembled only tiny boxes filled with jewels
that played songs when you lifted the lid
to reveal tiny ballerinas lost in the joy of a spin.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Brown Dog Series

She dreams she is asleep 
again between the paws
of the great brown dog

Monday, May 11, 2009

Eight

she can't wait eight
until she feels ten
until she's not sleeping

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Regurgitation

I won't stop thrusting
words down your throat
even if you're not hungry

Karta

So she jammed 
(Bob Marley and her were in sync) 
a stick into the electric (guitar) 
it's all about (short-circuiting) 
something that isn't - 

Right 

fenced in 
she climbed 
by piling up debris 
sitting atop the fence 
she scanned for 30 
minutes 

O such a horizon 
Is it better to go back? 
(tranquilizer guns poised) 
Orange of Orangutan 
I love your 
tenacity 

Oh say, can you see? 

It's all about recognizing - 
the genius of freedom. 


*dedicated to Karta the Orangutan 

http://ca.news.yahoo.com/s/capress/090510/koddities/oddity_orangutan_escape 
If my life becomes a poem 
then kill me 
make me into a word or 
a metaphor 
put me in a little box of 
punctuation 
italics 

structure 

sort me out into a perfect 
vowel or sentence 
complete with periods 
that aren't painful 
and don't lead to men 
O - pause 
If my life becomes a poem 

Just kill me
- now.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

No Doubt



Take this pink ribbon off my eyes 
I'm exposed 
And it's no big surprise 
Don't you think I know 
Exactly where I stand 
This world is forcing me 
To hold your hand 

'Cause I'm just a girl, little ol' me 
Don't let me out of your sight 
I'm just a girl, all pretty and petite 
So don't let me have any rights 
Oh ... I've had it up to here! 

The moment that I step outside 
So many reasons 
For me to run and hide 
I can't do the little things 
I hold so dear 
'Cause it's all those little things 
That I fear 

'Cause I'm just a girl 
I'd rather not be 
'Cause they won't let me drive 
Late at night 
I'm just a girl 

Guess I'm some kind of freak 
'Cause they all sit and stare 
With their eyes 
I'm just a girl 
Take a good look at me 
Just your typical prototype 
Oh... I've had it up to here I 
Oh... am I making myself clear? 

I'm just a girl 
I'm just a girl 
In the world... 
That's all that you'll let me be! 

I'm just a girl, living in captivity 
Your rule of thumb 
Makes me worry some 
I'm just a girl, what's my destiny? 
What I've succumbed to 
Is making me numb 
I'm just a girl ... my apologies 
What I've become is so burdensome 
I'm just a girl, lucky me 
Twiddle-dum there's no comparison 

Oh...I've had it up to! 
Oh...I've had it up to! 
Oh...I've had it up to here 

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Rolling Stones

Poot

Then poot your little hand in mine
There ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb

I got you Bab (eroni).

- Sonny & Cher

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Laughter

you can tell by the eyes
laughter is serious
it's all in the eyes

Friday, May 1, 2009

Soft, soft into

night-fall 
still warm 
like pavement 
in August 

or the gut of 
a fresh kill 
so many 
vagrants 

with cold hands 
hover over 
unlit fires 
waiting 

Let them 
burn used books 
they cannot take away 
your scent 

pressed together 
between pages 
in that small shop 
on the second floor 

up the cobbled street 
next to the salt smell 
of ocean and boats 
markets and sweat 

where you did nothing 
but blow 
on the back of my neck 
as you passed by 

rack after rack 
of musty history 

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Age Sixty-nine

I keep waiting without knowing
what I'm waiting for.
I saw the setting moon at dawn
roll over the mountain
and perhaps into the dragon's mouth
until tomorrow evening.

There is this circle I walk

that I have learned to love.
I hope one day to be a spiral
but to the birds I'm a circle.

A thousand Spaniards died looking

for gold in a swamp when it was
in the mountains in clear sight beyond.

Here, though, on local earth my heart

is at rest as a groundling, letting
my mind take flight as it will,
no longer waiting for good or bad news.

Often, lately, the night is a cold maw

and stars the scattered white teeth of the gods,
which spare none of us. At dawn I have birds,
clearly divine messengers that I don't understand
yet day by day feel the grace of their intentions.

Jim Harrison

Sunday, April 26, 2009

I think of you

Naked
talking in your sleep
about chairs, sometimes in German
(which you say you can't speak)
you roll over and eat
a gummy bear in the middle of the night
and don't remember
until morning when I ask you
to pass me one too.
Maybe I'm wrong but who's to say what's right
I need somebody to help me through the night

- Fleetwood Mac

Honest Poem #1

Everything I’ve written has not been a lie
nothing I’ve written has been honest

I could write “I want to fill you with words
softly scented like flowers”

I could not write “the black petals will fall
from the once colourful tulips”

Tonight the sky’s breath fogs all the windows
in my little house there is no warmth

All night the trees remain un-leafed
try to reach up the sky is busy breathing

The whole earth moves to the beat of the lost
those who walk above it and those who lie beneath

Scratching to get somewhere else
oblivious to the source of the itch

And everywhere so many teardrops
disguised as natural disaster

Through the dirty windshield
the entire world becomes a bug streak

Scattered like ants without a hill
Where on earth are we all going?

Rubber tires turn to the sound of spring
no snow just pavement

Like the sound of a heart repeating -
Love, take me with you.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Shift

He
loves her like he celebrates the earth
firm and full of daffodils growing
at the top of an ancient wall
he walks the Keep of her curtain
draws curves into the moon of her back

She
loves him like she loves the wind
quietly unassuming
lift of the frill at the hem
hair swept from the heat of her neck
he laughs new life right into her mouth.

She breathes out -
all of him.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Picnic Haiku

red wine white wine 
fresh bread in the wicker
he nibbles her ear

Flight

A small bundle of feathers
lies still and unmoving
on the wooden deck.

Her heart breaks at the sight
and wonders why
something always gets in the way

of those who only wish to fly.

The Wobble Into Day

And the light wobbled into day
as an unsteady voice in night's ear
coaxed blush into that innocent place

just before fog lifted her veil from 
over the long bridge that let them sometimes pass 
.. one side to another 

He sees her walking, arms outstretched
her body shaped into the meaning of the word
 gather

     He knew she would open him 
   just as a float of fog had uncovered the bridge 
woman river passage man 

pebbles tossed into rings
told stories that would begin or end
but not today:

Clothed only as himself
   He begins.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

A Poem by Hugo Williams

God give me strength to lead a double life.
Cut me in half.
Make each half happy in its own way
with what is left.
Let me disobey
my own best instincts
and do what I want to do, whatever that may be
without regretting it, or thinking that I might.
When I come late at night from home,
saying I have to go away,
remind me to look out the window,
to see which house I’m in.
Pin a smile on my face
when I turn up two weeks later with a tan
and presents for everyone.
Teach me how to stand and where to look
when I say the words
about where I’ve been
and what sort of time I’ve had.
Was it good or bad or somewhere in between?
I’d like to know how I feel about these things,
perhaps you’d let me know?
When it’s time to go to bed in one of my lives,
go ahead of me up the stairs,
shine a light in the corners of my room.
Tell me this: do I wear pajamas here,
or sleep with nothing on?
If you can’t oblige me by cutting me in half,
God give me strength to lead a double life.

HUGO WILLIAMS

Friday, April 10, 2009

Delight

When she sees his face
it's like the sky opens up
pours out everything blue
and she gulps great rays of light
drinks up his heat with her skin
petalled like a rose most unusual
alone but not in some wonderland
garden where great green vines
hang tangled like ropes of her hair
that sway across his thighs

just before midnight -
They own the world.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Not Poem #1

This could be the twenty millionth
poem written in the key of A minor
sung to the tune of a far-off guitar
held by hands that shake but play
music she always knew existed
but never heard until her body
rose up from its position of sitting back
stood a bit unsteady but full of wonder
so she could hold her ear a little closer
to the window that yesterday had been
shuttered to any sound at all.

She spreads her fingers
against cool glass to remember
how good it was to feel.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Red Wine Haiku

such tender memories
she tips back
open red as the wine

Five

She wants to see a photograph
of him age 5 - she wonders
was he laughing?

She remembers that he told her
his parents were dirt poor -
and that he didn't realize.

She wonders what went wrong
the first few times because she can't
imagine anyone not

adoring, wanting, worrying
about him. She reaches down
to rub his tender calf

knows that somehow
she has found
her own way home.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Oh

Her heart beats like a small bird about to be
caught
a nest so surely hidden by the thinness of Spring.
The moon is once again setting fiercely into a sky
its face truly made of cheese, winks once.

He sneers at her from across the room
and she wishes to be somewhere else


Maybe the moon, with all her tidal pulls
will release a life so difficult?
Outside, she hears the first geese
returning in vees their cries tell her
that everything should be green.

She remember when she used to care
and turns her back
frozen to forgotten seasons.

Friday, April 3, 2009

I Think I'm Going To

Sleep with you. No, I mean really
sleep. Somewhere, there's this perfect
feather bed with perfect feather pillows
and I think we might find it and we're
scared.

There is so much to talk about but
we're tired, so tired. Tired of taking out
all that garbage, tired of shopping for food
that is just going to rot eventually, even if
we end up eating - so much waste.

So - if you want to know what I want;
I want to sleep with you curled into a ball
hidden away in the crook of your arm
floating somewhere between dusk and dawn
remembering only how good you smell.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Words Sonnet

Today, distracted by two kiting birds,
I thought of you, I thought of you in words.
I thought of spending afternoons with you,
undressed, sunk into pleasure. At the coo
of "pleasure" in my secret inner ear
(my back convecting, sure that you were here),
my mouth came open at my body's arc,
an evening primrose, flushing, sensing dark,
and all at once my exhaled breath became
that incantation of my days: your name.
That incantation follows me to sleep:
tonight, distracted by my fingers' sweep
among my body's secret slubs and burls,
I thought of you, I thought of you in worlds.

HANNAH LOUISE POSTON

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Where in the World

Are you now? So many ships between us
sinking, floating, wailing, sails furling to find
some precarious breeze, hull shuddering
in search of a forgotten beach where her hair
once blew in like a squall, whipping against
his cheeks and her eyes, her eyes so full of blue
were not lost but lost in his until the depths
became fathoms locked treasure to treasure
sinking, cast over desperately, clinging nets
full to the brim with last nights catch she sang
sang the song of the sea into him through the spiral
of her shell so pink so hollow, home to all his lost
all his sadness all his froth and fury into the sands
they knelt becoming into beds into nothing
but collective moans of anchors released–
Suddenly.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Shinedown

Anyway

What I really meant was
yes or no just before I said
yeah maybe

What I really thought was
I should take some steak out of
the freezer

What I really felt was
why don't you just throw me on
the floor?


What I really wished was
that some star would grant some kid
a wish


What I really said was
Just say you really loved me
once anyway