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

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


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

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


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

     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.


Friday, April 10, 2009


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


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


Her heart beats like a small bird about to be
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

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.