Tuesday, March 10, 2009


Driving to work today, I noticed that the shadows were bolder beneath the trees,
felt warmer from where I was sitting.

God writes poetry in the sky, paints it on with watercolors.

Darkness begins
to gather on the grass,
creeps across it slowly
as the sun sets

Together again
you and I the Night.

What shall it be?
Shall we read? Study?
Write a story or perhaps watch t.v.?

Or shall we just sit here and be?
Clear our minds of all so-called reality.

Shall we write poetry?
Ah yes. We both agree.

The Night belongs t o Poetry.

a man weeps
in a chair
next to a window


loss remembers
a boy crying
in the March rain

Alexander— my beautiful son lies sleeping
on the couch while the dog beneath my chair dreams.
Alex joins in.


Friday, March 06, 2009

His Gentle Hands

His Gentle Hands

Last night I thought
for a second
that I had forgotten Dad’s birthday

Look at the day
no snow, no cold
and I feel well

Pull in driveway
search my mind, numbers, dates

A tear rolls from beneath my shades
as I step into
the sunlight
and stand
in a time-pocket

Hot neck and face burn
while my father’s hands caress
and the wind breathes
through the blue silkiness of my shirt
into my skin
out and into the forest again.

Revel, bask, bathe in this warmth
this day, this warm metacarpus
touching my features

I worship the sky
and rinse
my soul in showers of rays

Blue silk body
leans forward
but my visage does not

His gentle hands remain

And there she was
holding me in her arms
We danced in the wind and sunlight:
A very slow-motion.
Back and forth, we swayed

Hue prisms through my wet lashes
separates incandescent green, and reveals
a transparent tranquility, and our movement rests

“You know I still haven’t caught anything.”
“ What do you mean?” she said as I gazed up
and pointed at the overhead power-lines
which had a piece of fishing line with a river-sinker
and hook, hanging there as if below the lines
a body of water existed.

And we both laughed, into the open air
laughed for a few seconds
and returned to our lover’s clutch
to sway and cry in one another’s arms.
  • Promise of Light

  • moon phase info
    My Photo
    Location: Far Side of Sanity

    And the iguanas dance in the desert/a thousand miles away from this place/and this face: stoned immaculate.

    "Let us remember . . . that in the end we go to poetry for one reason, so that we might more fully inhabit our lives and the world in which we live them, and that if we more fully inhabit these things, we might be less apt to destroy both." Christian Wiman, Editor of "POETRY" "Hang on to your hopes my friend; That's an easy thing to say, but if your hopes should pass away, simply pretend that you can build them again." ~ Paul Simon

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    "Imagination is more important than knowledge." ~ Albert Einstein