Poet Introduction I love to write on the edge: Not all significant poetry goes down like warm soup: Don't fear the burn It just might awaken you: In the words of Jim Morrison... 'Wake up!' (I don't remember where I am either).. Note: I write heartwarming stuff too..
My love was but a notion; his shadow was bare. He arose from the sweetest hurt as I saw him shining there. His voice was merely silent, so much I barely heard the melody my heart could play as he uttered no words.
Yet high atop a grassy hill my mind did run so wild; his verdant voice was everywhere and to this dream I held: that where he waits, I too shall go over rough terrain, deliberate, slow. Each step I’ll find and make with ease as kindly at my back a breeze. Though this life is arduous, ‘tis...
I pause to remember how undone we were and how you I waited for coming through like dawn to greet me silently and fully.
Crimson center of all I could ache to become, yet where were the recipients. You were secret only but to me. I never let you define me yet I was the definition of you; arriving and departing, never fully here, amorphous and fluid slowly ebbing away in fits and starts only to return stronger.
You and I congealed in creatinous convergence playing...
Under a burning sun hot as the sand we walk on; his doe-eyes red, dry lips thirsty, we escaped. I knew it had to be, and his father: I sliced him down the middle before we left -- a perfect parting of his powder-white innards slipping from their secret bag and scattering where I left him. Now we walk the low terrain instead of running along a high mountaintop ridge, looking down.
If you must know anything, know that you were born because no one else was coming'
- Ocean Vuong
Flutterwings: you know you always escape a day we never made -- but how I would find you in every crushing second I wanted to die there, looking up at your dire ascent from these clouds billowing above where I lie; Stay.
I never caught you still but blurry; lines faded against the backdrop sky, ...
Romantic rays, of these were lit my early days as joy saw fit. I reveled in your warm cascades; receded into wanton ways. Yet visions bore no guarantee, were at best of elusivity; my intentions so did melt under glare of scrutiny dealt
And I did cast you out, away -- my bosom shielded of decay. The suit of armour molded, cast would not then yield to your repast. The hungry heart devoured itself within its shrine upon a shelf and where have gone Thee, lost above at each attempt to capture love. ...
Water keeps its horrors while sky proclaims his, hangs them in stars.'
- Rita Dove
An old man who owns this place, thinks he does, looks out from here as I approach in reunion. He appears not to remember me, remember us -- my hand dwarfed by his; sweating into his great husk shelled of all proliferation among the shore debris.
Among the shore debris a morbidity of tides is dumped in a final throe -- a last soprano tremble that reaches for...
The rain held off for hours, long enough to smell its presence -- warm and burned; summer sun afar now, leaving crisp cobalt air to chill our skin in early dusk of late day.
Our wood stack sits in anticipation of purpose -- to rise and leave its bed with a crackle and pop. Our hearts stiffen as flower heads on rigid stalks. We can't yet fathom Spring in the sea of brown and gold -- its trimmings
Trail our feet; rustle a scratchy, unmetered tune on a hollow, stringless...