workshop
underneath the quiet hiss
a velvet murmer
kiss
violet persona
lands crystal perfection
melting like a tear
pure flake
a jewel ball
to delve
a place of haunt
to dwell
manicured vision-scapes;
nature trimmed into straight lines
and angles, sharp, clean, respectable.
obviously, to the symetric eyed,
it is the preferred version.
.
such a squared-away world
is not a place for me to be.
I'm a cock-eyed slob of a caretaker
indeed, a zenish-zoned snob
with my own rustic code
...let it go, let it grow, let it flow.
unkempt means time unspent
on policing tendencies
of leaves to blow
snow to fall
grass to grow
I would like to be content with my own company
but often dissatisfied with me
to sit with myself, silent
is an act I think I’d repent
I’m not confident in my opinion
in my comfort zone being a minion
of my own worth, I’m not singing
my self-esteem issues loudly ringing
My poetry makes me feel free
but I’m safe in relative anonymity
wish I could speak to my soul
whisper sweet-nothings, make it feel whole
Zero and one
it's off or on
from such simplistic seed
sprouted that which we all need
All from a building block of sand
imbued with purposed imperfections
came this virtual world so grand
allowing our world wide connections
Off and on
now off....................
The Smoke of Evening Fires
Lord, how many times have I climbed this hill?
the road seems stonier, steeper. How can that be?
I’ll rest here a while,
watch the low sun trail shadows
over the rich bottom lands
and the white church beyond the bridge.
The shouts and laughter of children
from the river, rise soft on the evening air.
I read your smile
there is nothing lovelier
to me than
that gap between
nose and chin
It lights you up
the handsome version
with good teeth
that you've always been
I noticed your smile
before I noticed
your shoulders
head
hair
guile
Other women do too
when you jet off
on corporate jaunts
I fret the smile won't
be for me alone
But you return
all smiles
all manly
all delicious
like crisp apple plump
When comes the spring, the flowers blush
with every color artists brush,
they call the bees and flies with wing,
the flowers blush when comes the spring.
The pollens pass with peaceful breeze,
then fly away and land in ease,
to start a life in numbers-mass
with peaceful breeze, the pollens pass.
The cycle goes once and again.
More flowers bloom to blaze the plain.
The incense's rich, it feeds the nose
once and again the cycle goes.
obsolescence, left eye pressure
another night sprawled on the worn desk top
the pleasure of freedom and two fisted appeal
seeping away these last 40 years
in days past a woman would wake me
afraid, needing a stiff spine and a steady gun hand
I would've drawn my hands through my thick hair
and sleepily, squint-eyed assessed her, drank
a 12 hour old coffee and bourbon and eased
her fear with steel and gun-metal eyes
with the flip of cosmic switch
no femme fatales left and a bald pate
seeking bluebirds,
those feathery nose tickling
variety of myth,
I board,
in pith and khaki,
a junk van
packed light for flight.
running on hot
rattles of hope
scratched aviators
and a new plastic identity
mirror cracks,
kaleidoscoping
the back-side of motion,
scatter the rain pretty
mud flaps, caked with
the debris of a muddled past
ragged and worn,
fall by the wayside
a hard-nosed cynic
is disappearing
there
ahead
somewhere
In deepest winter yet I walk
among my friends now all stripped bare
as time continues its slow stalk,
that lone hunter we all share,
but he's forgotten on this day.
For I've come here to escape time
as chill winds toss scant clouds about
and outlines puddles with thin rime
in low spots all along my route,
a logging road of frozen clay.
Until I find a favorite spot
a low bluff over middling stream
a place I think by most forgot
a perfect place to sit and dream
to listen to the pine trees sway.
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