black satin wings learn silver
underneath the mid-day sun;
as inky pinions streak across the sky;
that azure sea.
and shimmer bright as diamond
til the sheen is quite undone
by passing cloud. then raven's back;
as black as he can be.
dawn drops great glops
of golden goo
on every bush and tree,
and amber patches dabbles
on the mountainsides
right to the sea,
and spreads a steady growing glow,
while casting shadows
the spell of night dispelled
a metaphor, perhaps,
A Poem Or Two
soft fragrance upon gentle breeze
transient - a vagrant as if,
like waves out at sea;
a so-journ of moments distilled
a brief hesitation,
- the poet's reprieve;
enough time to gather
and greet inspiration,
a friend; - and receive
the ultimate blessing: a poem
My Soul Hears
my soul hears your poetry
before it's anxious drastic lines
appear to perspicacity
within your broad, elastic mind.
and my heart feels each wound you own
before the metaphor occurs
before you even write the poems,
i've heard the rhymes; i know the words.
because my love for you transcends
these bodies - minds - the years between.
tho unity i comprehend,
to youthful vision goes unseen.
An Owl In Darkness
an owl in darkness hidden
somewhere in the trees,
began to chant - unbidden
her soft soliloquys.
a slender crescent shining
and stars undaunted by,
a black cat in a fir tree caught
meowing at the sky.
such was the twilights gifting,
the offerings of the night.
til heaven started
from darkness into light.
then raven spelled the owl,
and dewdrops, stars replace.
as dawn removed the heaven's cowl
and moon withdrew her face.
A Butterfly Wont Linger
a butterfly won't linger til it's wings
are torn and tattered,
as if only one thing mattered:
it's own being.
once leaving 'wormhood' off for splendor,
once the crysallis transcending,
doffs it's former gluttony for
sipping amrit nectar...
a butterfly makes love, then dies.
and doesn't moments borrow,
nor barters for tomorrows
it might see.
instead, with beauty realized,
and stained glass wings against the skies,
declares her truth, elusively
then disappears forever.
My Muse Inspires Me
my muse inspires me not those epic verses
to pen. - but to record the season's changes,
the light and livelyhood such rearranges,
or how a sand grain holds whole universes,
or lessons that experience comprises,
the pain that love for better or for worse is,
small wisdoms that my lonely soul rehearses,
compassions and embittered compromises
or often of how every living creature
is one with the Divine's own enterprises
Who present is in all that She devises
Her countenance upon the basest feature.
not anything profound my verse proposes -
just that which through my pen the muse composes.
You Were So Good At Subtleties
you were so good at subtleties
despite how you pretended
to be perplexed by metaphor,
or why our story ended.
a bit of future history?
you always meant much more to me!
yet i would rather suffer this,
than not have known your touch.
you were so good at alibis,
at summonsing defenses,
at masks and feigned self-sacrifice
and other such pretenses.
and love that was a mystery
to you, was more than bliss to me.
while you, so frugal with each kiss
were robbed of such as this.
you were so good at history,
at figuring dimensions;
[...] Read more
We Can Sing The Same Songs
we can sing each other the same songs
on the radio.
meaning overwhelms reality
i could believe that i was made for him...
i could believe he summonsed me,
called me forth, a spirit;
forth from some abyss
to do his bidding,
forth from my stone crysalis
what he might need.
i could believe that i'm some kind
of human robot he has had designed,
with cutting edge technology,
[...] Read more