Tag Archives: poetry

Nothing As Far As The Eye Can See

The semiphores all red, we go anyway
Nothing as far as the eye can see
No friends beyond this place, not even a hut or a lean to
Or maybe a cave. Just miles of toil yet, no… months

An old wooden house, as this would be a mirage
I regard the martini in my hand, fill it with skepticism
Where were you crafted?
Was your spirit obtained by hook or crook
Craft or pleasure
Were you reborn, distilled of the same grains as Hannibal gulped as he sleigh an army, letting their blood?

You are the molecular Pearl shell
Of a hundred days and nights
Ripped away discarded, sifted, purified ..
The history is dizzying
And the night tips sideways
Slipping again..
Barely keeping its stars in place
They’ll fall into the trees if not done with care
Where exactly were we supposed to go?

Nothing as far as the eye can see
Yet we go anyway.

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Making Tracks

I set the needle down
Somewhere in the track, that’s lost then found
And fills my ears with life music
You’d think it might be slow
But no no no
That minor key’s about ready to leap free
Arms feel vernal heat, veins tapping to the beat
Music of life pulses those alleys
The dead come to life
The dismal wasteland of dead weights, this scene
Now, pulses like The City Streets, filled with lights
It’s all here, those ghosts
Coming to life in my head, more real than death, laughing…
And their strange times, 8:9, 7:8, relics of that unadulterated greatness ,
A crescent dances along a skyline, smooching a building, while it eyes, lasciviously, a constellation of stars..
(It’s not music, but beyond, music between music, those spaces …feeling, responding. Indelible. It’s the sound the glasses and chairs and room and the stairs. The lights, the floor, the door, the energy between the hands,
not the people- between them, they’re the motion, they’re the beat, the time, the rhythm and the sync. )

You don’t have this track, but you should,
A sax erupts, free from the base, and percussion
Siren like, up into the sky
Free.

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Where is the edge of a poem?

And I’m just curious as so I might clarify
because these things sometimes aren’t clear
where is the edge of the poem?
where is the edge of the poem?
where is it’s start and where is its finish
and I must apologize, i’m referring to where your mind began to think of it
not where the words actually started of course!
because where did it start
because where did it start?
because where..did it..?
Did it begin at the end of the introduction
the last words of my letter?
did it begin at the conversation you didn’t have with your barista?
did it begin at the title of the email?
did it begin at the “check please?” at the café that morning?
where does the reading end and where does it begin?
endings seem to be more clarified than beginnings.

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White Shadow

I stand in the open light admiring a sculpture
The way it fills the space
I knew it once, that feeling that filled space around me with an essence
It is within the water, the waves rippling to the shore
(it is everywhere in nature, I realize now)
..A purpose it has, so that it is not a barren thing
but beckoning,
and it runs deeply, an echo, a boom heard across the universe

that sculpture is a dream in motion
that walks with me like a white shadow
it is ahead of me, stretching out across the waves
(reaching up) and touching the sun.

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In The Puff Of Its Exhaler

Marjoram and bits of tempest
A spinning glowing disk twirls, in a corner, on a string
The candle blows itself out, in the wind of a thought.

I wanted to count the days, lazy, like smoke
Intertwining, meshing like those layers of the levitated dust
Coming to life.
They’ve nearly reached the critical
The mass of doubt, so perfunctory
That assembles in the dark corners of a universe
Where no one pretends

I’ve left them, the switches, the to’s and fros, which stretch and reach like glassy waves
That’s the place, when no one’s looking, for it to rise out of the glowing, ..
Of course no one’s looking, there’s no one there to look.
That’s in the sadness, again, of the ”puff” ..that is missing an exhaler, its source..
In the plain and simple destruction

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I’ve Been Away

I’ve been away
Drinking the drink… Aging the barrels

The long bookcase,

that stretches down the longest of hallways
Leaves a bruise, the flavor of the wood , seeps into the time, jumping like whisky

I’ve been under moon, the black and white, the lines, the dance of a reflection
Scurrying under foot
It runs as fast as it ever did
That time.

 

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Poem…The edge of Tomorrow

In the million mile journey
Poised on the edge of tomorrow
I’m surrounded by a sea of lights
..The emptiness of “What will be”
A pretty movie poster face stares into shadows.  Surveying Rooms filled with ghosts…yesterday’s,

tomorrow’s crowds
Music drifts around me like water
Slot Machine noise unwinds on the great carossel. From here to there
And my life unfolds like an escalator
It’s taking me to the  horizon
There is everything to concern me
And yet nothing to worry me
In the ambient rime
That shines smiling, vanishing like a broken sunset
Torn violently from a wall

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