I will want my eyes open if I can,
when it happens.
Don’t stay
if it’s too hard.
But if you do,
you might see,
in my dry eyes,
a struggle of the soul.
A sea-change,
as I watch the silver sun,
and all that’s earthly folds its book.
For I’ve already peeked at the show,
And I know.
Category Archives: free verse
Earnestly
Remember how to sing.
If not, to hum,
or whistle a waltz.
Understand the beast,
and restrain it
with a stumbling spot dance.
Think of your goodness,
and not of your sin.
Of the young,
for they are short of life.
Of your faith, or your doubt,
and the quality of prayer.
And darkness was upon the face of the deep
Lit the lights
in the empty black.
Spun off gaseous globes,
quick travelers caught in the slow sway
of their mothers.
Some boil down
with seeded airs.
A witching’s then afoot.
Hards and softs and liquids.
Bright lodes to find and mine.
And mind, next door-
Venus is venous.
A pause for thought
The slant of the sun.
The moss-green mechanic
with his fat cigar,
chuffing like a chimney.
The little kid threesome
on the gravel shoulder,
fist-pumping the diesel driver.
and the undetected grasshopper
atop my dusty boot.
How slowly I move.
I’ve never been here,
but I know it.
A killing
What’s lent
is a conjured greenfield.
A tree spreads,
knows the horizon.
I will feed
on atmosphere aquamarine
and minty clouds.
Give a cry at tempting scenes
of primal histories,
and wonder at our peoplings.
What words?
What doings?
With ages I am filled.
With cages, I am killed.
YYZ
Hey..
What’s in that bag you drag?
I have a box of my own.
It’s well known to me.
So, what do you think is fair?
Rock, paper, scissors,
the loser opens first?
I don’t mind.
I’m tired of its weight,
and long to let the moths loose.
Or, you know,
we could just practice being born.
Shell game
The savor of a morning’s dream,
exhaled in a muscled yawn.
And the thing resurfaces,
still unresolved.
And I am back to juggling, left-handed,
with only one guess
at a shell game’s prize.
“Can’t sleep now!”, the Chairman says.
“Find this rock tonight. We’ll decide
who stays”.
The way we are
If I tried to dream you
out of whole cloth,
what a disservice it would be.
We speak in print,
with proper letters and cadence.
There’s ample time
to consider a question or a statement,
or to bid a gentle goodnight.
I apply and project my idea of you,
as a sculptor might,
from raw clay and memory.
You have never posed, I think,
and you are real and proud.
Noble qualities you exhibit,
and because I am not noble,
I rationalize and dismiss.
And, unworthy, I mash the clay,
and start again.
A grave matter
When I’ve left this locking body,
sack me in a shawl.
Don’t let this cat out of the bag.
Roll me over in the clover,
sling me slowly into the underground.
Take up your brought shovels
and fill me in. Tamp me down,
so the earth will plant a kiss,
and welcome the worms.
I will be watching.
Happy days are here again
Suppose
you could take me with you.
Into this, your shiny time
of smiling at the sun,
of feeling the quickening
of love’s stirrings.
Of planning without the thought of ending.
Of being adored.
Tag along, I would,
incognito.
Even, I would pay
with what I have left.
Aremyfeetofftheground 