Category Archives: poetry

Sensitivity

Light, bright white,

Radiates into the mirror of the eye.

Sound, in myriad, pummels the drum of the ear.

(Tautly, as a balloon skin stretched)

Whorls in the fingerskin

Brush blue velvet, blade of grass, jagged glass, ember’s ash.

The airs molecular, drawn in so vitally,

Invade memory, codifying the now and the forever.

Messengers of essence.

The tongue, tasting first of milk,

Ravens ever after for all in the Earth.

Alive.

Alive, Oh!

The getaway

as a freshening teenage boy
just shy of sixteen years
foisted from a battle-scarred home
into this supposed school of highness

he is already in retreat
from vitriolic violence
from love that has gone
from hormonal eruptions
from the Bullies Three

the ostracization of the ostrich

he builds his defences
hands upon hands upon hands
he pushes away, and keeps all

at arm’s length.

The meaning of life

In a quiet cove I sit, on pulpy stump.
Bulrushes surround: corndogs on waving sticks.
The merciless keen of cicadas.
The breeze is blue.
In chest waders with broad shoulder straps,
I am godawful hot.
My rod lays on flattened reeds
while i munch a sandwich of lettuce, tomato, bright orange cheese.
A darting flutter surprises me, hovering for a taste.
The Dragonfly-
black copter fuselage, biplane wings of foil irridescent.
Noiseless, it flirts for a moment longer,
then pulls my glance to the swirling eddies.
What it seeks there, who is to know.
One of the water walkers?
But, no. There is a stalker.
In shiny convulse from bubbling stream,
he meets his fate
in the grab of the trout.

18. A dream of subjugation

I stand, looking out,
on the highest rampart of the cantilevered castle.
All of the Members stand with me today, deck upon deck,
in honour of this coronation.
The crescent walls jut out below me, each further than the last.
They hold our numbers of today,
ten thousand and one.
I am filled with terrible power and intent.
My robe of eagle feathers encircles me.
All other Members are clothed as lesser birds,
and they remain still, heads bowed.
The crown is of the eagle’s head,
hooked beak and eyes of adamant.
It is set upon me in that moment of stillness.
I raise vast pinions and give a cry.
The lesser birds follow.
In the ten thousand, there are those who would not.
They are bound onto crosses of wood, set alight,
and cast into unfathomable mist.
Now is the time. The time is now.

String theory

Ah, child of the dust,
how shall I tell you?
Come, please, and play my strings.
For I am mute.  Absolute.
I want to be heard,
but the weight is the word.

Please, sit.
Rest.
Bring your patience.
Inspect.
See.
Care.
Is there not some residual worth?

And now, you must tune.

Though you know me not,
in weary sighs I will tell you how…

The two highest are of a single strand.
They can speak beauty, poignant and piercing,
played with a bow.

The two that are next are of wire finely wound.
They speak of wisdom gained, lessons learned,
kindnesses felt and given.

The two that are last are more heavily coiled.
for they bear the most weight.
They speak of things sad, and of guilt and betrayal,
of regret, and of harrowing penance.
Pluck them slowly, with soft fingerpads.

If any should break at the peg,
stay and warm me.
Let the sting subside.
Rid me of the useless member.
Play me again, with your love,
and know that, now, it matters not.

 

 

And in the Winter, extra blankets for the cold, fix the heater (getting old)

We had a sliding patio door of glass.
February frozen.
Final, ’til the spring.
A poor insulator,
it grew small spires of frost, even inside.
Like so many iron filings
straining to a magnet, only white.
Quarter inch runnels of ice said we were locked in, for now.
I stand in pajamas.
Run fingernails down,
bunching cold cakes of whiteness under each.
A throwback to my ten year old self,
I make a squeaky wipe on the fogged glass,
and peer into the next dimension.
Minus thirty says the little red thermometer,
as a tiny grey-brown visitor swoops in and lands on the windswept stones.
How can these wee birds, with toes smaller than a pencil lead,
not freeze in an instant?
So thin, so small, nothing to eat.
I run and get bread, and the hair dryer.
Thaw the frosty door, pull it open with a groan.
Scare little buddy away, but I toss the bread anyway.
I think he went to tell the others.
In five minutes, it’s party time.