I live in the world
of whistle and hum…
those intimates
that clear the blank snow from pathways.
That conjure up demented dance,
and keep at bay the deathly trance.
Category Archives: thoughts
God save the Queen
Dreams, I’ve had,
and thoughts in broad day,
now,
of doors both shut and locked.
Of bridges,
burned or broken.
Vision’s through wrong-way binoculars,
cleverly cartooned.
A safe distance.
But listen…just…
The clown is talking.
The church of research
May I do this with your arm,
you said.
Not ~Can I~,
but ~May I~.
And then, with your hands,
you pressed down hard
into the years,
prying up stones
that were cold and complacent.
The roots of moles and strawberries.
And “What?”, I thought.
What are you looking for?
This hurts, yes.
***
Shady doings…
Embowered in dappledark
the mushroom kin
shake out their seasonings
in a randy rain of spores
A fallen pollen
for the dusky earth
Shaded with umbrellas of gills
Odds are
Copters of the dandelion-Maple
hover and spin
hover and spin!
Miss the mower
Allowed to flower
Allowed to root
Bumbles and squirrels to boot!
Hot gossip
I told you,
from a distance,
that I loved you,
and was blackened
with the earned shame
of the illicit.
Noses sniffed.
Fingers pointed.
Hands covered whispering lips.
But you?
You had a look of surprised wonder,
and blushed redly,
uncaring of the devil’s radio.
At the beach, in morning fog
At water’s edge
I plied the sand
for vacant shells
and stones to skip,
so flat.
There,
there was a tree
that had given up,
acute in its angle,
embarrassed at the nakedness of its bleached roots.
Close by,
an eyeless carcass grinned,
in the throes of its last hysterics.
As large as life
stopped at a light
i saw in slow seconds
herself in bliss
with eyes half closed in quiet crescents
her hem in hand
as if to shoo nipping cats
watch the puddles dear
you are out of this world
but i pray for yours
Leading the blind
This blind alley
The horde of the golden calf
carries its standard on high
Lemmings thinking they are lions
while the meek and considered
are too quiet
too long
Condemned to repeat
lessons unlearned
idleness
A diving moth
caught in venetian rays,
like a bedside meteor.
In soreness of spirit,
I chew on thoughts of old romancers,
closet dancers.
Aremyfeetofftheground 