So Near, So Far

Posted by on Jul 3, 2010 in Poetry | 0 comments

Through my kitchen window

The lake is glamored in mist

I drop my coffee cup

And run barefoot

Skipping through the wet grass,

Crunching the children of the ancient oaks beneath my tender feet.

I do not stop until I am leaning against the edge of the fog.

I search the shifting vapor patiently for a sign.

Do pirate ships sail these waters?

Do sprites and mermaids dart there,

Beneath the speckled leaves?

The fabric of reality is so thin this morning

If my hand were placed just so

I could touch the door

Turn the knob

And be in that place where all things are possible

Where I walked quite freely as a child.

I wait patiently,

Anticipating, believing.

The silence is shattered by an engine’s growl, a barking dog

My head turns for one split second

And in the space between one heartbeat and the next

I become again logical, reasonable, scientific.

There will be no easy path for me today.

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Uncharted Waters

Posted by on Apr 7, 2008 in Poetry | 0 comments

Danger slides in whispers under the bow.

The horizon blends seamlessly with the cold grey ocean.

I search for landmarks

Until my eyes grow weary with the watching.

My craft is tiny and unsuitable, my hands blistered with the task of rowing.

I lift my oar to listen.

Birds perhaps, or just a sounding whale, it makes no difference.

My course is set.

I have determined that any direction is better than none,

even if it leads to perdition.

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On My Own, The River Unheeding

Posted by on Jan 30, 2008 in Death and renewal, Poetry | 0 comments

I write away this stolen hour in the early light of dawn because I must. I polish and refine the words that came forcefully into my mind last Wednesday as I returned from Denver, exhausted and emotional. Poetry steals your soul and empties the dark and light places in your heart, so giving it up is like handing a piece of yourself to friends and strangers alike.

Somewhere far below, through the deep of sky,

The wisp of clouds,

The skim of earth,

All that was my father lies.

I trace the broad curve of the Mississippi to the Ohio,

The Ohio to the Green,

And for a flash of this swiftly running time he rests beneath me,

Alongside his lady wife,

Her beauty slumped beneath the black earth,

The passion that drove them both

Muffled by the weight of sky.

This roaring metal box is not my tomb,

But death waits ever patient beyond the double windows.

Where the trace of atmosphere is made of frozen glass

Ready to cut the breath from my lungs

As swift as an arrow’s flight

I look cautiously for angels in the sky

The ones that mama said would bear us all to heaven

Where life would continue like it did below

Only no dirty dishes or checkbooks to balance

The search is fruitless, and my heart draws my eyes again

To the dear and dreadful landscape

To the place where I learned to crawl, to stand, to walk

They did not teach me how to fly

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Posted by on Nov 7, 2006 in Poetry | 0 comments

In dreams I spoke,

and the words flowed so achingly sweet and clear,

that angels waited by my side with their soft mouths open,

their terrifying eyes focused most dreadfully on my face.

I woke from the nightmare with a start, alone.

I spoke, talking to myself,

my voice a pale shadow of that remembered brilliance

And though a million words could not suffice to tell even one from my dream,

clumsy, halting, with all my soul laid bare

the words course on

telling tales from heaven and hell and all the strange lands in between

and all the joys that mortals still can share.

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Late November

Posted by on Dec 7, 2005 in Poetry | 0 comments

In the woods where we fled in summer’s heat

Autumn now lies heavy on the land

Not in that crisp, delighted way of first October

Where every leaf wears its brightest dress.

It is a dreary, sodden fall, with only browns and grays

Lining the fields and paths

The mad rush of May that glamored it with veils of softest green

Now fled to shadows.

Ugly things sulk behind the trees

Where once spring elves danced, almost in our sight.

Spring is forgotten, and summer seems a dream that passed

While I struggled to rise from slumber.

I know the winter comes, yet I linger

For in this damp and sullen woods,

The frilly green things of youth that once obscured my vision

Lie trodden and crumpled on the ground.

Exposing the bare bones of the forest.

I think for a moment I perceive some truth concerning all things natural,

Like sky and earth and air, and lives lived and wasted.

But now I wonder,

Was life only about us lying in the green woods,

With no other thought than joy,

And my long hair falling in happy disarray

Across your bare chest.

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To the West Lie Mountains

Posted by on Aug 7, 2005 in Poetry | 0 comments

I cannot finish anything.

Too much caffeine maybe

but this has been going on for days.
I’m flying to Seattle Tuesday evening

to see the view from the balcony.

A visit before my new job starts

Working from noon to nine in a cube.
Selling my soul to the soulless

Pretending so long, I finally do care.

I want to see the mountain,
cold and distant on the horizon
with the moon caught in the sky beside.
It will not come to me so I go there,
flying across the northern plains
with the sacred lands of the Dakota
beneath the silver wings.

Always living before and after is tiresome
But I cannot seem to carpe diem
I dread to return before I go.

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