November Song

Drought

2011-07-13T13:49:00.001-04:00

The frogs are dying.
Their once-bright and –jewel like bodies,
Now desiccated,
Lie in Pompeian attitudes
At the monumental feet
Of our driveways.
Gardens turned to dust
Blow over,
Smooth out
The patterns of old moisture
And cover those delicate toes,
Those buried treasures,
Our memories of rain.

untitled

2010-08-14T22:10:00.000-04:00

Seeds germinating in this heat

The wet ground open

Beneath the cracked and pitted feet

Of a city bent on decay

Slow and clear

Like the bright sky

Like the bottle

Pouring fool’s words

Parting the teeth

Spouting insane protestations

Dry like summer dust

Blow off to the sea

You useless phrases

You dead brain cells

Turn under the muck

And churn up again

Become clouds

Return, better than you were

Searching

2010-02-06T16:01:00.000-05:00

Clear blue sky and warm sun
Gorgeous earthy tangle
Of oak and agave
Fragrant hedges
Dewey with recent rain
All turns
Like love in my breast
Home smells
Coffee, onions, lavender and bleach
Warm my blood
That should be thick as bacon grease
In these pale Northern veins
But instead
Seems to run thin
As new maple syrup
Around my tired bones
Through my stinging heart
Outside the green-black grackles
Tune their strange vocal radios
While here I sit
Pen to paper yet again
Still searching

soaked

2010-02-06T15:59:00.001-05:00

The rainwater piles up at the foundation
Melting the mud and clay and sand
The branches of the Live Oak are slick and green
And the ball moss sprouts ferocious tendrils
The vibrant rooster of mysterious origins
Which appeared two days ago
Hides from this late-winter deluge
And the raccoons on the roof are quiet in the chill nights
Down by the wild rushing creek
The prickly pears drink what they can
And the little lizards are nowhere to be seen
The swans with their great white wings
Glide the lake unconcerned
The pigeons however are miserable

The Curiosity Shop

2010-02-06T15:56:00.000-05:00

The little bell tinkles knowingly
Ushering her out of cold rain and heavy thoughts
Into another world
A grandmother’s attic
A collector’s back room
A museum of dreams
Formal faces without names
And needlework by hands long gone
The stacks and shelves make alleys
And it seems she could lose herself
Like Alice among the teacups and books
The picture frames and bits of lace
Old advertisements with wildly grinning girls
A hundred or more salt and pepper shakers
Must dance, she thinks, in their odd perfect pairs
When the lights are out and night falls
On the belt buckles and license plates
The dozens of mirrors – etched and indigo and crystal clear –
And the small stuffed fawn
An Indian head glares down from a wooden tray
Half obscured by a Victorian parasol
And fans blow old wedding veils
Like a mist across a milk crate of worn Teddy bears
And another of LPS and colorfully creepy medical prints
She giggles over a giant fork and spoon
Then gasps as, turning, she is
Confronted by a legless armless mannequin
In a jaunty hat
This palace of wonders is full of secrets
Small vials of dark unknown things
A pile of bronzed first shoes
No longer wanted
She is caught for a time by a photo
A smiling group in a sepia garden
With one young man looking, not out,
But to the side of the frame
His expression mixed
His subject, like so many other stories here
Lost
But resurrected in her imagination

2010-02-06T15:51:00.002-05:00

walking slowly
aching-eyed
under skies
un-Austin gray
steam rising
off Barton Springs
cloaking cormorants and herons
and big white swans
in ethereal splendor
making knobby-kneed cypresses
appear somber
and mysterious
cars passing over Zilker bridge
hit a heart-beat rhythm
tires catching blacktop seam
thrumming pulse
to throbbing soul
on path below
round rocks roll
from beneath
my muddy sneakers
dropping down
sheer sides
to turquoise creek
frothing
like an excited mutt
running in the park nearby
my soul scattered
under the red oak leaves
hiding the menace
of poison ivy
still a threat here
even in winter

2009-09-07T14:37:00.004-04:00

bearded boys in flannel shirts
Leaves of Grass and On The Road
tucked in the back pockets
of their low-slung bells
of their cutoffs
the smell of woodsmoke
and hand-rolled cigs
sweat and sawdust
mixed with alcohol
The Band throbbing
on the stereo
Dylan and Young
Van The Man waiting in the wings
ideals and dreams
sarcasm and wit
music and desire
those bearded boys of summer

Farmers Market 10 to 2

2009-08-17T13:54:00.003-04:00

Hot sun on low canvas and plastic roofs
faint breeze
snaking around tent poles
Tomatoes firm and ripe
fragrant red and green heirloom scents
blending with fresh-baked bread and pastries
onions and garlic
soil still clinging
perfume stalls of corn, zucchini and wildflowers
snapdragons and dill
A fiddler stomps in time to his tune
and little children roll and giggle in the grass
a long-haired dachshund and a big rangy mutt
eye one another
across the Maori man's stone jewelry booth
My heart is as light as the clouds
in the bright blue sky
above

Morning Walk

2009-08-17T13:52:00.001-04:00

The path to the theatre runs along a little country road. My artist’s loft – with its gabled roof, deep window seats, claw-foot tub, and eclectic stack of records – sits around a bend on the way up the mountain. This morning, as I walk down, the mist is just starting to burn off. The delicate violet morning-glories are awake and fanned wide, drinking in the sun that peeks through the spaces in the clouds clinging to the mountain. The fields on either side of the road – full of sweet round red clover, spikes of violent red-orange Devil’s Paintbrush, and frothy white saucers of Queen Anne’s Lace swaying on their long stalks – are alive with gentle bird sounds, the rustling of little animals and the hum of insects. A small gray vole lies curled on its side by the gravel edge, dead, perhaps by the paw and jaw of a cat.

There is a pond on the way down the road. It’s fed by a little stream which runs through a culvert under the street. On one side of the road – shaded to hidden darkness by maple, ash and dogwood – the stream gurgles and rushes over a low rocky bed of native marble. On the other, the pond spreads out, encircled by tall handsome spruces and a few slender white birches. Lilies float on its dark still surface and a Great Blue Heron stands like an old man – stoop-shouldered in his dark-gray overcoat – among the reeds and cattails on its marshy edge.

This is the time of year and the wet soil in which to find jewelweed (sometimes called the Touch-Me-Not), a favorite of mine. Its delicate coronet flowers of vibrant yellow and orange call to me from the tangle of weeds running along the side of the road. Crouching down, I find the seed pods eagerly, anticipating the nostalgic and visceral joy of releasing the seeds within. The little insect-green pods are distended, ripe with potential energy. My fingertips tingle as I pinch the seed pods gently and they spring apart – banana-peel sections instantly curling up like little ringlets, the tiny seeds flying out to sink into the soil and wait to grow. Such pleasure I get from a small trick of genetic dispersal!

Alamance

2009-07-18T19:55:00.003-04:00

the night
drops its curtain softly
and folds quiet dark
around the house
the fresh moonlit breeze
drained of the day's humidity
wafts a breath of honeysuckle
through open windows
and fireflies
wink around us
clustering
in the dusky corners of the garden

2009-07-18T19:50:00.003-04:00

Watch him watch
his father's
familiar stooping gait
Under the wet magnolias
the white oaks
dripping evening rain
Along the brick paths
of memories old
and fading out of sight
around the next corner

2009-07-18T19:49:00.000-04:00

He wonders at this ceaseless longing
The thrill of possibilities in those silent hotel rooms
New eyes behind every door
He can almost feel the road beneath his feet
The staccato white lines of the highway flashing by
As he bends to brush her hair gently from her face
“Sleep” he whispers softly
Unwritten songs humming in his head as he tells her
He’ll be there when she wakes
But his heart tenses at the lie
He will be miles gone when she opens her eyes to the dawn
The wanderlust tied to his every nerve compels him
Chances and regrets rise before him like the moon
And he is gone again in the night

2009-05-13T15:53:00.003-04:00

hard on the skipping heels
of her minor successes
the rain
drives worms from the ground
cheeks flushed
she dodges firm wet flesh
so many, she thinks,
undulating in the dark

Armory

2009-03-26T21:18:00.001-04:00

the bricks of this place
hold stories of me
the smell of the walls
the banister under my palm
remind my heart of pain
remind my skin of yours

Stuck

2009-03-21T16:45:00.002-04:00

The camera is full of pictures
The sink is full of dishes
This Friday night is silence
Self-absorbed and locked indoors
Drown the doubts with another beer
Cry out with quips they’ll all ignore
Check for him and wait for him
And stay stuck for no reason
But comfort and fear
Time will move on as always
And empty rooms will become
Other empty rooms
In other haunted cities
And either way
Things will change
Or they won’t

Follow

2009-02-22T13:38:00.002-05:00

The rain falls
Clear and cold
On an unknown road
Grown in green with neglect
Returning to her primal state

He calls to her down that path
But she no longer hears
That siren song
Those words that are her
And yet say nothing

Waiting, gathering her breath
She turns towards the wind
It carries the promise of change
The salt tang of the ocean
The deep wet green scent of life

Away to the west
She will be lost
Her soul called out to sea
The noise and the hum
Of cars on asphalt
No longer hold her

And when this road is gone
When the trees have sealed it
Into their fold
With seedlings and ferns
And small watchers with bright eyes
Who will remember her
Walking this path

She Returns

2009-01-19T15:54:00.000-05:00

She spreads her body down across the sun-dappled grass here
So far away from the cold white marble and the warm summer rain
And from the columns of corn stalks into which she could have disappeared
Her eyes turn now towards the dying sky
Her thoughts turn inwards
The smoke had become a part of her in those long, lonely nights
The drink and the longing bringing tears to her eyes
His hands had held her up and held her back and held her down
Crushing the rosemary to fragrance beneath her willing regret
His laughter was like the hum of the insects
Stirring all around her in that meadow of balsams
But all of it is gone now
Watching a delicate spider climb the worn porch railing
The smell of dusty wooden beams above her in the dark
The feel of the loose stones of that loving path bruising her bare feet
The distant sound of a glass ringing like a bell as it hit the bedside table
The cultivated wilds of this overcrowded patch of green the only respite now
In a world where her body hardly reacts
As a bus passes almost close enough to brush her shoulder
Like the dark water closing over her
After she jumped from the highest rocks
She realizes that proximity is no longer an issue
Without the possibility of his skin

Dream Song

2008-12-16T23:20:00.000-05:00

The moon loomed large in the sky that night,

Copper shafts of light filtered

Through the endless layers of rushing clouds

That ghosted ‘cross her face,

Revealing glimpses of her bright regard,

The surprise of her smile;

The girl dreamed of slender trees,

Their pale fingers reaching from grassy isle

To water-color sky, delicate green touch

That sang with the breath held inside her;

She dreamed of a diamond,

The heart of a star deep in the cold pewter expanse,

Born in the fires of the universe beginning,

Dancing itself into facets

Beyond all sense of time;

She dreamed of a cave full of water and light,

The motes of Another’s thoughts

Rising like fragments of gold,

Like glittering new snow in the lights of a town,

Like the particles of her own dreams

Written and sung beneath the beaming

Of that slowly spinning

Brightly shining

Beneficently eyeing orb

Grace

2008-09-30T00:35:00.001-04:00

An astonishing moment of silence

Solitary walk to the corner

Uninterrupted by engine

Or shout or whine of airplane

Just sky and your song

And my throbbing soul

untitled

2008-09-30T00:34:00.002-04:00

fountains of copper sparks
spray out from dark wheel rhythms
exclamations illuminating the rain
highlighting the drops
like halved black pearls
set into the endless steel
that runs to island's end
and back around
in this breath-fogged night
it links us all in weary waiting
for the cars to come

After

2008-09-30T00:34:00.001-04:00

After,
I stood out on the street
as the drunken city hurtled past,
the rushing people
broke around me in eddies,
I was the creek stone--
the bit of bracken changing the flow
with head hanging chin to chest
my top-most branch snapped,
let me down,
and I sank inside
as you turned on your heel,
disappearing into the too-bright darkness--
into the cabs and the tunnels and the noise,
back to continue your unknown,
while I was left
to weigh this aberrant ache--
this unexpected denial,
against those mysteries
locked behind your eyes
and my eyes,
and against everything I can't be sure of anymore...

My breath steamed in the thin air.

Then I too walked away.

untitled

2008-09-30T00:33:00.002-04:00

Snub-nose silver trains
wink red letters in dark tunnels,
run roaring and screeching below our feet

This room twists around me
choking on the still, flat summer air,
hemmed in, pinned down,
pithed by the absence of trees

Climb the cracked and pitted stairs
the corners filled with ash and memory,
gulp in air and rooftop views,
strings of lit windows
like shining stars across the black river

The moon deigns to show her face
and, for a moment, this feels like home
this haven temporary,
torn apart by screams and shouts
from the filthy alley below

Rain

2008-09-30T00:33:00.001-04:00

Curtains of heavy rain enclose the city this morning—

I would not have believed that anything, even the rain,
could encompass this place,

Yet a single cloud of fog (much more than mist) obscures her
peaks and spires

Leaving only the dark and tangled streets,

Running like animals in some dark foreign jungle…

Waterfalls of rain and offal gush down the brick walls of
the train station

And spray those forced to escape to the Underground,

While on the streets, umbrellas lie broken in the gaps
between buildings—

Or hang from the trash cans into which they were thrust when
they failed…

And some twitch helplessly against parked cars,

Twisting in the wind that pushes through the corridors of
topless towers,

The shrouded island seems to erupt with a fearful sadness,

Wrapped in soft unending grey, damp strands of hair, and
sodden newspapers

That wind themselves around the ankles of those trying to
hurry

Down pavement turning quickly to swift-moving streams and
eddies…

The smell of the sea is everywhere, reminding me of how this
place was claimed—

Raised from the surrounding salt water first on the back of
a great turtle,

Then with piles of sand and soil, sturdy concrete pylons and
spikes of steel…

All feeling of place disappears in this fog that smells of
the sea and I feel it is possible

To slip away from Fifth Avenue and into the mysterious shoals and swells

Of the cold Atlantic...

summer's fleeting (joys)

2008-09-30T00:32:00.000-04:00

today there is a sky so cloudless blue
cloudless blue even as the wind
is scented with the end of summer
this is the time for wood-walking
for walking away along the shining river
and finding the place where the sun sleeps
for sleeping in the rain beneath white pines
before crying out the loss of leaves
before all green things go to ground
and I feel the frost creep into my veins
into tree veins that will slow for the long darkness
darkness that wraps itself around my heart
even though the sun still shines out
as though it were time to harvest strawberries
instead of the late raspberries that we have plucked
to steep in glass jars filled with vodka
to sip while wrapped in woodsmoke next summer
if summer does come again
in glories of heat and dust smelling of carnival straw
and green curling vines of everything that grows
everything but apples which will come soon
in a bittersweet taste of long lazy days
and regrets
of tired new chances in a place not yet my own
my thoughts are my own and full of whispers
whispers in the velvet-dark of a mountain night
smelling of the wet insides of new leaves
of soil and summer cigarettes sighing smoke
the sigh of nylon sleeping bags in an insect-green tent
the hands resting on my sun-warmed skin
rubbed smooth by lake sand while we
floated on driftwood with buttercup chins
devil's paintbrush lashes framing our eyes
our cheeks daubed with stream-wet shale
riding the warmth of weather and contented breaths
lips curving in smiles that no longer exist
for the endless days of dancing through the trees cannot last
summer can never seem to last
even on a day like today
when the sky is so cloudless blue

To Forget

2008-09-30T00:31:00.002-04:00

I came to you
that rain-soaked night
And the trains roared overhead
as you carried me to the bedroom
my legs wrapped around you
We spoke very little
but I felt my heart expand
and contract into nothing
as yours pounded beneath my chest
My skin wet from you
My lips dry
and full of your sweet salt taste
We were miles apart
my head on your shoulder
a leg flung across your hips
My fingers tangled in your hair
holding on to pieces of moments
to bits of phrases
thoughts and desires
half-formed and discarded
You laughed then
And I understood
I looked into your eyes
and knew you were already gone

what good this loop?

2008-09-30T00:30:00.000-04:00

restless like the moon was full, clawing walls and (tough, so tough) eyes burning holes in the backs of muggers' heads,

draw in breath and shaking head i plunge into the swirl of dark and sound,

faint smell of incense, heat and everything turns and watches...

glimpsed familiar eyes recede into unknown faces and it all blends away,

regrets wrap my tongue, make it heavy, thick as i climb the stairs,

the way remembered but i am missing and unknown,

my long white nails strangers in this half-light burst of strobe, that glow of red and swirl of black...

tip back drink too quick, try (with muddled head) to unravel heart fibres (pain-bound muscle) clenched around five ancient years,

follow old trails back to when i wore my love (indecisive) in lonely tears, blood and scars, words and words and silent screaming wishes to be anywhere else, anyone else...

choke on memories and rum, charge out into noise and heat to banish thought,

(better lose self in movement) don't stand still too long or broken pieces rising up will overwhelm,

please don't sweep away Contented Now with endless nostalgic obsession,

thoughts [what if] and [why didn't] and [should have] get me nowhere in this cultivated gloom,

and i still know nothing at all,

so i give up and go again, hands deep in pockets,

(tired and) huddled against this dark night

untitled

2008-09-30T00:29:00.000-04:00

Lassitude creeping,

A jug of quicksilver in my veins,

I had dreams of the moon once,

She filled my soul—golden image in my mind—

But now there is silence without stars

Like cosmic pause in endless turning

As years rush by in moments and

Moments loom large like birds of prey—dark things with wings—

Seen through the half-light in silhouette,

No more night, just twilight grey—afternoon grey—

Dawn grey and the feel of fur within…

Too tired for tears to come,

Those glittering smiles winking in the lamplight of memory…

I am at the center of all that once was

And my thoughts are tiny boats in a treacherous crossing,

I wander and am lost upon a clear path—

Leafy walls high as can be surround me,

Waves lap at my shore but I cannot see,

Only hear them from a distance…

Water and darkness and nothing inside…

Palanquins and dreams of flying…

Rain fell softly through elder boughs above

And what light there was dappled mossy ground,

Now there is an empty room—soft flannel grey and quiet

While teeth slowly crack and fall away,

Falling like snow, falling like me in pieces,

Swirling creamy self blooming loops and rivers in my coffee,

Sighs and sleep without waking,

Waking from no sleep,

Everything without dreaming,

And without dreaming

There is

nothing

A Goodbye Day

2008-09-30T00:28:00.000-04:00

Tiny clearing calling to me,

Hooves have long since sunk into damp soil,

Chickadees flit--startle me--in the bushes,

Discovering the magic pop of seeds my father once showed me,

I came this far not knowing what I sought,

The desire to fly away--to melt into the trees--seized me...

Golden sunlight of afternoon plays across the trees here,

The bittersweet sigh of autumn fills my heart,

If magic could be sought out--caught and held--it would be here,

Under the drum of the woodpecker,

But I only feel a chill as a cloud passes the face of the sun,

What I wouldn't give to be those clouds

Soaring over the blue sky,

To be a golden leaf high above--shining in the sunset--

To be an amber toad leaping from the path of a deer,

To be the log on which I perch--so full of other life--

But this must end and I must roam again,

Content not even here,

Among life so unlike my own

Walking Through Moonrise With Ansel Adams

2008-09-30T00:27:00.000-04:00

Sun on warm gardens,

A house fraught with memory,

Hot stone high rises in sandy fields,

Colonial columns and cool white birches,

Tiny town huddles on the horizon,

An oak views dawn and dusk,

Your heart is a perfect rose,

And so is mine

Thoughts On A Western Night

2008-09-30T00:25:00.003-04:00

In this cool-flagged back room,

Standing at night before an open window,

I am suddenly seized by the wild impulse

To run bare-skinned through the rain;

My lamp shines out

Past the bright path of wet stones

Glistening in the dark,

And I lean out

Feeling the warm rain on my shoulders;

This night is made for escape,

Running free in the damp sand valley below

untitled

2008-09-30T00:25:00.001-04:00

It is well beyond the witching hour

And I am restless in the early-morning night,

Dreaming with my eyes open

As my lover sleeps on

Unaware of my wanderings, a pen between my teeth,

My fingers twisting this hair too short to be my own (and yet it is),

The passing cars move so fast

On the road below my window,

And out beyond my sight

Something is pulling the tides in my veins

Stirring my need to escape--

I'm strung out on waiting to recognize myself

In this place that seems haunted

By the ghosts of dreams,

I wander and my thoughts stray to desert nights

Ancient as two summers ago,

Hiding from the burning sun

In caves filled with the images of hands

My hands on my bare shoulders--

Crossed arms holding in a thudding heart

As the radiator here and now

Bangs out a protest to the hour,

I throw my head back

Hoping all my doubts will pour out,

Feeling, perhaps, like the sweat

Sliding down my spine,

As I seek the rusted-out places within me,

I press my forhead to the rain-washed window--

Streetlights blurred by the night

And my eyes that burn with the need for sleep,

I imagine my wounds not gone

But sucked down deep,

The scars raw behind my eyes,

Their ropes binding my breath,

Squeezing it into sighs

And gasps of half-forgotten terror in the night,

And I wonder how others can sleep,

If their lives, like mine,

Come bubbling up like mercury--

Dangerous and tempting beads of silver

Slipping away from the pressure of thought,

And out into the night

untitled

2008-09-30T00:24:00.000-04:00

the waning moon

veils herself

against the pewter starlight

of the galaxy,

the sea sweeps

slowly in

as the chill of

autumn creeps

gently closer,

I am

small and warm and alive

Crossing

2008-09-30T00:23:00.002-04:00

Squeal and scream

The blood pools like tears

More red than eyelids in the sun

Lap it up like honey

Soak up pain

And drain it as with tea

Panic wells in my belly

Warring with sick desire

Run and don't look back

Fascinated crouching

Rocking in the road

His shock buzzing

The sound of flies

In my ears

The Sky While Walking Home One Day

2008-09-30T00:23:00.001-04:00

There is nothing real about this sky...

The sun falling toward the edge of the world

Has dyed it--an over-turned bowl--

All ruddy golds, blending blue, and orange-crush clouds looking painted on.

I feel disproportionate; more than human-sized

In this planetarium that contains the city where I am living.

The limits, the boundaries of it are palpable,

So close above my head, tingling my skin.

And I breathe deep, a fervent prayer

To those powers that push the tides, that fill the moon,

And scatter the stars into the velvet folds of the night,

That when I lay down the love

That binds me to this vessel of flesh,

My soul-flight might begin

Under a sky so dramatic as this.

That this peculiar twist of perspective and hue

May create an arena of curious beauty

For that final fleeting moment

Of infinite clarity.

Two Haikus

2008-09-30T00:21:00.000-04:00

Bare bones in the sand,

Desolation presses me,

I am a mirage.

Blossoms fall like snow,

A petal lands on your skin,

Which is more lovely?

November Song: Part 1

2008-09-30T00:20:00.002-04:00

This is my autumn song--
my November song--
Memories shimmering gold and russet,
a pile of words to leap into,
The past holds me close
like smoke on my skin,
Bare black tree limbs, midnight wingbeats,
I am falling into torpor--
soul sleep--
Everything is time and rivers,
stones we once climbed
and sat atop, feeling the world was ours,
Everything is the damp smell of waiting,
of Future locked just behind the heart,
And swallows diving,
last before the frost,
I am trapped in amber,
I am spinning into dormancy,
I can never forget

Rivers

2008-09-30T00:20:00.001-04:00

rivers stretching away
running out from me
from my soul
carrying my thoughts
out out through trees
through great grass fields
away
into night
under
the moon
a river of stars
running smooth over stones
river stones rolled round
waves moving out
rippling slowly
motion always
away

Into the Black

2008-09-30T00:19:00.000-04:00

Last night, driving home along I-90, the fog rolled in--
deep and soft and quiet--
muffling the sound of tires humming on asphalt,
the street lights winked and went dark,
my radio cut out,
and I travelled into the black,
I've been lost there ever since

Stories

2008-09-30T00:13:00.003-04:00

Stories of fire and moonlight,
Of walking paths of stars
Through a land of bare black trees,
Of creatures with lamplight eyes
Burning secret and strange,
Hiding just beyond sight,
Stories of rivers that wind away,
Starting inside you and spinning out
Past all you know and might imagine,
Of the dry cold smell of leaves,
Of frost and wind and
The loneliness of an aching need,
Stories of restless wandering
That takes hold of your soul
And carries off contentment,
Of the fierce joy of darkness,
And skies that cannot be contained,
Of wild souls released,
Stories of returning from consciousness
Back to the joy of a dream,
The embrace of a journey