Four A.M., no sleep
Candles die in predawn light
No dreams, daylight soon
--
Unknown birds call out
Dogwood blooms in violet dawn
Waxing into light
--
Early summer stroll
Doused in crepe myrtle petals
Snow flurry in June
Friday, May 05, 2006
Grandpa
My life lost its breath
He slipped from me
Even after all those years
The man who showed me
Camelia from azalea
Magenta from cyan
He holds his feet firm
At the base of mountains
With head onward to the blue
Taste of fuschia
And smell of cut grass
Life has its smells
Love has its scents
He slipped from me
Even after all those years
The man who showed me
Camelia from azalea
Magenta from cyan
He holds his feet firm
At the base of mountains
With head onward to the blue
Taste of fuschia
And smell of cut grass
Life has its smells
Love has its scents
Gloom
“gloom,” she said
not gloom as in bloom
nor spacious as in a room
not the space we keep private
not the face we avoid to show
grey and maybe dark
lacking the face of the moon
that is the kind of gloom she meant
i think
but in darkness of such a place
there is no sense in a big room
no buds in haste for spring
“in dark spaces we keep things
close and safe, protected.”
that’s what she said
i’m sure
after Sarah Arvio
not gloom as in bloom
nor spacious as in a room
not the space we keep private
not the face we avoid to show
grey and maybe dark
lacking the face of the moon
that is the kind of gloom she meant
i think
but in darkness of such a place
there is no sense in a big room
no buds in haste for spring
“in dark spaces we keep things
close and safe, protected.”
that’s what she said
i’m sure
after Sarah Arvio
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Canyonlands II
A journey to fix us
After the deaths,
The breakdown and alcohol
The suspicion of a fairy tale’s end
In desperation
We became pilgrims
Not knowing emptiness
Has no material destination
In search of feelings misplaced
Hoping to find them intact
In fear of damage and mutilation
White knuckles on emotions
Looking for porcelain hearts,
Shapes that held affection
Among the trails,
Among deep red sandstone canyons
Once reliable organs became strangers
Sky, sand and thousand year old
Chips in ancient stone walls cast more beauty
Than our identities and how we came
To see one another
Love once held still held but hands
Once held each other lost their clasps
As romantic idealists, we held
That no obstacle could divide the bond
I held confusion, I held fear
I held for the last time
Faith that vows were real
And the rings would always
Remain in each other’s company
One person’s understanding
Can’t ever be another’s faith
It is a self reflective possession
Affecting and benefiting the beholder
Its power and paradox,
Non-transferrable even when floating
On an endless ocean of love
After the deaths,
The breakdown and alcohol
The suspicion of a fairy tale’s end
In desperation
We became pilgrims
Not knowing emptiness
Has no material destination
In search of feelings misplaced
Hoping to find them intact
In fear of damage and mutilation
White knuckles on emotions
Looking for porcelain hearts,
Shapes that held affection
Among the trails,
Among deep red sandstone canyons
Once reliable organs became strangers
Sky, sand and thousand year old
Chips in ancient stone walls cast more beauty
Than our identities and how we came
To see one another
Love once held still held but hands
Once held each other lost their clasps
As romantic idealists, we held
That no obstacle could divide the bond
I held confusion, I held fear
I held for the last time
Faith that vows were real
And the rings would always
Remain in each other’s company
One person’s understanding
Can’t ever be another’s faith
It is a self reflective possession
Affecting and benefiting the beholder
Its power and paradox,
Non-transferrable even when floating
On an endless ocean of love
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Blind
Because I do not turn
Cold winter day.
Grey skies wishing for desert winds.
These come from the seas, warm,
and arrive on cold shores.
Outside is the
The universe manifesting.
In here are hungry,
Slack shells of souls looking,
wanting, praying for the promises
of a negligent god.
Desperate,
Empty of awareness,
They seek salvation.
Blind to the usefulness
Of empty space, inside,
they carry on in faith.
Like their Maker,
Blind to their own jewel.
Cold winter day.
Grey skies wishing for desert winds.
These come from the seas, warm,
and arrive on cold shores.
Outside is the
The universe manifesting.
In here are hungry,
Slack shells of souls looking,
wanting, praying for the promises
of a negligent god.
Desperate,
Empty of awareness,
They seek salvation.
Blind to the usefulness
Of empty space, inside,
they carry on in faith.
Like their Maker,
Blind to their own jewel.
Bangkok
Recling Buddha
Gilded in gold, lies watching
Truth immutable
--
Chao Praya dawn
Your smile effervescent
Lychee on your lips
--
Sea of coal black heads
My stupa in blond locks here
Far, I will follow
Gilded in gold, lies watching
Truth immutable
--
Chao Praya dawn
Your smile effervescent
Lychee on your lips
--
Sea of coal black heads
My stupa in blond locks here
Far, I will follow
Monday, May 01, 2006
Bamboo
I refuse to be out of faith
I don't care what they old wise men say.
If I were their wives,
I would whip them out of their double skin.
I am a product of something without balance
And so now I am out of balance
But that is all going to change.
I am going to learn the lessons
Passed from the little women
In our history
I'm going lose that shell.
I am going to lose that fragile thick shell.
I am going to lose that manly man stance.
I am going to stand like the way the bamboo would.
I am going to stand the way my mother
Stands
The way she stands in a cyclone
And kisses the wind of heaven.
I don't care what they old wise men say.
If I were their wives,
I would whip them out of their double skin.
I am a product of something without balance
And so now I am out of balance
But that is all going to change.
I am going to learn the lessons
Passed from the little women
In our history
I'm going lose that shell.
I am going to lose that fragile thick shell.
I am going to lose that manly man stance.
I am going to stand like the way the bamboo would.
I am going to stand the way my mother
Stands
The way she stands in a cyclone
And kisses the wind of heaven.
Birthday
28 October 2001...
Kirala was one of our favorite sushi places
The hostess remembered us even after the long absence
As we ducked into the lobby, out of the chill
On the drive there, I wondered what would make
The evening a nice experience—it was my birthday
It had been the longest span since that
February in New York that we had been apart
You looked wonderfully glowing but hesitant
Like a moth choosing between light and flame
The steaming miso warmed me inside
But we never got past agedashi tofu
In the rhythm of our conversation
The space between our sentences was
As fresh and cold as that night’s otoro;
Precious and tasteful but seeming misplaced
The aesthetic presence of the meal; a metaphor
Four our odd situation but as yet unaware
The attraction and nourishment for heart and soul
Was in the paradox of sushi’s delicate beauty—
The sensual contact on the palate of uncooked, raw fish
Kirala was one of our favorite sushi places
The hostess remembered us even after the long absence
As we ducked into the lobby, out of the chill
On the drive there, I wondered what would make
The evening a nice experience—it was my birthday
It had been the longest span since that
February in New York that we had been apart
You looked wonderfully glowing but hesitant
Like a moth choosing between light and flame
The steaming miso warmed me inside
But we never got past agedashi tofu
In the rhythm of our conversation
The space between our sentences was
As fresh and cold as that night’s otoro;
Precious and tasteful but seeming misplaced
The aesthetic presence of the meal; a metaphor
Four our odd situation but as yet unaware
The attraction and nourishment for heart and soul
Was in the paradox of sushi’s delicate beauty—
The sensual contact on the palate of uncooked, raw fish
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