Numbered Poems
1.
I came to the forest and there was no path to its heart.
With tools and fury I clove my way.
When I reached it, it was a clearing whose ring of trees
I had fallen.
I came to the river and marveled at the torrents.
I swam its depths and by boat found its source.
It trickled from rocks and from the forest
seeped unnoticed.
Disconsolate, I questioned the weeping of my heart.
I searched with wonder and abandon.
I found only desolation and the clamour of worry
in the place of strength.
2.
A prayer floats on the water
and does not know the storm.
It slips gently beneath waves
both enticing and loving.
Acceptance sees and kisses
myself, the coming rain.
3.
Frost on bare branches
of sleeping trees.
Weep for winter skeleton’s shadow
torn into fallen snow.
Thoughts fall past,
tumble in drifts.
Sun peels back empty clouds;
their all is given, settled now, wounded.
Reflections of frozen glass,
winter calls lonesome and sun responds:
“You will not know joy until winter streams
and living parts thighs over fertile ground.”
Holy are the hopes we have,
holy as another dawn.
4.
Wild and cooing on the broken leaves,
spring’s back offers
summer’s hands and mouth
a place to lie and wait
for more important reasons
to fall asleep and remember
that time is the song of our hearts
and sex is the spell of our longing.
5.
Naked over the mossed rocks and river bottoms,
naked beneath wild mulberry and plum.
The universe waits for all men to break,
to hope, to desire, to pray, to fuck, to be alive.
Naked through the sage and warm sands,
naked under the pine and oak and sunlight.
Orange peels by my feet,
a restless spirit.
6.
silence
taking
breath
from
skirts
of
winter
snow.
drawn
fragments:
east
west
earth
shadow.
tender
skin
and
make-
believe.
hopeless.
buried
image.
I came to the forest and there was no path to its heart.
With tools and fury I clove my way.
When I reached it, it was a clearing whose ring of trees
I had fallen.
I came to the river and marveled at the torrents.
I swam its depths and by boat found its source.
It trickled from rocks and from the forest
seeped unnoticed.
Disconsolate, I questioned the weeping of my heart.
I searched with wonder and abandon.
I found only desolation and the clamour of worry
in the place of strength.
2.
A prayer floats on the water
and does not know the storm.
It slips gently beneath waves
both enticing and loving.
Acceptance sees and kisses
myself, the coming rain.
3.
Frost on bare branches
of sleeping trees.
Weep for winter skeleton’s shadow
torn into fallen snow.
Thoughts fall past,
tumble in drifts.
Sun peels back empty clouds;
their all is given, settled now, wounded.
Reflections of frozen glass,
winter calls lonesome and sun responds:
“You will not know joy until winter streams
and living parts thighs over fertile ground.”
Holy are the hopes we have,
holy as another dawn.
4.
Wild and cooing on the broken leaves,
spring’s back offers
summer’s hands and mouth
a place to lie and wait
for more important reasons
to fall asleep and remember
that time is the song of our hearts
and sex is the spell of our longing.
5.
Naked over the mossed rocks and river bottoms,
naked beneath wild mulberry and plum.
The universe waits for all men to break,
to hope, to desire, to pray, to fuck, to be alive.
Naked through the sage and warm sands,
naked under the pine and oak and sunlight.
Orange peels by my feet,
a restless spirit.
6.
silence
taking
breath
from
skirts
of
winter
snow.
drawn
fragments:
east
west
earth
shadow.
tender
skin
and
make-
believe.
hopeless.
buried
image.
No comments:
Post a Comment