Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Stores of sweet, a sip of rich desire

In the middle dark
the passages stand open,
and the choice of when to go
and where
is unencumbered.

The slumbering horde
in groans and sighs lays whispering,
breath erupts in sudden gasps and nods,
and the sleepless few
move with silent, careful steps.

This is when I think of you
and all you’ve meant to me.
For now we do our separate dance,
face risks alone, advancing as we do,
wrestling beasts and wresting joy.

You, small warrior,
with the silk-draped hip and breast,
turn to me and wrap yourself
around my nakedness,
as though to wish me on my way
with stores of sweet, a sip of rich desire,
to carry on to where I dream of next.

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

I wait for you to rise for me

I am your silk and satin offering,
but you must win me with your sword.
I will not come this night to you—
I wait for you to rise for me.

Sunday, June 22, 2014

The Spooking Call and the Plunging Dark

I have never been
alone in the North
at night and so far
from everything and everyone
that I could not hear the hum
of voices in my head
or the clang and whistle
of the iron way.

But I have been at the spot
where the sound of the whistling beast,
the steel and the weight of it,
was the spooking call,
the sound of the plunging dark;

where the honey-scented mortal thing
weaving through the sweet thorns,
beneath the clouded light of stars,
waved along by the wet-grass fairies,
is certain to arrive in the spying dawn
that whispers hints and rumors
and promises to fill
the heart’s desire
to be forever lost.

I have been there.
I have been there.
And I will go again.

Saturday, June 21, 2014

What Evolution Has Wrought

Narcissism and Poetry:
Two Peas in a Human Pod

Whenever I find that I have forgotten
something I wanted to remember,
forgotten something I wanted to do,
I must first decide—
without knowing in the present moment
exactly what it is I have forgotten—
how important it might be to remember
whatever it is that has gotten away from me,
and if I decide that the thing I can’t remember
merits remembering, then I must think back
to the moment I became aware
that I had forgotten whatever it is I wished
to remember or do, and continue to explore
each moment preceding that moment
until I arrive at the point and the place
when I was last aware of whatever
it was that I do not remember now.

I hope that having arrived there
the recovered memory
will turn out to be worth the effort.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

A Different Place to Stand

Like an oracle
draped in fine cloth,
she spoke.

Always and only
find the small way through.
Always and only
seek the hidden path.
Always and only
stand when standing will count.

In that moment
she walked away.

Remembering the good times,
he shook himself.
He watched her go.
Then, just as she had done,
he walked away himself,
seeking the small way,
seeking the surprises he might find
waiting on the hidden path,
and a different place to stand.