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To my friend (from the past, whom I still recall with fondness)

2 Feb

I remember you, again

my old friend, a stranger

across the spider’s universe

a woman, a speaker

of undefine-able beauty

and exquisite love… you say

your troubles are borne from life, and men

or one, who does you ill, yet I recall

the strength of your voice, in the darkness

luminescence strong

defying the laws of common energy, you shine, and yet

you will not admit it. Oh, I do not even

remember your name, now that the door

to that era is closed. But I pray, if I pray,

to no god that will listen, but one that is borne

on the wings of good will, and kindred spirits, that

you thrive, and live, a peaceful life

perhaps no more words of eloquent pain will you spin

but that means you are ok

and the troubled times are behind us.


I wish to…

14 Jul

sit beside you as I read and
feel the comfort of your presence
caressing, lightly warming,
the air between us, as the pages of my book
caress my musings, as the slghtly aphrodisiactic quality of tea
or lemonade, or hot chocolate
(it doesn’t matter what it is, with you there)
caresse my tongue and tickle my gullet
and the world would seem right with the rhythm of movement
the world would seem right with the rhythm of stillness
the world would be, and still you would
wander into my silent dreams
touch me, not touch me, I would feel the inimitable tange
the relief of
being able to rest
in one person’s presence

the seconds that my thoughts are away from you
my spirit sidles up to fill the gap

confuse me with your theology

30 Mar

What is the truth, but a quality of perception
That wakes and coils on the fine dunes of deliverance
The sweet lassitude that strengthens our bond, that sells us
The legends of our being, perhaps homeless no more
Perhaps beloved and sure
Perhaps our existence a flame to the universe
A light in the darkness
A worth beyond worth
Why are we favored above angels?
Why are we, helpless and mortal, exalted above those first created?
Why are we loved while others serve?
The mysteries that encroach upon our inherited stories
Ages and ages of questions, we worry
That the truth will exist no more with feeling
That we lie to ourselves to secure salvation
That we shall never live up to possibilities and dreams
Ah, such seduction, the path of rhetoric
The curse and happiness of a mind made full and faulted
To glory in living, to defy death and yet treasure time’s inconsistency
To seek, and fall, and prevail without winning
But all our soul’s stories do crave one spring
One source, one absolution, by definition of our individual being
In the hiatus of reality, with constant agony, we seek above all
an object of love.

be my constant, please

8 Mar

I miss eternity
the fair seasons of which
a ship could slide gently down arbor
and your soul would slide next to mine

the quality of our breathing
a fatigue would deny
centuries, yet it is only
a lifetime

yet a lifetime for us mortals
is eternity
and what loves we allow
a precious thing

what loves could we allow?
what truth could we speak?
what justice? what mercy?
I wish with one lifetime
an eternity worth keeping.

so if I sell you my memories…

3 Mar

There was an ocean, overcaststormreadystarkgreyanddrizzly
and the edge of every reason has a journey
there is also happiness, and it lives in the knowledge that oncetherewassunshineoverthehorizon
one feels the intensity of the waves
a titillating power that refuses to be acknowledged
that refuses to be anything but damning, strong
the beauty in an existence unstoppably unvain about its reality
sudden wings unfold, a sharp stab of startleddelight
oh dip toes in that madness, the richness and the darkness
fly low over the frothing mass that is the pre-storm ocean
the staple of centuries mythlorelegendromance
secrets of civilizations free from the scaple of an archeologist
we know this world in our twilight hours
and forget when we wake…

sell me your memories please my darlings
I haven’t a mean bone left in me.

Hade’s lullaby

23 Feb

Tell us if our days have meaning
For our nights are startling cold
Carry injury/depth of feeling
Through the roof of tomorrow’s morn
Sleep, sleep tight, and tuck your eyes
Beneath the realm of living light
Touch me softly, hold me sweetly
Define me through your endless eyes
My universe, your sarcophagus
What is this, the reality?
What concerns you or me?
Why make profit the margin of existence
The glory of being, a fitful thing?
Encircle my mind as I surrender my pride
Close deep curtains, devour all sight
Enter into the world of night
My darkness, deep possession.

The Merchant of Venice

5 Oct

To what do we owe allegiance?
our promises, I fear
can only be constitutions
if our souls could tear
If our pledges were a kite-string strong
that bears ourselves only so long
and then be rolled in or snapt in two
and fearing to meet it’s maker,away blew
never to return to earth except graced
with mud and snarled in branches twisted
I do not think we truly can
quite keep the vows we swore to tend
unless our hearts are bond and we
wear our conscience on our sleeves
And pray never give your word to one
who loves you not, for how much stronger
the kite-string, and how much more frail
you shall be, within those hands that little care for thee.