Saturday, January 30, 2010

30.jan.10

After years, of you
forgetting. I remember
my mind I'll take back.

Friday, January 29, 2010

Cemeted Eyes

"And miles to go before I sleep," you say.
Silently shouting in gray, looking up
with cemented eyes, through
time's found end of this bottomless cup.

Paths cross over, and feet never rest in respect
for pain, so plain, etched
with a finger, maybe a stick
that once, the soft mouth of a dog fetched

here. Here, dog, were you ever this tired too?
Monotonous steps, dizzied by the hill.
Every pair of feet holding a head
down, close to dirt, leashed by humanity's will.



Thursday, January 28, 2010

Quiet beauty, speaks the little English bird
to the caterpillar climbing the glittered leaf.
Unstated grace, through felt-tipped pen is heard,
questions pecking into thought and firm belief.

"Spring seems so far away" in January.
Inside and out turns blue with loss,
as the weight of the year it carries,
over Time's span, myself unable to cross.

And yet, handed peace, from the little English bird
now himself upon the glittered leaf.

28.jan.2010

Mornings together,
speaking day's first words to you,
man at the bus-stop.

I missed yesterday.
A mother-hen, you worried.
I threw off your day.

Trivialities,
Today you forgot your lunch.
Tomorrow who knows.

Tears have welled my eyes
but when you arrive you see
sadness as opaque.

This is how it is.
Transparent to all but One.
I wish myself out.

Mornings together,
speaking day's first words to you,
man at the bus-stop.






Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Swallowing Prayers.

Drink slowly the last
wet assurance from this cup.
Comfort now seems dry.

Each swallow a prayer,
gulps God can hear, they rise
amid soundless pleas.



Whispers back my breath.

I was told I could trust the Snow
to keep my secrets hushed in its blanket warm.

But my path leaves rumors of where I have gone and come,
upon the canvas, unforgivingly white in welcome
whispering back my breath.

I was told I could trust the Snow
to keep my secrets hushed in its blanket warm.

Unwanted visitors, expected guests.

I have heard dawn coming for hours now,
rushing down the hills to my door.
The howling wind, sharp with searching,
pierces through glass, singing of pain,
bringing unwanted visitors, yet expected guests.

Naked limbs, abandoned in their rest, lie
softly shuddering, stirred by knowledge of Light close-by;
whispering of failing graces.

Silence creates the minutes' accompaniment
before the day's break.
Before, illumined, I can no longer hide.

Uses of Three


I take this time now to write in honor of One, whose work for me is never ever done.
With his uses of three, bringing good things up to me,
He considers seeing my smile at offered gifts his true fun.

Ever so gently he prods and he pleads, “Use me to help increase your daily caloric needs!
Do not fret, I am safe. What I bring, please take.”
Spoon, fork and knife, oh, you make eating a breeze.

I keep this friend, Spork, always near. His presence allows me never to fear.
Is this possessive? Oh sure. But, this way I know that he's undoubtedly pure.
Crumbs of wheat? No! They will not bring me any more tears!

Again, I brake.

Soft grace covers wounds
like glass, and again I brake.
The spell, the gift, Me.