Storm remains scattered

The storm remains scattered
on earth and lea and way
from broken branch
and limb stripped bare
to the dampness of the day.
The ground shimmers with wetness
gold and red carpet the grass
broken web and tattered nest
sway in now the damp’ning winds.
The sky grays to subtle blue
clouds push in farewell waves
the storm remains scattered though
on earth and lea and way.

Poetic Journey

Slip slither dribble and dry
on the skin of my soul.
Visual verbal veraciously vicious for the truth
of life offer drinks.
Offer to drink.
and I….
take a glass
lift to my head
from brow to toe
absorbing passion as if
I was a sponge taking a plunge
in salted waters.
Being like a stone tossed
upon the ocean floor
in pursuit of dreams
on farther shores.
Voice crying out in fear
but soul solidering
knowing the earth man and the heaven man
in me must find the end
of what I call me…
and when that time comes.
Words will.
Slip slither dribble and dry
on my skin as I toast
the artists who broke
the bottle of their blessings
upon the brow of this ship
sending me off in directions
I can only now dream of.


Pass this life

Pass this life
in the breadth of thought
and still dream for
more to come
Simplest notion
of immortality
raises hopes
and longings for
a now not yet come;
and wonder I
in this course
road traversed
and folly?
do they fail to see
the now that is
leaving life
frail and brittle?

Stretch my skin out…

Stretch my skin out across the world. Let the edge of me dip into the hands of lands and valleys I shall never see. Let my life drip like rain from thunderous skies rolling across green hills. Let my breath move through trees on a sanded isle and my tongue to taste the salt of earth beneath an olive tree. Let my eyes stare at stars a hemisphere away and my mind dive into oceans of universes undiscovered. Yes, please stretch my skin across the world. Let the edge of me dip into the hands of lands… I shall never see.

Ivory and Ebony Bones

Her hands lay across ivory and
ebony bones
heart fixed on melodies past,
fingers tip slip and sway
dancing through notes
he left behind;
inked and torn
wrinkled and worn
The melody,
a mirror of soul
and font of tears
dips and crescendos
lingering on a thousand
what if rifts
where pauses
take eternity to resolve.
This is her music
this is her song…
she plays
every time
her hands lay across ivory and ebony bones.

You are a poem

You are a poem
a word so deeply rich with meaning
every poet fears to speak you
that in doing so your beauty
will embrace them
with the knowledge of a universe filled with so many stars
the gods would be jealous.
Oh yes, you are a poem
and I have touched
the syllable of your soul in a glance
so as to not anger divinity
– for this –
I am blessed

and you… are a poem.


I see.
Chain linked fence rushing out
beyond the edge of my horizons
like torn fishnets over a weary leg
I ponder.
“Do the poorly painted life of weeds,
ways, and vermin horseback riding anthills, see me the same way”?
I sit
Beneath this iron tree of torn cloth and
broken branched shade maker,
concentrating on the concert of forgotten:
The leg is metal white with crumbled stubble
dusted over with green bits of shouldn’t be there moss.
I sleep.
Knowing when I wake
the fishnets and weary leg world of forgotten will be,
long before I wake again.