Writer, in the early hours
The morning’s gray. The kettle whistles steam
into the dullness, stillness, piercing through
another winter dawn. Unshaken dreams
still cling to me, my sight and skin, like dew.
The pages hide unfound, unwritten, out
beyond my fingers’ reach. Uncertainly,
I try to catch a scent beside the doubt
I’ve woken with and this still-steeping tea.
But when all’s said and done, that’s what I’ve got:
a foggy dream, this doubt, a morning hope
to hold alongside tea. (That line is not
a real insight: I wrote another trope.)
Stop. Breathe and smell, and sip my morning tea—
my anchor, thing that’s real. Thing to taste, see.
Sonnet, For The Love Of Blue.
Let those who've mastered better form than I
Attempt the artless depth of able thought.
I want, as wingless creatures long to fly,
To sing a foolish song of freedom caught;
I want for love to tell it's truth with lies;
To yearn past ends of earth and conquer time.
Instead it's doomed to clumsily comprise
This feeble-thoughted loony-hearted rhyme.
I claim my zeal as nothing sweet nor soft,
But fierce; a hulking thing with sweaty flanks.
It whispered not to me, but snarled and coughed;
It begged me not for praise nor offered thanks.
Though balmy, I declare it's nonsense true:
My heart was dead and yet it beats for you.
Limping to Immortality
Pale-white wanderer on a distant shore,
Encumbered by regret, limping, sighing;
Waiting for the one whom he loved before,
Returning, renewing, death defying.
Brothers and lovers, by Ilium’s fall
Rememberèd. Phoenix-birthed from the pyre
To Thermopylae’s call, a last shield wall,
And Gallipoli’s wire - machine gun fire.
Rekindled by love, they fight and they die,
The circles of this world they cannot burst;
No final adieu, no farewell goodbye,
To their glory of youth - blessed and accursed.
A broken bough, a scattered vow - ’tis done.
They rest: till again, the cycle’s begun.
Though day bleeds into day and all grows old
though darkest night now ever closer seems
I cannot help but speak to you so bold
while whispr'ing words of love as if from dreams
Twas not so long ago our eyes first met
or far the day eternal love was vowed
when burdens of shared life were not ours yet
Nor heads beneath the weight of sorrow bowed;
The days of strife and anger are now gone
behind us days thought never to survive
our ugly duckling love became a swan
so "we" and "us" yields joy to be alive;
In sleep entwined we feign what is to come,
our hope to be found thus when we succumb.
a little yellow idol
High on a mountain above Kathmandu
There is a statue cast in solid gold
And if we who have held it number few
Its power is a wonder to behold
Small enough to fit the palm of a hand
Complete with its ivory pedestal
Encircled by a narrow onyx band
Its weight is something more than physical
For there in its deep-set emerald eye
Shines the knowledge of an ancient race
Brighter than the sun in an azure sky
Only the truly blessed may see its face
But if your soul is pure - and your heart true
Life's path might guide you yet - to Kathmandu
The Rose and the Lark
What can I tell thee that thou dost not already know
About the love within mine breast that beats anew
Each time I behold thy sweet face's ethereal glow?
For thou dost know that within me these feelings grew
When thou didst tread into my path, wandering there
In summer as the roses bloomed and while larks didst sing.
Thou reached deep within my being and laid my soul bare
As my heart thunderously beat with a force thou didst bring.
Tell me that 'tis true for thee, my fairest love, as well;
That the lark doth sing and the love doth fast grow
Within thy heart for me, who lies wrapped beneath thy spell,
A servant to thee in all ways as the summer winds doth blow.
My truest love, my life I give to thee for more than mere summer days.
Or if not, alas, pity me the fool who shall disappear without further delay.
A Sonnet To Express
I want to tell the world the way I feel
So everyone can see my cobweb soul;
The way the light refracts is more than real,
And how the parts connect can keep me whole.
But how reflections dance and corners twist
Is far too strange to wrap in pretty words;
I'm terrified the meaning will be missed,
And even as you listen, go unheard.
How can I explain what I have seen
When I, to see it, had to go beyond—
To fall into the feeling space between;
Let go of words and thoughts that correspond.
To go where words can't reach has set me free,
But being seen is locked, with words as key.
Narrating A Pencil
Creation at its tip, formed in the black
to foil the tree whose branch branches out
and leave leaves to grow outside, where the hack
and slash bring down one more for advances.
A 2D shape that can tremble a heart,
Or push a yawn out, towards its maker,
thus stands this stereotype they call art,
The type that makes a neighbor a traitor
All is made done by the creator's tool,
Their source of cents, built by their sense,
By their emotion that fulfills as fuel,
Like train engines: whose power is intense
But what of the mental mind behind lead
that forms my voice and forces me to read
Like a mould spot I hate that you love me.
Like a common weed I tried to drive you away.
I even gave you divorce papers to make you flee.
I hate the way you always care each day.
I'm toxic, like trash I belong in the bin.
I must fill you with complete dread
as I cut deeper and deeper into my skin.
Did I make you feel unloved as I bled?
What about when I took too many pills?
You just smiled at me and said I love you.
Like blood your love flows and gives me the chills.
You want me to be happy, part of your crew.
Your love for me holds us together like glue.
Your love for me is infectious. I love you.
I sent an angel to watch over you
but with a flash he came right back again
he said there was nothing for him to do
angels don't watch over angels he explained
the novices are standing in a queue
to view an angel already ordained
your good deeds reflect a welcoming hue
evil called but vocal chords are strained
Ah, your ears deafened to what you would rue
some angels don't need to be picked and trained
they don't need wings or a feather to woo
their giving and loving ways unrestrained
So maybe you'll come to watch over me
a novice uniform waits patiently