I think backwards
and see my journey
for the mixed-up tracery
of those who were chosen
for great things.
My mistakes
involve aiming low,
sinking lower,
and it’s a fine recipe
that leaves me
smooth and creamy
in the face of cruelty.
We set sail
at the edge of a meadow,
fragile stalks belying
the lush promise
we weren’t meant to know.
It spoke. Out loud.
Something in the way light hit
the dark scroll made me shiver.
I turned the page this way and that.
It was like holding an island
full of my judges. They were a stern bunch.
Memories assailed me as I watched the shapes move…
Being golden. Being invisible.
Hiding in a pocket (he saved me for later).
Glowing. Floating.
Soaking in every spice (with reckless abandon).
I wouldn’t change today- though it hurts.
I’d probably bleed more if I could.
There’s more… but I’m being interrupted.
“Have you no shame?!” the poem screams at me.
No. No, I really don’t.
A rustling of winter
leaves, left at the
treetop, an oversight
a reminder of old blooms
The way sunset melted
into moonlight
and trees behaved
like can-can dancers
I was perfectly still
but night penetrated
my tender places
(oh abandoned nest!)
Music, stale and leftover
spread through moss
which made walking
feel like a waltz
“gentle whale, full of grace,
let the hobbit toddle free…”
the holy roller scarecrow looked down
upon fallow fields
and called the crows to order
there was merriment amongst frogs
but the geese were pissed off, as usual
clouds folded into treetops
to be nearer the bearer
of green tidings
words of growth made worms wiggle
in a new way- like jitterbugging in mud
Uncle Fester giggled with his bees
and it looked like rain
in the next county
“I’m the middle finger,” I thought
as the landscape closed into a fist
I’d give you the jewels of Klimt
if I thought it would help
banish the blues
and I’d take the sweet, low sounds
the ground makes in early spring
to make you smile,
but all I can do
is be here, listening, watching
– too far to be any help
but so close by sheer will,
you’re here too,
our energy mixing like spilled light
and the pulse is electric,
soothing and pure.
