poems

poem one

Palm pressed flat to dimming walls,
a lily lies flush to the surface.
Held quiet in all still rooms where blind,
deer eyes pass through mirror.
Moss takes to the carpet,
lichen to the spring.
For the murder gathered on the lawn,
i cut through grey
to sea white sing

poem two (best when spoken out-loud with rhythm)

Between the shifting dark sand dunes and the golden mountain peaks,
The air is thick with ripened fruit, or so gentle water speaks.
Whispered fables quietly told, long since nimbly omitted.
Of humans gorged from fired clay, power rivalling Gods committed.
An era’s death in lover’s tears torn by indifferent stars,
The fall of an angel, with thick black blood, in ropes from spiteful scars.
The waters have a current, the atmosphere, intention.
Did the raucous chorus birds not hold your attention?
The moss has taken to your hands.
How little you feel of what time demands.
You may know what has been lost, drink knowledge of what time forgot.
But sit here in half-light and fear, for what you know and what you do not.

poem three (repost)

I never thought I would need to hear,
a scream from the gut.
Or, need to feel,
an opening of lungs.
But now, I am afraid.
There is no field far enough to dampen the shrieks
and a passing farmer may set out to find the injured beast
Blubbering, in it's own blood.
Shuddering over hot breath.
Shrapnel creaking, moving deeper.
What's more,
there is no ocean near enough.
Dying here in the mud,
wishing to redden the sea.