Incomplete, it rises
only to dissipate
like the griefs we shape,
beyond reach but felt.
Last night’s moon, the glance.
Forgotten stars, a withheld
kiss, words we never formed.
How difficult to be lost.
So easy to remain unseen.
* * *
“Night Smoke” last appeared here in June 2016.
The Language of Birds
Something thrown beyond
light: a stone,
words. The language of birds
evades us but for the simplest
measure. And how can we comprehend
those who live with the
wind when our own
bodies seem far away? In the darkness
certain sounds come clearer, as if in
absence one finds strength, the evidence
gathered with every breath. Speech is,
of course, not the answer. We release
what we must, and in turn are released.
* * *
This first appeared on the blog in April 2015 – another oldie dug out of a folder. I wrote it for my niece perhaps twenty-eight years ago, and don’t believe it was ever published. It felt good to finally release it to the light and air.
Posted in Birds, Poetry |
Tagged birds, creative writing, culture, language, meditation, nature, philosophy, poems, poetry, writing |
Aubade (Inca Dove)
evokes the evolution of hand
and wing, a growth
reflecting all we’ve come
to know. Two doves
sit on the fence, cold wind ruffling
their feathers. What brings them
to this place of no
shelter, of wind and rain
and clarity defied? Fingers
often remember what the mind
complicates our mornings.
This last appeared here in October 2016, and was originally published in
The Balcones Review in 1987. Seems I was enthralled with birds back then, too…
Posted in Birds, Poetry |
Tagged birds, creative writing, gardens, meditation, mindfulness, nature, philosophy, poems, poetry, writing |
Self-Portrait with Bruise
Some damages announce, others conceal.
How else may we continue
despite our best
inattentions? And which treasure
do we truly hold
closer, the blood orange
or the blade
that parts its segments? At
thirty I would have chosen
one. At forty, the other. Now,
options spread like branches among the cedars.
Ruptured vessels reveal our lapses.
This was published in
Shadowtrain in August 2015, and appeared here in March 2016.
Posted in Memory, Poetry |
Tagged creative writing, life, meditation, memory, observation, philosophy, poems, poetry, relationships, writing |
For one who moves in uncertainty, this
flower, the petals of which
gently fade, as if reason
is found in the decline of beauty
and its comforts.
But all you touch remains
touched. If silence reveals the body
of music, what can be said of darkness? Words
appear motionless until they blossom, a
pattern seldom seen yet carried to us in
all manner of conveyance. Listen,
for there is no purer voice.
Let the earth speak.
“Patterns” first appeared here in March, 2015, and again in June 2016. I wrote it 30-some years ago, placed it in a folder and promptly forgot it.
Posted in language, Poetry |
Tagged creative writing, language, life, meditation, music, philosophy, poems, poetry, words, writing |
Withdrawn, it unfolds
voice, like that
of a child lost in the wind.
Or, lonely, it rises from its place
and sings, only
to return and start again.
The pleasure we accept derives from
the knowledge that we are not alone.
Each morning we walk out and sit
by the stones, hoping to observe some
new patterns in his life. What we
see is an answer. What we hear is no song.
* * *
“Mockingbird” made its first appearance here in January 2015. It was written
in the 1980s, probably around 1987-1989.
Posted in Perception, Poetry |
Tagged birds, creative writing, language, loss, meditation, peace, philosophy, poems, poetry, writing |
First the wind, then a tide like no other
uprooting the calm,
a visage tilted back in descent
as if listening for the aftermath.
And later, the gardener’s lament
and the building’s exposed ribs,
light entering the eternal
orchard, nine children tied to a cincture.
Not even the earth could retain its bodies,
and the sea remanded those given to its care.
“Galveston, 1900” first appeared here in January 2015.