light

by

even in darkness…

even in darkness

tall pine
hidden
in a moonless night
owl
asking
who’s
moving neath
its outstretched wings
wings
embracing
dark skies
touching stars
unseen by men
for men
stare into the night
with fear
in sight
nothing more
so fail
to see
god’s gift
of
light

by

when the night winds blow…

Years ago while I was wander through a European museum, I came across a poem that been jointly written by several artists.  It was quite fascinating to think about the possibility of writing a poem with another author and trying to conceive how that might work.  Well at the suggestion of River Urke, we have down just that…wrote a poem together over the  course of a week. She would write several lines and then I would write several lines…using each others lines as a prompt  for the next few lines.  This is our first attempt and I must admit it was fun and a very worthwhile experience for me.

by

from my window…

from my window
i see a world
you do not see
i see madmen
in the street
selling candy-coated nightmares
on corporate auction blocks
for the mere price of your soul
and hear the sounds
streaming from city streets
that go unheard
when children cry
in the night
with parental fright
praying for morning’s light
to embrace the sight
of an unlocked door
into a world most fear
you did not hear
the shallow breaths of fear
throughout the night
reverberating
like waves of tears
an unwanted
endowment
nor did you feel
the touch of love
that a poet knows
sometimes in dreams
sometimes savored
on passion’s bed
in a candle lit room
a love
you
have always
sought
and
have not
found

 

My friend Toni Cross has presented another challenge photograph for me, but his one is very special since it is a photograph of her…how does one poet begin to capture even a fragment of another poet’s spirit within the lines of a poem?  Not sure that I have an answer…but here is my attempt to convey a some small portion of the spirit that I have seen in her writing.  I hope that she will approve of what I have attempted.

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shallow grave…

time is short
i must rush
to prepare
this spot
before day’s light
strikes this earth
exposing to all
crimes committed
lies told
deeds done
in love’s name
none shall believe
the good
nor recant
their lies
pressed into flesh
their whims
painful memories
what was
or
might have been
slight-of-hand illusions
now
only the time
the time
to prepare
my grave

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who shall stare last…

a dark sweaty form
staring into the desert sun
from behind an oasis blind
stars and stripes
on his shoulder
symbol of freedom
waiting
fearing
killing
       burst of light
penetrating metal
       third of an ounces 
       less than 2.3 seconds
and
       another symbol of freedom
is stared at
by the desert
in life’s
only
true
freedom

by

tree house…

the leaves
like some broken patchwork
permitted light
to touch his face
forming shadows
of fine black lace
which caused the sun to wink at him
through these portholes
he saw the sky
the endless sea
of dreams untold
where clouds
were knights
and dragons bold
where he a boy could fly each day
but then
all too very soon
the night had cast
it’s spell on time
and from his tree
he had to climb
downward
towards his fate with men
unable is he
to climb that tree
which led to dreams
that are untold
for now it’s limbs
refuse to hold
the boyish man
who tries to climb
now another
will climb his tree
permitting light
to touch his face
and from the sky
a dream embrace
before the night
can cast it’s spell