Archive for November, 1990


Posted: November 21, 1990 in Poetry
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I thought in my chrysalis cocoon
that this caterpillar
was going to change to a
but with the soggy skin I left behind
were a lot of the things I had fought to find,
though now it looks like a cartoon.
certain people trap me behind their eyes
where I have to stand and stare at my own disguise:
fishing line
and plaster
and paper-mache.
who am I anyway?
I fought hard with myself
to earn some confidence in the cellar.
I invented assistance to help me dwell there.
never hurting anyone (rarely)
never believing myself (barely)
contemplating a change of scenery
and not just by macking local greenery.
I strung myself up in a silk hammock,
got stuck, read a book, talked
to myself more than normal for me
and wound up falling out of the tree,
a butterfly that for got how to…

Push to Start Dryer

Posted: November 20, 1990 in Poetry
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when the rain stops
I may go puddle-jumping
to clean my ashen soul
of dolphin shit
and warm mulch
from my imaginary treks
through the forest.

Untitled Poem #99

Posted: November 20, 1990 in Poetry
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shadows have much to speak of;
a depth of water holds many mysteries.
trees hold secrets that men have never dreamt of;
a stone whispers to pass the time.

Untitled Poem #98

Posted: November 20, 1990 in Poetry
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the mind works
like the spider spins;
a gossamer hammock
for unwary prey.

No-one’s Watching

Posted: November 20, 1990 in Poetry
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the universe is more fragile than you think.
let your billiard ball physics take note of it.
Things just outside paper thin partitions;
madness overwhelms the left-side brain
when the Right is given free reign.
don’t try to explain away the phenomenon —
your senses will rarely betray you:
listen, smell, touch, believe.
patterns are infinite, on and on,
beyond those boundaries we teach;
deafness we teach blindness we
handicap those who are gifted.
beware that which is just sleeping
the sleep of the age-old which may
be mistaken for death, the calling
of nothing. even awake
we sleep, dormant and helpless.
in dreams we pass away for a time
to roam the realms of memory;
dark forests of fears and toadstools,
a thousand and one nights I have
lain awake counting spiders’ webs,
drinking water that glazes frozen pools.
the pulse that lies beneath
the rough-edged bark of a weathered tree
to the precarious balance of an acorn wreath.
never are you quite alone enough
to say that no-one’s watching.

Stick Man and Rock Man

Posted: November 17, 1990 in Poetry
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I remember stealing through the woods
admiring the trees all the while
catching a magic glimpse of you
dancing alone with a smile.

walking along a seaweeded beach,
I play in the sand with you.
I build you castles for your delight
then walk home with sand in my shoes.

Sand and Sea

Posted: November 13, 1990 in Poetry
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I walked alone to the beach
To write poetry in the sand,
Just to have it washed away
By a wet and watery hand.

I stayed to watch the tide come in,
Salt tears ran down my face.
Not because my poem was gone
but for the beauty of the ocean’s embrace.