Posts Tagged ‘Bear’

Lights Out

Posted: April 9, 2003 in Poetry
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Lights out – time to go to sleep
That delicious feeling of getting horizontal
On a marshmallow futon,
Under familiar blankets,
Next to worn dinosaurs and bears;
Room to sprawl and do battle
In the night realm of dreams.

Side Trip of Hyperspace

Posted: January 7, 2002 in Poetry
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I am small again:
Smell of closets, scuttle of spider;
Withdrawing as the fat withers from my mind.
Rediscovering someone vaguely familiar
Only from the corners of my eyes
In old photographs
Or in passionately scribbled lines.

In this transition,
Is it supposed to endure
Or is it supposed to break?
Phoenix, do you hurt when you burn to ash
Or when you rise to the sun?
Questions that reflect
My bewildered state of mind
What side trip of hyperspace
Oh what fortunate dilemma of uncomfort.

Forced to remember, to recall
Those unanswered playthings
With the back mirror-pooled eyes
Of teddy bears and demanding kittens;
Of imagined characters that were once so real
That I was them,
And more than that, happy to be.

St. Michael and I

Posted: December 8, 1994 in Poetry
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Scales and a sword and a pair of wings
Is not what I have —
I look at St. Michael,
My namesake Angel,
And I want to hug a bear in fear
Of being capable of such judgement:
Fair and exacting deeds.
I find I’m wrong or mistaken
Many times a day:
My own carelessness
Or oversight, usually.
St. Michael has no forethough to him,
Just perfect scales,
The means to weigh is science of judgement,
And a flaming sword to enforce the verdict.
Keeping the Garden of Eden
And throwing Lucifer from the vaults of Heaven:
St. Michael — it is he “who is like God”;
my tenuous relationship:
a shared name,
a Zodiac sign,
and a fascination with blades.

Sunflowers

Posted: July 31, 1994 in Poetry
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as the heart withers
like a cut rose,
days old,
the adult in me grows stronger,
builds the muscles I wear like a bear hide,
wears the callouses on my dirty-nailed hands.

so stands the brown and broken-necked sunflowers,
seeds pecked out like eyes
by the crows of these grey skies,
so stand I, roots screwed in place,
back bent like a bow,
my head hurting from the effort to look up.

Another Poem that is Untitled

Posted: January 24, 1993 in Poetry
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I know that something’s changed,
my bear’s stomach smells like you again
but I’ll yell to myself.

you come walking through my daydreams
as if you were some travelling Indian
who I must chase off my land.

my hair’s getting long and in my face;
both yours and mine, they’re red and brown
like all of this waterstained earth I see.

over this I fly, sortof falling from the sky
all around you, a shattered pane of glass
melting to dew on the tips of the new grass.

I go with no control like a paper in the winds,
scudding, a cloud, a castle;
help me find my center in all the blue.

I am the bear at the back of my closet,
warm and furry.
but nobody knows it.

I am the star cut in the flesh on the back of my hand.

you, however, are a fig-ment
of my imagination, subject to my rules.
and you are whatever I choose to make of you.

you are a grasshopper, or a shiny penny,
or a bunch of balloons third graders let go
with notes attatched to the ribbons.
you are roadkill, or a lonely sock in the trash.

I am the wildest man with this imagination;
the most dangerous with this pen.
I am, most of all, the bear at the back of the closet
whose winking eye has been mistaken for a star
that you use as a night-light.

Turtle Bear

Posted: September 5, 1992 in Poetry
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A bear stood and listened
to the two people.
then, he shook his loose hide
with a flapping noise,
like the wind through hanging laundry,
and turned and walked back into the forest,
having solved their problem.

Geoff, Laura, Joe, Brian and I
went to the river to play outdoors
and to sing, sing ho for this, the life of a bear.
warm rocks, chilly water, and a rope
were for flinging ourselves through the air.
the sun and the wind bathed us in yellow hues.
music from the car ran its fingers
through the roadside oaks,
anticipating every curve,
and setting the bones that Brian broke.
wriggling our way over the mountains,
we witnessed a weaver of wood.

alone in a big room (echoes and ghosts)

Posted: September 25, 1990 in Poetry
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9/25/90

small. lonely.
alone in a big room.
echoes and ghosts,
stairs and flowers,
the noise of old laughter
is caught wistfully in some corners
where the experienced ear
can still hear it whisper.
bedrooms and bears,
visions and dreams.
alone in a big room.
small. lonely.