I promise that someday
I will be faithful
To my journal again.
Another sacrifice
To the fires of my economy.
The poet-sap has dried,
Hardened to a cloudy yellow
But I guess beneath
This bark I’ve grown,
The blood still boils
And the words still run
Like antelopes or
Like a persistant brook.
Posts Tagged ‘Cloud’
Remember This in Time
Posted: March 2, 1995 in PoetryTags: Antelope, Blood, Cloud, Faith, Fire, Journal, Yellow
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Untitled Poem #146
Posted: February 11, 1993 in PoetryTags: Angel, Cloud, Dawn Spinda, Girl, Grass, Rain, Sky, Tears, Untitled
I am free of ties to glide the skies
and romp and play like a colt in a field
of clouds and grass and care no less
for life is a packet of sugar I eat
while chatting with a pretty girl
on the sidewalk where an ice cream cone
has fallen and looks like crayon or chalk
the color of strawberry milkshakes, easter eggs
and we watch the rain come in and get us
wet and warm and tropical release of angel’s tears.
[for Dawn Spinda]
Imitation of Emily Dickinson
Posted: February 11, 1993 in PoetryTags: Bees, Cloud, Drink, Emily Dickenson, Gnat, Liquor, Music, Robyn Bell
I taste – a Liquor – never brewed
I toad – a Skunky – never shrewed
I paint – a Skyline – never blued
and the Gnat – not the Gent – is the Victor!
Cloud – of Music
Drink – of Smell
Golden Bees – aplenty!
The Gnat is always the Victor.
[for Robyn Bell]
Another Poem that is Untitled
Posted: January 24, 1993 in PoetryTags: Bear, Blue, Brown, Cloud, Dream, Earth, Fly, Red, Untitled, Water, Wind
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.
Back from the House of Bedlam
Posted: January 2, 1993 in PoetryTags: Bedlam, Cloud, lilypad, Mirror, Time, White
I AM STILL HERE
TO WASTE YOUR TIME,
BROADCASTING LIVE FROM THE LILYPAD,
I, APE, THE LITTLE MIRROR-COLLECTING
BOY WITH NO MOUTH,
WHO LIVES IN THE WHITE HOUSE OF BEDLAM.
I was surprised, too, that I still fight.
A room of dank dungeon walls collapsed
leaving me on a pinnacle of cloud height.
everything has fallen away from me
except (maybe) my grip on reality.
Eagle Feathers
Posted: November 27, 1992 in PoetryTags: Brother, Cloud, Dark, Eagle, Fly, Horse, Sea, Sister, Sky, Wind
from my hair flutter many eagle feathers,
tied to the dark ends of curls,
framing my face in the chill wind
which flies over flat expanses:
the seas and the prairies.
it is this wind which cloaks
my feathered brothers and sisters
while they hunt with their keen eyes.
in these skies, dusted with clouds,
runs the horse of my spirit
and my name, glancing from
one end of the world to the other.
these eagle feathers tug at my hair
in the wind to tell me: fly! fly!
On the pinnacles of cloudless happiness,
I must reach down to pull my friends up.
In the depths of darkest sorrow,
I must push to keep friends above me.
If I have all my wealth in one glass,
Then they are the mead in my cup.
And when I have no strength for the morrow,
It is these riches that carry and love me.
Thee Memorable Ocean of Dream-Boy
Posted: July 20, 1992 in PoetryTags: Blood, Boy, Candles, Cloud, Cry, Drums, Earth, Lightning, Mirror, Sound, Steve, Tears, Trees, Wind
steve said C-R-Y
[in hidden eyes]
thee, tears may arrive.
striped little boy I envy your dress
AND your innocence.
(shrieking) PAINTING,
blowing multicolored bubbles
through your paintbrush…
I Re-Collect
we begged lightning with fish from the solstice
[once upon a time]
when batteries ceased to function
drums only drums and howling,
croaking, baying;
Fucking with the night in
flickering candles, canvas cloudwork
[fists full of earth]
mystic corrections of our skin, in chalk, in earth
blood leaking from my ears
as we listened to the sacred sound of the wind’s whip
[lashing the backs off the trees]
you and I and fish, standing on a mirror, looking through the grass
into the heavens of lightning.
I Take Time to Tell You
Posted: June 24, 1992 in PoetryTags: Cloud, Crickets, Moon, Porch, Road, Smoke, Time, Trees
I saw the moon come
From behind a cloudbank.
It took time to see this;
I take time to tell you.
My pipe glows cherry-red
Deep inside; smoke drifts apart.
I watch it fall away,
Clasping this time to me.
Faces twist in the veils of smoke
From the cauldron of my pipe
Melting to the orchestration
Of so many crickets singing
Farther and farther away.
I tell you of a porch somewhere
And a row of old trees
Stretching up down the road.
I’m no poet; I’m not quite sure
Of what to say.
Untitled Poem #-19
Posted: May 20, 1992 in PoetryTags: Cloud, Clouds, Dreams, Light, Ocean, Sand, Sea, Sky, Spider, Stars, Time, Untitled, World
once upon a time I was a youth,
no corpse dream thing, tiny and small,
but I was as big as the world,
bright and unbuttoned like metal.
so anyways,
I bend and I breathe.
the sieve of my skin leaks the sand
of my cloud life;
strange clouds, odd clouds
for people far away on cliff tops
to comment on and guess shapes in,
to play drums into rhythms for.
clouds of youth dreams;
light pouring through in great angled falls
touches the ocean far below me.
in awe, I flood across the sky.
a spider slowly connects the dots of stars
to build constellations of ships
for wistful sailors of empty seas.
Derivation of Kawabata II
Posted: December 2, 1991 in PoetryTags: Cloud, Flowers, Mirror, Rain, Wood
flowers stand
in a pot for tea
under a scroll:
the rain is quiet
filling pools;
mirrors for the
clouds’ coiffures.
in an alcove
of dark wood.
poetry comes as the shadow of a cloud
across my paper, staining the white,
and I only remember how much I was
in love with you for that moment.
recently was Winter, now is Spring.
what clouds covered, now is blue.
quiet bird once were, now singing birds are,
for what is dead by December is green by May.
I’m waiting to hear the rain
On the roof, fallen from the stars
Listening for the moonlight sound
Of the ink of the mollusc night
Seeping down through the clouds
To wake me in my sleep.
Only as I’m falling to sleep
Can I imagine the plummeting rain
Supportive of the windswept clouds
Obscuring the world of hoary stars
And in the corners of the night
I cannot hear a sound.
I steal away without a sound
To the land I wander in my sleep,
Dead under the silent night,
Tucked in for tomorrow by the gentle rain,
Guarded by those winking stars
Beneath the halo of the clouds.
Floating buoyed through the clouds
Amidst the growl of thunder’s sound,
I gaze upon the veil of distant stars
Through eyes opened wide in magic sleep.
The tears of wonder fall as rain
To the gods of that wintry night.
In the vaulted halls of timeless night
I wander blindfolded by the clouds
Through my mind the pictures rain
Exploding violent in muted sound,
Rocking my ancient soul to sleep
With dreams of newborn stars.
I pray to those alien stars;
I close my eyes each coming night.
The unpredictable tide of sleep
Rolls thick as stormy ocean clouds.
I was illuminated by the awesome sound,
And woke to the wistful rain.
The stars are hidden behind the clouds.
The night has fallen with accustomed sound.
I sleep, waiting for the rain.
[sestina]
sand leaves funny footprints
when the tide washes where I walked.
clouds are always changing
above me when I’m not looking.
rocks stop their whispering
even when I sneak up quietly.
candles watch me sadly, alone
when I’m waiting for something to happen.
Untitled Poem #100
Posted: December 28, 1990 in PoetryTags: Cloud, Drum, Eye, Night, Rain, Sky, Tree, Untitled
I heard the liquid drums pounding
and the silver sky tore apart.
the moonbeams fell sharp and screaming
bending their rainfall to my face.
I smelled the coming heat
and the clouds were writhing soundless.
the wind chimes swung emptily,
wailing their grief into the night.
I saw the many trees dancing
and the glow from my eyes went silent.
the earth grew faint beneath my feet,
melting my flesh off in runnels.
I knew the serpents were stirring
and my old scars split with delight.
the hum of the land was loud on my skin
when walking with the Lords of the Wind.
10/14/90
sneezes are great:
-big spittle cloud
-loss of snot blockages
-relief of building pressure
-removal of inability to breathe
-explosive tension release
-loud
-funny
-good for your soul.
Nature’s Path
Posted: June 1, 1985 in PoetryTags: Cloud, Fire, Force, Grass, Lightning, Nature, Night, Storm, Tree, Wind
Nature’s Path
Of conflicting forces;
From first to last,
Eternal voices.
A group of trees,
The wind is coming.
A gentle breeze,
Inaudible longing.
The clouds are rising
Upon the wind,
Scarcely realizing
The danger within.
Within the glade
The wind is stirring.
The grassy blade,
Secrets burying.
Pressure building;
Night grows near.
Lightning flashes
Its threatening leer.
A fiery streak
From the sky;
A burning tree
Is the reply.
The storm is passing;
The damage is seen.
Burnt trunk lasting,
Disrupting the scene.
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