I climbed up as far as my courage
And strength would take me
One day in the life of a monkey-boy;
Those branches were spaced
With a long-armed youth in mind –
A kind encouragement
Beckoning boys to the heavens,
That grandfather pine tree still stood
As of the date of this writing,
And it still looks as tall.
Things change as I grow older –
Hey, I thought it might have grown smaller
Like my free time, but
I’ll bet the wind still waves
The top of that tree back and forth
Enough to make a mother faint.
It seemed like yards, side to side,
The crow’s nest on a stormy ship
Clinging to the sparse branches,
Inadvertently gluing myself to the trunk
With pine sap and a boy’s luck,
Feeling the tickle of the ever-curious ants
That make freeways in the channels
Of such an old tree’s bark.
I think climbing tall things
Is conquering the world to a child.
I remember my parent’s roof,
Paved with pink pumice,
Once all stones,
Then weather beaten gravel,
Looking like a picnic blanket –
Something you could almost fall into
And just sink in,
Like a cat for a headrest.
From that altitude, the clouds were nearby:
I was pretty much one with the sky.
I wondered if I believed enough
On the way down,
Could I fly?
Posts Tagged ‘Clouds’
Pine Tree
Posted: April 3, 1995 in PoetryTags: Ant, Boy, Cat, Child, Clouds, Crow, Fly, Life, Monkey, Mother, Sky, Storm, Tree, Wind
The Pier
Posted: April 2, 1995 in PoetryTags: Beach, Beast, Bed, Breast, Clouds, Fish, Pier, Seagull, Sleep, Water, White, Wind
The pier is flung out past the surf
Into the deep water
Like a sleeper’s unconscious arm
Idly hanging over the edge of the bed.
Sunlight scuba dives for the flickers
Of schools of little fish
And warms the top of the waters –
Where the seaweed loosely hangs
Like bead curtains or piles of laundry. –
Frosting on the cake of the beach.
And the seagulls! Clouds wheeling,
Settling, screeching insults at each other
In the dingy parking lot
At the foot of the pier,
Lone white-breasted panhandlers
Eyeing the people fishing from the deck
From a safe distance.
The swirl of wind-borne sand
By the land-bound pilings,
The whorls of water around its sea legs,
Troughs of wave swells
On their way to the board-straddling surfers
Flash the wealth of sea life
Clinging to the stilled beast.
I leapt off the pier once,
Disobeying one of two white-stenciled laws
That decorate the fading grey-green railings:
One: no jumping or diving;
Two: no overhead casting.
I lost all my air on impact;
Between the shock of wallop and water,
It was all I could do to swim in.
The pier teaches endurance in many ways.
Rioting Raindrops
Posted: March 12, 1995 in PoetryTags: Ants, Banshee, Books, Clouds, Demon, Fire, Grey, Hail, Lightning, Mardi Gras, Night, Ocean, Rain, Siver, Soldiers, Storm, Streets, Thunder, Weather, Wind, World
The rain came down
Like cartoon anvils,
Spending itself on the cement
In an assault on the town.
The parachute-less troops
Gathered in the low-lying spots
And took over the streets
In order to regroup.
Rioting raindrops,
Seething and churning,
Swallowing curbs and sidewalks
And the floors of a few shops.
En masse, they moved
Like a swarm of fluid ants,
Chewing up the asphault,
Around, under, and through.
They occupied the intersection
Several steps from my domicile;
A congregation of soldiers
Moshing in misdirection.
The storm drain was debris overrun
By the midnight attack,
Mouth buried in what was handy,
Gagged by the silver-headed ones.
They celebrated down the gutters,
Their comrades swept down from the hills,
Retreating, they left for the ocean
Until their cries became gutters.
Discontent and garbled threats
Of heavy grey clouds yet to come,
Of their shock troops, the hail.
Big drops, little drops; they’re all wet.
Promises of thunder, their drummer boys
Their standards of lightning
And the wind-demons who bear them;
This I hear in the storm’s noise.
I stood in the lee of my apartment
Water draining from my hat and jacket
I watched the fury of the rain banshees
With a certain amount of excitement.
I love the rain and the wind; all weather
Which drives people inside to read books.
They boil kettles and build fires –
An opportunity to be together.
But I like to be outside in the dark
Of wildness and wetness and the glory
When the streets are reclaimed by the Mardi Gras rain
And the world’s turned into an amusement park.
Untitled Poem #200
Posted: March 2, 1995 in PoetryTags: Beach, Clouds, Galaxy, Love, Pier, Van Gogh, Water
I love you even though
We fight and fuss
And make a mess
Of each other.
You forgive.
I like that.
The clouds were herded
Past the pier,
Nearer the horizon
Than the beach;
The sun water colored
As I watched:
The Van Gogh of
Our galaxy.
For Your Majesty
Posted: November 10, 1994 in PoetryTags: Add new tag, Butterfly, Clouds, Dawn, Eye, Faerie, Forest, Grass, Grey, Man, Night, Pan, Rain, Rock, Sky, Sleep, Time, Trees
I
I can imagine a perfect spot
to have a picnic with you today;
the sky is a wee bit grey
at the edges —
I caught as many clouds as I could
with my butterfly net
(I came in wet
early this morning from the rain-dew
on the unmown grass stems).
II
I’ve found a circle of trees
by the brook in the forest
where it takes a toddler’s tumble
over a jumble of rocks;
the moss grows shaggy like old men’s beards
wisping from the branches;
faerie streamers from last night’s revelry —
perhaps Pan was here just a little while ago
rearranging or arranging this spot and my walk.
III
It’s only raining a little bit now
not like how it was this morning —
you were sleeping, darling —
I was watching the whole time;
the same clouds that dampened my socks
were protectively wrapped across your eyes;
It was no surprise that I found it so easy
to slip outside to explore, to find
a real secret garden for your majesty.
[for Dawn]
Two Ten Penny Nails
Posted: July 1, 1993 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Frog, Halo, Heart, Hope, Love, Sky, Wings
I know that my heart rests while I slog
Through glaciered halls that know of no such frogs.
I tire and watch my halo and my wings;
They start to melt away like borrowed things.
The nails sunk through my heart like lovers’ frowns
Reach steely through the clouds into the ground
Below me where they drag out furrows that
Can chart my weaving course without a map.
As long as I can flutter through the days
Of filtered sunlight, jellied skies and haze,
I hope that somehow I can be rebuilt
To use these Cupid’s arrows well as stilts.
Musings in the Night Aire
Posted: June 14, 1993 in PoetryTags: Black, Cloak, Clouds, Coean, Cry, Dark, Leaves, Light, Night, Salt, Seagull, Silver, Stars, Trees, Water, Wind, World, Yellow
perching like a poet –
I found a table and a bench
tucked away on a second story walkway
of the Arts building
just for me.
a yellow magnesium light
shines down on this paper
turning letters into dancing figures
that say something important to me
so I can pretend I am a poet.
a walk in the dark
took me silent and alone
wandering eccentric between buildings
past fire escapes instead of front doors,
tracing the short cuts college students create
and watching the eucalyptus trees
move in the streetlights that hilight half of their curves,
only the undersides of their leaves.
I smell wet grass and hear the rush of water
in automated sprinkler lines.
I sight along the patterns made
by erroneous pulses of silver
meant for grass or shrub.
they tease soap from the asphault instead.
the lagoon is one big black unmoving body of ink
lthe color of the folds of my cloak;
that’s whipping around my bare legs in the salty wind
from the ocean saying “shush, shush”
to the cry of a single seagull.
it passes near me; I look up,
through misty clouds low enough to
strain through treetops,
at a couple of dim stars
Escher drew for me.
what is left of the world is really not worth living for,
but it is a job, a challenge,
and I like trying to write it all down.
I observe like my predecessors:
civilization working itself into a frenzy
over nothing, there’s no advancement –
just continuing over and over to find new ways
to convince itself that it is working,
that we’re worth it, that we’ll make it.
convincing itself that we’re right.
convincing itself that we’ve done nothing
that we can’t undo
later.
Dowsing
Posted: May 13, 1993 in PoetryTags: Blue, Clouds, Earth, Grey, Lizard, Sky, Spirit, Thunder, Wind, Woman
One man walked through a cracked, dry land
dowsing for the cairn of a woman.
his spirits circled him like many wrestlers,
fanning the wind into slight eddies,
stirring the dust raised by each cautious footstep.
one man seen alone with a forked stick
walking away from a dirt-streaked car,
a door hanging open like a promise to return
to the thin blacktop stretching to the clouds
massed like an audience in the west.
his footfalls were distant thunder provoking blue-grey lizards
to quick movements; they reminded him of her bracelets.
the parched earth rose to cling to his jeans.
black spots in the sky materialized into vultures,
cocking steely eyes past hooked beaks;
he could not meet their gaze.
he gripped his stick like a motorcycle’s handlebars
and drove through the desert searching, searching
The winds of last night
have blown the limbs from trees,
torn the leaves from branches,
and scattered them on the sidewalks
like dull confetti and still streamers.
The beauty is in the destruction;
the tree trimming of clouds breath,
shaking every blade of grass,
stripping the dew away
like pearls silently falling from a string.
Rain Song
Posted: April 18, 1993 in PoetryTags: Angel, Clouds, Eye, Fears, Heart, Lightning, Pain, Rain, Sky, Song, Space, Storm, Tears, Thunder
I
I pray for rain nowadays when I see
Those dark clouds splayed above me, threatening.
I can’t always tell what rain will fall
Or what tears you’re crying to comfort me.
When the sunset’s burning and crowded for space
In the sky with your pain so apparent,
Your heart is tearing apart with these questions,
No answers; let it all fall as rain.
chorus
Go out and bathe and dance in those streetlights,
Let the nighttime come down as ink
With the rain, all your pain, it’s your tears, all your fears
And frustrations – they’ll leave you
Soaked and alone crying out for the joy of the rain.
II
Can you see the sky and how it mirrors your eyes
And your tears as they’re streaming down your face.
Do you think I can stay here and wait?
I’ve got to get up and play, get soaked and catch cold in your rain.
(chorus)
bridge
These heavens will fall like thunder but water
On you, so alone in your misery.
Drenched to the skin look within at your shine
Be an Angel and cry and it clears you inside
Just like the rain.
III
So when this storm has passed and
All the fury of lightning’s been spent,
Your strength may still ache but you’ll dry and be fine
Then maybe you’ll learn how to pray for the rain.
He Stood Like a Tree
Posted: December 6, 1992 in PoetryTags: Birds, Cloak, Clouds, Dark, Earth, Fly, Mind, Rain, Sea, Sky, Song, Tree, Wind, Wings
he stood like a tree
on the edge of a cliff
before the sea
and raised his arms
as if wearing a cloak,
as if they were wings.
his voice flew
to the clouds in the sky
calling them to fly
for him.
the breathing of the wind
hummed in his ears,
the earth fell away;
his body lay twisted
and broken open
where his mind had left
it alone, just a tool
that didn’t work this way.
climbing stairs
of cold dry air
ascending to grasp the halos
of those clouds,
flocking with birds
and smoothing his way
with the power of his thoughts.
no need for the wings
of physical flight;
the rain couldn’t touch him,
the dark couldn’t hold him,
and the songs couldn’t
sing him away.
The Most Beautiful Man in Town
Posted: July 24, 1992 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Crucifix, Dragonfly, Frog, Lizard, Man, Mother, Tadpoles, Wine
I am the most beautiful man
on this road,
my bottle of red wine
wetting my lips
through the lizard-trod dust.
My spit places octopi
in the tiny gravel
splayed like fingers
or clouds.
Sometimes I weave back
and forth between the ruts
in the road,
carrying my bottle of red wine
before me like a crucifix,
amazed at the hundreds of lizards.
La Cascada sings to me
with the beauty of
a lost flute,
with the conversation
of it’s motherly water falling;
with its brood of half-made tadpoles.
I bless her with a mouthful
of my crimson wine,
baptizing each new frog,
each new dragonfly
wriggling in half-formed majesty.
I am the most beautiful man
on this road,
waking to wine and muscle,
surprised from the deadening
of young-adulthood.
I am the most beautiful King of Fate,
the Prince of La Cascada,
the Champion of Frogs and
the fool of red wine.
Little Things
Posted: July 12, 1992 in PoetryTags: Ape, Clouds, Color, Dreams, Frog, Love, Stars, Tears, Trees, Water
I think I shall
take refuge in
my little dreams
of apes and frogs
little dreams of
big-eyed fish,
shedding tears never
seen underwater.
little dreams of
stands of trees
who whisper together
to protect me.
little dreams of
pools of color that
geyser happily
when I come to visit.
little dreams of
stars that know me
and of clouds that wave
as they pass by.
little dreams of
talking and
being heard when
I’m all alone.
little dreams that
I dream like birds
to wall out
the other dreams.
I think I shall
dream little dreams
of precious things
that love me.
Untitled Poem #-22
Posted: July 5, 1992 in PoetryTags: Bones, Clouds, Feather, Girl, Untitled, Wind
bad girl
stole some bones
and feathers
to control
the weather;
to send the clouds
and the wind
to smell out
what her boyfriend
was doing.
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.
Falling Violin-Strings
Posted: April 26, 1992 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Dance, Music, Rain, Sun, Water
the rain-sheets of water are hung out
like grey laundry from the clouds.
she dances through them
like they’re stage curtains,
smiling to the waltz, the music,
of the hidden sunshine and thus
for the joy of the rain.
Untitled Poem #-17
Posted: March 6, 1992 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Dark, Light, Rain, Shoes, Storm, Trees, Wind
light is spilling through the clouds,
and the whippoorwill wind is getting louder;
a storm is coming.
I can see the line of rainfall
blurring the trees across the way.
the dark is rising,
and my shoes are untied.
The Sun at the Edge of the World
Posted: March 1, 1992 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Eye, Flowers, Sun, Tree, White, Window
in the photograph,
taped at the corners,
we were caught falling
into the river with smiles
and half-closed eyes;
flowers were falling
on the glossy surface
in the middle of the white album page,
shifting the reflection of the sun.
outside the open oak-framed window,
shining over the tall broad-leafed trees,
and the clouds spiraling away
falling over the edge of the world.
watching the clouds
beautiful
playing graceful in the sky’s meadows.
I lift my arms,
ask for storms to pour their fruit
on me
with no words,
fervent kisses winked like hope
thrown as confetti
stolen by a monkey wind
to go where the lost helium balloons
go.
C-R-Y
Posted: November 12, 1990 in PoetryTags: Beach, Clouds, Cry, Eye, Fish, Island, Purple, Sand, Shark
Standing on an island
C-R-Y
For the melting purple clouds in the sky
Let them go
So down burns the sun in all its glory
Palm trees weeping from the weight of their coconuts
The footprints I leave
In the sand of the beach
Remind me that I’ve been here before
Purse your lips and ignore me
My, my, the streams running pell-mell
From your eye
The shark fins circle
So many lazy fish.
Alone
Posted: June 21, 1987 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Dream, Happy, Island, Light, Love, Man, Ocean, Rock, Sea, Storm
I’m standing alone, hunched between the rocks
As the pounding surf breaks all around
Solitary, singly, lastly, only
Buffeted yet still very unfound
Surrounded by water, seething ocean.
The topmost point on this isle.
Crashing, flaring, thundering, churning.
A straggler misplaced from single file
But through the gloom and pouring torrents
A beam of light swiftly cuts
Piercing, shooting, arcing, crackling.
Into this figure it conducts
This person is lifted into the clouds
Leaving island and sea behind
Waking, blinking, staring, smiling.
I’m finally clear of mind
Into the arms of that special someone
The newborn man now goes
Happy, dreamy, sleepy, lovely.
I forget all these past woes
Even though it’s not too much
And looks like not a lot
Hanging, swinging, scrabbling, falling.
This love is all we’ve got
And even on this higher plateau
Comes bad storms we have to weather
Clinging, clutching, bearing, hunching,
Supporting, helping, surviving: together
Alone.
I can relate
To many things
Sometimes I’ve sailed
On a seagull’s wings;
Drifting, floating
Over the sea,
Skirting the clouds
So effortlessly.
I’ve once been hung
Up on the wall
As a dartboard
Down the hall.
Once I was a sticker
On the back of a car
And dust and gravel
My surface did mar.
Yet I have survived
Through a lot of emotions
And I’m yet to be drowned
By that uneasy ocean.
Sub-Conscious or Look Into My Brain
Posted: May 27, 1987 in PoetryTags: Black, Bones, Clouds, Dark, Eye, Flesh, Forest, Ghoul, Monster, Secret, Swamp, Water
Dredged up from the foul slimy pits of the unconscious
Come the compost and seedlings of these poems.
The sunless quagmires of my nether regions
Unseen, unheard of, unpure, unwanted, unknown.
Grey sludge wends its way through towering pillars
Stalagmites, remains of what could have been.
Unwholesome creatures populating the pseudo-real
Slither between murky bog and decaying fen.
Oozing questionabilities of the sanity ungrasped.
Psychedelicity is achieved in shades of black.
A changed and twisted depressed mentality.
Phrases and ideas flit, cohesion to they lack.
Through my pen does the putridescence spill forth
But most is caught in the mesh of conscious mind.
In festering forests seen in a lurid light.
What hideous secret can I find?
Dripping, oozing monsters, bereft of sight.
Unearthly being composed of gangrene.
Grotesque mockeries within the fetid swamp
Shinily glisten with a wet, mucal sheen.
Ambulatory fungi, frothing with saliva.
Sporadic slurries of viscosity.
Living monstrosities of decomposing humus.
Warped aspects of mental perspicuity.
Anerobic things with myriads of legs
Accompanied by multitudes of gelatinous eyes.
A virtual abyss is present and evident
A rift unbridged, for its size.
Slavering ghouls armed with wicked talons,
Bubbling pools of superheated mud.
Toweringly infinitesimal gaps of pure voidness.
Cascades and rains of syrupy blood.
Sticky strands of cosmic material
Form webs to clog rusty machines.
Blurry images fade in and out.
So many extraordinary ideas, yet without the means
A chasm of despair and of morbidity
Makes up the majority of my soul.
Sorrow and idiocy rest heavy burdens
Upon a subconscious as black as coal.
Upwellings from a depth of a boundless water
Birth new ideas to multiply and flourish
But sightless, flapping, contorting myconids
Swoop in to ravage and demolish.
Flinching in terror, cowering in fright
Screams and shrieks fill the alien atmosphere,
For individual thoughts see their comrades die
And spend their short lives in fear.
Writhing their way out of the primordial soup
Flopping upon sunless shores of sand,
Rooting and grunting beneath moldering canopies
Agonized ululations echo across the land.
The stench of death, of rotting corpses
Permeates my mind and lingers there.
Insubstantial casualties form endless pyres;
Smoke and dust reek to fill the air.
Paroxymal tremors shake unsteady foundations.
The erosion and decomposition grows with each quake.
Whimpering and gurgling, vicious things strike
The supports of sanity – that’s what is at stake.
Stupendous castles built of flesh and bone,
Towers of veined sinew and gristle.
Flashes of inspiration silhouette these forms
Quenched as the armaments of darkness bristle.
A sodden mist lays over my broken mind
Soundless arachnids spin their silken webs.
Glistening foam glides through hazy eddies
Over clouded water, all consciousness ebbs.
Within these sluggish, merciless swamps
Contained in this subconscious of mine
Raves a maddened, gibbering, repressed waif
“Tween wits and madness, thin partitions align.
Tempest
Posted: April 30, 1987 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Earth, Leaves, Light, Love, Rain, Rock, Storm, Thunder, Wind
Cool wind whistles through the eves
Caressing, searching, rustling leaves
Over the horizon the storm does rise
A tempest which is reflected in your eyes.
A seething mass of whirling cloud
Approaching and reinforcing doubt
Resounding claps of thunder peal
With what forces do we deal?
Frightening fury, boiling mist
Natural power clenched in a fist.
The rain lashes like the Furies’ whips
From me identity and joy it strips.
Clutching at supports through blinding rain
A blasted shell is all that remains.
Yet your love is like a beacon through the storm
I see you beckon; my respect is shorn.
Caught in the deluge, unprotected like all
It is only the sound of your name I call.
Despairing yet hoping that I can hold steady
My energy depleted, my hands are bloody.
Beaten and battered, your light I look
Calmed though the supports of this earth shook,
Subconsciously surviving, the sky astray
Storms raging the heavens, turning them grey.
After it passes, the wreckage is assessed
Only to love can my survival attest.
To you I clung while the rocks were sundered
The earth split open and the heavens plundered.
This is only a calm before the hurricane
If you hold on to me, is there courage to remain?
Let me die, let me perish below
Into the never ending abyss I shall go.
When there is a crisis and you feel forlorn
Love can rescue you from the storm.
The Great Eraser Battle of 1987
Posted: April 8, 1987 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Eraser, Knight, Nat, Peter, Shannon
Nat grasps his eraser.
Peter tests its weight.
Like the two medaeval knights
They try to emulate.
Dust a little more chalk on,
Prepare the denim jerkin.
The serious pastime of theirs
Is dueling instead of working.
All prepared, their time has come
Together, back to back.
Facing each a formidable foe
Not courage do they lack!
Take ten steps, turn and fight
The referee says to them grimly.
Will each obey these simple rules?
Shannon looks on primly.
The squirt gun fires, and they’re off
In each other, their match is met.
For anticipating one another’s move
They each spin at their first step.
Arms are ablur, insults fly
Chalk dust fills the air.
Who will the final victor be?
Does anyone really care?
For hours they fought within the cloud
Whirling fast and furious.
All the bettors standing ‘round
Were getting rather curious.
And then there was a simultaneous oof!
Two bodies hit the floor.
When all the chalk dust settled down
Nat and Peter were no more.
All that was left of the two gladiators
Surprised even Mrs, McLure:
Two large piles of chalk dust
And two cleaned out erasers.
I was there, upon that day
Of such a shocking sight,
And to this day I’ve lost my bet
“Cause we don’t know who won the fight.
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