Posts Tagged ‘Grey’

Leaded Skies

Posted: April 14, 2003 in Poetry
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Wrench me from this zombie state
Use power tools if that will help
I want to sleep as soon as I wake
The wake next moment by doggy yelp.
This oily film suffused my eyes
And cannot be washed away today
Something matching these leaded skies
Draining hues turns all I see to grey.

Crown of Twelve Trees

Posted: November 17, 2002 in Poetry
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Returning from the western desert oasis,
I have found the autumn fading
Gone into the palest blue sky of grey vapors.
I smell far off snow on this blustering wind
Spraying the later leaves from the hardwood branches.
Twelve trees are a protective crown around my cabin;
She’s enchanted to see me back again.
Fill the heart with hot soaking embers
And sign at the projects left undone.
Spent the daylight battling the chill air
With damp wood, flannel, and moccasins,
Curled up with a thoughtful book on the couch,
And occasionally wondering
What’s going on out there with you.

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.

Hum

Posted: February 6, 1995 in Poetry
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So tired that I hear a hum
Wherever I go
Like my stereo is on “loud”
With no input.
Doth the well run dry, milord?
Doth the grey matter weaken
And start its journey through your hair?
Your crown lies crooked
Until you seize the strength to right it.
So write it polished burning bright
And chase the Tygers from your nights.

Samwise

Posted: January 18, 1995 in Poetry
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Sam has gone
to the Grey Havens.
Sixteen years of good loving life,
defining the role
of a kitten, a cat:
fat, lazy and sleek,
loving and caring
without seeming to.
My lucky black cat.

coming calling

Posted: December 13, 1994 in Poetry
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The snow has touched the mountaintops
And the leaves drift on the ground.
My breath is grey before my face
As I’m walking into town.

I left my car parked in the drive;
I wished to go on foot.
A whim the moon brought to my thoughts
When I laced my father’s boots.

When I come calling at your house
I’ll check to see that your light shows.
If it’s off, I’ll admire the frost
A moment, then I’ll go.

Sometimes I won’t see one car pass
Going either way.
The wind spins papers through the dancing trees;
They keep my footsteps gay.

The silent night and the Christmas lights,
The pine-bough’s fresh perfume;
The ribbons and wreaths and lost Autumn leaves —
They all point my way to you.

When I come calling at your house,
I’ll check to see that your light’s on.
If it is out, I’ll leave without
Telling you that I have gone.

The walk back home is always long,
But the beauty still remains.
I imagine a sleigh, two horses; some hay,
And my hands upon the reins.

The moon is calm in the darkened sky
It silvers the windowsills.
I climb into bed with you in my head;
Stuff for these poems I build.

When I come calling at your house,
I’ll check to see if you’ve lit your light,
For if it’s not, then I guess you forgot,
And I can’t come and say goodnight.

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]

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.

Dolphin Daughter

Posted: June 20, 1993 in Poetry
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A dolphin explodes from the water
because she is the daughter
of the foam that is flipped from her grey tail
flying skywards and seawards,
spraying dents into the surface of the sea.
she plunges back under the covers
of the ocean to meet the others,
dolphins which, not caught in tuna nets, are free.

Dowsing

Posted: May 13, 1993 in Poetry
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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 most damnable thing
is that I’m wistful, how it could have been;
a cliff by the ocean, powdery earth
and a fistful of the tough grass
to keep me from falling
into a grey-green sky;
an ocean with waves and tarnished sparkles
to lap at the leaden bluffs
where I first remember dreaming
of being in love with a woman.

A Dolphin and a Dinosaur

Posted: February 22, 1993 in Poetry
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Fa and Spike lie side by side
A Dolphin and a Dinosaur.
They are full of love; the same size,
And blue and grey together.

Dawn

Posted: April 7, 1987 in Poetry
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The first misty light of dawn
Caresses the edge of the world
And turns grey clouds to pearl
It wakens a peaceful fawn.

Rosy pink shafts of sun
Curve around a sleeping earth
Dancing in their endless mirth
Frolicking and having fun.

Dodging between blades of grass
Hues and colors, shades and tints
Sage, tulip, sequoia, and mint
Pine, oak, sassafras.

The deer stands on shaky legs
Lacking her mother’s natural grace
Yet having the same innocent face
Life can be filled with sweetened dregs.

The sun peeks out in its smiling way
As living creatures begin to wake
Even though another siesta they’ll take
Later on in the day.

Humor

Posted: March 16, 1987 in Poetry
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Without any humor
You’ll get a tumor
In your head
To make you dead.
Without any fun
You’ll get nothing done.
Your hair will go grey
And in bed you’ll lay.
Without any riddles
You’ll get round in your middles
From not laughing enough
Boy, that must be tough!
Without practical jokes
We’ll be boring folks.
Excitement we’ll lack;
You will live in a shack.
But without any humor
I’d make such a furor
So you’d put it all back
Intact.

Upon the dusty linoleum floor
Lies a discarded coffee stirrer.
Weak and useless with a hollow core
Its memories only a blur.

It lies in wait for something new
Stepped on is a way of life.
A bottle cap with stripes of blue
Joins it in its strife.

Upon the ground, unnoticed by us
They stay without complaining.
Surrounded by motes of dirt and dust
Dents are all they’re gaining.

Lost and lonely, sad and forlorn
A plastic tube is all
What respect it ever had is shorn
In a world where all else is tall.

A bottle cap, just useless trash
Carelessly thrown away
It still feels humility’s lash
It’s chrome is dulled to grey.

Cap and straw, sitting together
Upon an unforgiving ground.
Hoping to love each other forever
Without ever making a sound.

But wind and nature will have their way
No matter what you can try.
The hollow straw was blown away
And a kid let the bottle cap fly.

So now among the piles of refuse
Present in all the world
A bottle cap’s silent tears break loose
And a straw is broken and curled.