Posts Tagged ‘Sky’

Wind in my Eyes

Posted: February 8, 1993 in Poetry
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I
where can I run to?
I am hiding from myself again.
I can’t turn around without feeling
what I’ve done and where I’ve been.

chorus
I’m falling away and I fall through your sky
I see the ground coming up and I forgot how to fly.
you taught me before and I never knew why
but now I’m falling and falling with the wind in my eyes.

II
I wander around in a daze
feeling strange about myself
I’m trying to keep my stomach level.
I’m trying to think of something else.

(chorus)

III
who knows where I’m going
maybe I’m just a crazy guy
but it feels more like being in love
than going out of my mind.

[unsung Pus and Zero Boy ditty]

Struck Dumb

Posted: January 28, 1993 in Poetry
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sometimes things will strike me, strike me,
strike me solid with a beautiful thought.
I thought that all these things were really real
but now I’ve blinked and they’re not.

that’s just my lack of faith, of faith,
of faith in what I truly believe.
I believe in the movement of drums in this music
like the water-flow through a sieve.

dreams came and went with the ocean, the ocean,
the ocean of sparkling blue and screaming sea.
the sea so flat so far and so much a sky of its own;
I stood on the shore and watched it be.

I don’t understand when you say that magic, magic,
magic’s gone and it’s left me behind,
far behind and lonely for its pretty paintbrush touch
while we argue what’s in each other’s mind.

Untitled Poem #145

Posted: January 26, 1993 in Poetry
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you left me with a scarf
which smelled like your summer rain;
you had worn it in your hair
and I had closed my eyes.

I touched it to my face
and imagined how your breath
would come so close to me
and how I’d hear your heart beating.

you left your scarf behind
a treasure for me to discover
and hold up to the sky
and wear like a queen’s favor.

the scarf is by my bedside
where I can faintly smell your scent.
I will go to sleep tonight
clutching this in my hand.

you, angel, have left your mark
to remind me of my dreams
and how you came to me
as the smell of earth and wind.

Untitled Poem #143

Posted: January 21, 1993 in Poetry
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sometimes it all comes full circle:
a beautiful sky that you can’t see the end of
in any direction; even the ocean
mirrors me in its watery face.

I believe in it all now, the magic
of the things nobody sees,
of the things children tell us;
the wind remembering who I am.

A Short, Balding Dwarvish Bard

Posted: December 12, 1992 in Poetry
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It was a time of Dragon’s fire;
Twas then the souls of Kings were born
From darkness, fear of Demon’s ire
There rose a hope for those forlorn.
The simple men whose lives were led
With doors barred shut and fires high:
Those women who did fear to tread
After the dark had seized the sky:
These common folk, no sorc’rous king
Did bring the Magic to the World,
But not in Swords or Magic Rings,
But in the form of boys and girls,
Who, taught the strength of father’s might,
And told the lore of mother’s art,
Grew tall and strong against the night,
Grew wise and bold and good of heart.
This plaque which no one sees the same,
Is said to be a craft of Elves
To whom the tricks of Magic came
With ease; it is one of their spells.
Yet others call it Dwarvish make,
Their skill with metal’s not unknown,
But who had such the time to take
And sink this plaque in fireplace stone?
It took not Dwarf or Elf to cheer
The Hearth, the heart of every room,
It is the men and women here
Who saved us all from Demon’s doom.

He Stood Like a Tree

Posted: December 6, 1992 in Poetry
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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.

Eagle Feathers

Posted: November 27, 1992 in Poetry
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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!

After “The Origin of Nunivak Island”, a Nunivak Eskimo Myth

Posted: November 26, 1992 in Poetry
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I
my knife is bone.
I break in half
my knife of bone.
each half I place
into my mouth;
they’re just like fangs
with which I have
become a wolf.

II
to a weeping spirit woman
saddened by the sky,
I make you cut your hand
and then you break your knife.

III
mother wolf.

A Dream of a Ship

Posted: November 9, 1992 in Poetry
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I sag into my bonds,
bound to this wooden chair
with water from my eyes
six inches deep on the floor.
I feel all alone on a ship
gently rocking, back and forth,
water rolling, sighing
from bulkhead to bulkhead.
my head is down
and my hair is in my face but
if I was to look up,
my pupils would birth stars;
they would burn their way to the sky.
my hands are tied with
my own intestines, wetly coiled;
every movement
wrenches my stomach
in dizzy circles, hollow
like an airplane ride.
the chair holds me up,
gives me something to be tied to,
roots me to the deck; an anchor.
my mind hurts from
holding these stars,
squeezing my eyes shut and bearing
the sting of gas
leaking through my eyelids.
sails snap in my ears;
I grow a mast for a spine,
grasping handfuls of air
through canvas fingers.
I grow old and feel my hull
rotting as it surges
through these black waters.
I grow very tired from dreaming
of the sound of surf
on rocks, a shore.
tired from creating all this magic
for no one to see.
below, I flash open my eyes
and stand forth from the chair,
wet bracelets hanging
from my pale chafed wrists,
and I climb slowly to the salt air
of the deck of my ship.
I balance on the railings,
ignoring the spray of rain and sea,
and the call of oblivion
in the depths of the ocean,
my mother. finding strength
after strength after strength and
whittling them into kindling,
like so much driftwood.
teetering on the edge of falling
from the railing into myself
forever, I like being here:
I am myself — I have nothing but me
and my starry eyes and
my wonderful rotting ship,
intestines around my hands
and an emptiness in my stomach.
there are no more tears to cry
in the hold of the ship
for the toys I have lost
when I was younger,
refusing to grow up,
to grow old.
nothing can destroy
my beliefs; without them,
I go. I would let all the stars
that I have created
stream to the skies,
shrieking for me,
for what will become of me,
a bag of bones, a sack of skin.
I remember my stars;
they will remember me,
whispering my name
through the nighttime.

My Mother in the Ocean

Posted: November 5, 1992 in Poetry
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it is something, standing by the sea,
feeling my heart and my blood
fashioned rudely out of ocean-salt
and the milk of beach-foam.
I feel the pull of the moon
on the tide standing here,
examining the sky
in the sheen of the wet sand,
in the surface of the water.
I smell the wet sexuality
of my ever moving mother;
a lover of immense strength;
hypnotic, the woman with depths
for her eyes, skin wet and fluid,
salty hips and buttocks and breasts,
cheeks and lips and thighs
in the flexing of waves and
in the rolling of the water, the foam.

Depeche Mode Imitation

Posted: July 20, 1992 in Poetry
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I saw a star in the sky,
Watching, a flickering eye.
I felt your breath in the storm.
I shiver and try to keep warm.

I touched the moon in the flood
Of words like the coursing of blood.
In the rose warmth of your gaze,
I could have watched you for days.

An eagle has flown from the land
And just you and I understand
The shadows that caressed my face,
The darkness of our empty space.

In Sherwood Forest, Santa Cruz Island

Posted: June 24, 1992 in Poetry
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I half-awoke, standing in a forest
bark peeling in long curling strips
from the shivering trees, mist
hanging like moss in the higher branches
leaves layered thick under the soles
of my feet, and I just listened
to the dripping of water
falling like bullets from the sky.

Untitled Poem #-19

Posted: May 20, 1992 in Poetry
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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.

Taking a Look Around

Posted: January 22, 1992 in Poetry
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when the thunder stopped rolling
around the sky like a marble
in a fishbowl I stuck my head
out of the closet to take a look around.
my room was fine; I was scared
that the rain might have come in
stamping his muddy feet on my bedsheets
and stealing all my comic books.

Untitled Poem #-15

Posted: January 10, 1992 in Poetry
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day comes near and bleeds on me.
all the trees, all the frogs
leave in little ships
labeled by the experts.
the flowers tremble but
still no wind on this punctured shore,
wheeling through someone else’s sky.

Antelope

Posted: November 19, 1991 in Poetry
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I
I beat a trash can like a drum
in the alley behind your house
at night when the stray cats gather
on the fence around my feet.
we are all going
to fly to the dark side of the moon.

II
I see the big sack of your skin,
hung up as if in a slaughterhouse
and God stuffs in your muscles,
your organs, your soul;
sews you up and throws you to earth
to land like a leaping antelope.

III
I curse the dawn licking the city skyline
clean of the octopus darkness.
I hold my rings up to the last star
and plunge back into the timelessness
of the dirty brick alleyways.

Without Me

Posted: August 11, 1991 in Poetry
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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.

Imitations of Izumi no Shikibu

Posted: May 1, 1991 in Poetry
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Shikibu Imitation One (serious Buddha remix)

the mountains at the edge
of the moon shine wetly.
they have the viscosity
of freshly spilled blood.
the mountains have been torn and
thrown down from the sky.
they sit still, meditating,
slowly settling in the mud.

Shikibu Imitation Two (silly dance version)

I am a mountain
showered by the magic
of the gaze from a beetling moon.
squat and froggy I am.
the dark paths of my tongues;
they all lead to my gullet.
ha! quit watching me you stupid poet.
so I can get up and stretch.

Shikibu Imitation Three (acid ecstatic vocal)

death lurks as looming mountains
hurling the moon into the sky.
the ghastly light stings so I
reach out and draw the curtains.

A John Wilson Mutation Poem

Posted: April 3, 1991 in Poetry
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A big stone stood, still,
tall, the shadows fell along
quietly crawling,
rolling sunshine through the sky;
up, I looked, and winking,
understood.

Untitled Poem #101

Posted: January 10, 1991 in Poetry
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I crawled and crawled and crawled through this
Dark mountain of wet bloody clay clawing by chunks
Of big puppy chow kibble breaking my nails
From the dirt wedging under them inflamed and
Painful falling clumsily at the side of the precipice
Barking lacerations down the cliffside thousands
Of feet to the tree leaf ocean below where I
Crashed through the pretty green carpet to
Pachinko my way limb to limb from limb
Down to land crawling my way under hot wet
Underbrush wiping my faces with their
Leathery-thorny branches twigs under my
Eyelids parched streatching burned by the
Twinkie-colored sand under the trees
Broiled by a starry yellow sun in a blue sky
Chopped up by the stringy branches of the jungle
Dissected sunlight lay strewn on the ground
Pulsing, heating the loam and roots to consciousness
As I crawled and crawled and crawled to be with you.

Seven Dolphins

Posted: January 5, 1991 in Poetry
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I watch the sweep of the tide
rolling in, smoothing thick paint
with a tender hand.
the breeze plays with my hair
as a mother absentmindedly tousles a child’s’.
the call of the ocean is overwhelmingly bright,
shining with promises
of bubbles and filtered sunlight.
sparkling as a wedding train,
the sun leaves a warm trail
upon the surface of the immense sea
and across the skin of my eyelids.
the mighty majestic tolling
of the winter tide,
salt hanging mistily in the sky
as far as I can see.
I am content
beyond the scope of my senses;
my imagination is happy.

Untitled Poem #100

Posted: December 28, 1990 in Poetry
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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.

Hunters in the Snow

Posted: October 15, 1987 in Poetry
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The ice skaters turn and glide slowly
On the frozen ice
Oblivious
To the hunters, returning along the wintery road
Dejected and downcast
but the skaters go on skating
In their own little circles
In their own little figures
Some following and some leading
Under the grey, expecting sky.
Pausing at the outskirts of town
And looking at the scores of windswept roofs,
The lines of the gables braced against their burden
Of snow, falling sporadically,
Covering and blanketing.
Looking to the deceptively happy skaters
And those in the carriage or out on a walk
The happy cries of young playing tag on the ice
The hunter only notices; he can see the town differently, too
Huddled at the base of the hoary mountains
Rearing their stony snow-covered peaks skyward
Looming grimly, as the merciless wind blows about their feet.
Ravens sit mockingly in naked black trees
Rent of their covering leaves and stark against the snow
Or they wheel overhead, crying out harsh notes to the bleak crags.
Windows shut tight against the frost which daintily graces them.
The dirty, downtrod snow by the side of the road
Chilly air, in which his breath shows so well
And he scrunches a little deeper into his threadbare coat
And trudges after his miserably gaunt dogs
After his tired companions
Returning to a worn town
Bringing back only fruitless memories
Leaving behind only hopeless footprints.

Untitled Poem #11

Posted: June 24, 1987 in Poetry
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My life is with what everybody has toyed
Shuddering, quaking, my will is destroyed.
I fall to my knees with a heart-rending cry
That echoes around in an empty blue sky.
Now the tears come, they come like a flood
But it’s not saline moisture, it’s dark crimson blood
Coursing down my cheeks, staining the fair earth
While my life is waning, they giggle in mirth.
Pounding in my ears, pumping in my chest
Why is it that I’m cursed, never blessed?
I hurt so bad, I writhe in pain
Consciousness is so hard to maintain.
Nothing cools me or quenches my thirst.
The throbbing in my brain keeps getting worse
As I see my life spill out before me
The sand turns black with my misery
There’s nothing I can do, nothing I can say
To make the world shut up and go away.
Sorrow overwhelms me, with blood I cry
My last remaining wish is that I wish I could die.

Window

Posted: March 16, 1987 in Poetry
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How does it feel to be so transparent
An object made to be looked through
Unseen and
Unnoticed.
The only physical evidence that it is there is
The small pieces of
Fly and dirt and scum
And water spots
That wouldn’t have happened if it
Had Cascade sheeting action
But no one cares.

Sometimes it gets cleaned!
But only to make it more transparent
And ignoreable
And featureless
And it takes away its personality,
What little it had.

Does a window silently scream when it’s broken>
Maybe that’s what the crash is for.
How would it feel to have a hole through one’s middle?

But there are always those few, special, lucky windows;
They look out over a peaceful countryside
Or sparkling, sunny waters
Or cloudlessly blue skies.
Not streets full of pollution, misery, greed
Poverty, homelessness, helpless,
Prejudice, suffering, chaotic, infernal,
Religious, lunatic, morbidness, rape,
And other acts of intolerable crime.
They are very thin partitions…

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