Posts Tagged ‘Water’

Achille’s Heel

Posted: June 9, 2008 in Poetry
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This is the slow motion
Of my Achille’s tendon unravelling.
Dimly I am aware
of something wrong
of terrible, horrible things impending
and that this is gonna hurt.
Again.

SNAP!
Scream.
Pain and agony.
My leg!
Ambulance on the way.
Stay calm — it’s going to be alright.
You’ll get medical attention.
Sirens and first aid.
Professionals stitching me back together.
Drugs (prescribed) and an IV drip.
Crutches.
Going home.
Rehabilitation and sympathy.
More pain, wearing away like water on stone.
And one day, I’m OK again.
I’ll appreciate my mobility and the experience.

But right now
in this relationship
All I can hear is the snap
And the snake of something crucial
something vaguely central
internal
Unravelling.

Fragment 001

Posted: November 4, 2002 in Poetry
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Here in my cabin in the woods
I feel trees leaning over me
Rain coursing down their trunks,
A sad splishing of water
Pooling, making wet mud
Stirring load, packing leaves
Measuring time patiently.

Three nights I have lain awake
Storming through half-sleep dreams
And possibilities, thoughts,
Mental magical carpets,
Half real, half realized;
Doors half opened and swinging
Smooth computers peripherally
Analyzing and verifying
Believing yet incredulous
Of the panoramic impossibility.
The stark lightning of imagination
Energized and rampantly naked;
Leaping obstacles with merry, nimble feet
Barely touching – gracing – the earth.
A sweeping wave of everything
Reconditioning, revitalized
Colorization by raw power
Of a reality as credible as anything,
Dreams of genie lamps opening
Construction paper flowers blooming
Water falling, cities lit by their own fires,
Shadows mocking their creators.
Stories so rich in texture
That you live them overnight,
Morning comes when it comes
With the snap of the blind
And a sense of weariness bone deep.
Aches from riding warhorses,
Twinges from old wounds,
Bruises and abrasions that quietly throb,
That you don’t remember receiving.
Nights pass in a variety of times
Lying awake, or so I think,
Chasing reflections in mirrors,
Tuning in to the colored snow
Falling inside my eyelids.

Fire and Frogs and Falcons

Posted: June 3, 1995 in Poetry
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Oh how I wish I still had my voice
Full of fire and frogs and falcons,
Wisdom, water, and wedding songs.
Something is quenched within me now,
No time for me to find out how,
To prevent this erosion of my character.
Once upon a time I thought I’d never stop
I wrote until my hand would drop off
And the sun rose once again.
I am scared, I am frightened;
I am losing track of me
But I guess, since I have never been here
That at twenty three,
It’s called maturity.

The Pier

Posted: April 2, 1995 in Poetry
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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.

Untitled Poem #201

Posted: March 22, 1995 in Poetry
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Good to know that I can
Still move the pen about
On the paper with some semblance
Of poetry – I think it’s gone
Or going the hopeless boat
I’m rowing is taking on water
At the stern and I can’t look
Forwards because it’s a rowboat
You face to the rear
Lend me your ear
I can’t tell where I’m going!

Brooding Lies

Posted: March 22, 1995 in Poetry
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Tonight the Frogg lies brooding
Pulling his lilypad up to his chin
Trying to suppress his inverted grin
From wrinkling his forehead into furrows
Deep enough to plant the weeds
That spring from pressure seeds.
That water which is like time
Still flows through the swamp
He’s caught cat-napping without his bilge pump
Up to his ass in alligators,
I will see you later.