Here and Now

There is a place we can go:
Not high above the tops of trees’
Trembling green crowns; nor down below
Their roots where diamonds are freed.
Let’s lie in the shade of their boughs,
Here and now.
There is a time we can spend:
Not long ago, when youth was ripe,
Charging its dreams; nor at the end
When day hands over its light.
Let’s revel in moments we’ve found,
Here and now.
For beauty lives among us, in unexpected places,
If we only tune to its show:
Mulberries dangling low,
Staining our fingers, sticky and sweet;
A spray-painted love note;
A hopscotch in chalk at our feet.
There is a way we can be:
Not set apart from those we meet,
Down on their luck; nor rushing in
To rescue or fall at their feet.
Let’s shoulder together the load,
Here and now
For beauty burns among us, warming our hands and faces,
If we only steer by its glow:
Pigeons hunkered all in a row,
Shining their feathers, staking their claim;
A skyscraper tilts at the clouds;
The call of a distant train.
There is a place we can go:
Not high above the tops of trees’
Trembling green crowns; nor down below
Their roots where diamonds are freed.
Let’s lie in the shade of their boughs,
Here and now.

two specks

two specks

two specks
misplaced in time
and the moon between us
how will my words
travel to your ears?

china blue

you must think of me
as a rummage sale
in which the best pieces
have already been picked off
and what’s left
are odds and ends
worthless bric-a-brac
to the philistine crowd
but little treasures,
for the connoisseur
and you,
you have such pretty china blue eyes,
you could have them all now
for a trifle.

kisses under the sheets

and this is how spring arrives
in the dead of a winter night
with kisses under the sheets
and much commotion
between two naked bodies
heavy breaths, murmurs, and laughter…

the taste of your laughter

this morning
i woke up
in your bed
and found myself
covered by sunlight
the taste of your laughter
still fresh and sweet
in my mouth.

all night drunk again

all night drunk again
and the moon
rounding its nightly walk
among the fiery stars
stares in at my window
smiling in disbelief
“that madman never sleeps!”

my thoughts of you

no more patience
even for the best of poets
my thoughts of you
outsoar
their finest works

the honey from your lips

my thoughts of you
like drunken yellow bees
lost in a summer haze
among wild blue flowers
fly to your face
again and again
to drink the honey from your lips
and return
again and again
to fill my mouth with poems.

Night Songs

A World Awakes

When people turn in, a world awakes
on the other side of the door.
The sky unties its velvet robe,
unmasking something more:
Vines climb moonward,
trees drop sweet fruit,
a single ripple frills the spring.
Sleek fur on soft feet,
forest chorus,
a feathered hunter beats its wings.
Though they may be snug and safe,
those who sleep are left behind.
This is secret revelation
only for the open-eyed.

When people turn in, a world awakes
on the other side of the mind.
The logic locks of thought are picked,
the dream doors open wide:
Rolling sand dune,
green hat, long braid,
a daughter’s laughter fells a tree.
Cloudburst of starlings,
endless staircase,
a bottled spirit spirals free.
Though they may be snug and safe,
those who sleep are left behind.
This is special revelation
only for the open-eyed.

Circle of Light

In the glow of a single lamp
A solitary chair, burnished table
See how the mind sharpens and sparks
Honed to a point but tracing patterns free
Thoughts aflash like fish at sea

Through the sheen of a darkened pane
A distant hiss of traffic, muffled voices
See how the mind slackens and grows
Distant and strange and caught in reverie
Thoughts aswim like fish at sea

Now I am most myself
All in all, all at once
Close to dreaming
Near to trance
Silent music
Motionless dance

In the warmth of a flickering fire
A rooftop drum of rain, pen and paper
See how the mind is wrung out at last
Polished to a sheen and poised for deeper sleep
Thoughts adrift like fish at sea

Now I am most myself
All in all, all at once
Close to dreaming
Near to trance
Silent music
Motionless dance

Nightmare

I’d rather not have a warning
I’d rather the storm come fast and fleet
Tear my house off its footing and whirl it about
Put it down in a different street.

I’d sooner not have a signal
I’d sooner the waters should rise and hiss
Tear my boat from its harbour and toss it about
Take it down to the deep abyss.

I’d rather not have a symptom
I’d rather the reaper slip through my door
Tear my soul from my body and whisk it away
To weep over the flesh no more.

Origin

Night is where we hail from,
our first tissues knitted tight
only through a mystery.
Heartbeat in the walls of our cave—
the pulse, the surge, the swaying—
told us of our life, sweetly unknowing,
before change, before pain, before breath.

Night is where we hail from,
our first spirits burning bright
only through a mystery.
Handprints on the walls of our cave—
the hunt, the boat, the landing—
told us of our past, fiercely unbroken,
amid change, amid pain, amid breath.

Night is where we hail from,
our tired bodies tucked in tight
only through a mystery.
Voices, from the walls of our cave—
the tears, the prayers, the singing—
told us of our death, softly unfolding,
after change, after pain, after breath.

The Yearning Hour

I offer my hand
upturned to the thought,
fingertips trembling, palm hot.
Wound up with waiting,
I spin yarns around you,
reading the shadows, new runes.

Stumble on tripwire nerves.
Struggle in silken nets.
Skitter and sigh.

I swivel my head,
attuned to the sound:
bone marrow hoofbeats, bloodhounds.
Bound up with waiting,
I braid rope about me,
galloping heartbeat, salt sea.

Skip along highwire nerves.
Flicker of sidelong glance.
Slip alongside.

I offer my hand…

Hushabye

I built me a rocking horse
I painted a white blaze
A fine black eye
flared in the starlight
To and fro
I rocked my way to sleep

I built me a carousel
I painted a stampede
The fine black eyes
glared at the starlight
Round and round
I galloped my way to sleep

Seasonale

You men of endless summer, coddled by the sun
Weaned on honey wine and fed on easy meat
Your hands unworn by work, your brow uncreased by care
Carousing golden days and heedless of the night

Your beauty is the glowing crown of all creation
Your supple strength and nimblness in sport and play
Tireless in amusement, genius of invention
Passion running higher, hotter by the day

What could have made you gentle with the earth you trod?
Who could have taught you mercy to the weaker ones?
Raised on a bargain, cheered for piracy and waste
Pluck the fruit. Take one bite. Toss the rest

The world was not designed and measured out for taking
Betrayal won’t go unremarked or unavenged
Something calls a halt. Something overturns
Something lights a torch and signals for an end

This is the oldest song was ever sung
To make a bonfire of the human heart
To warn the dreamers in the warmest day
To heed the coming of the winter night

Let the swollen river wane and cease to flow
Let the branches shed their leaves and bend to break
Let the breezes hush their tender lullabies
And raise instead a tunnel-ling spiral-ling howl of rage

Darkness wears a suit of shining iron mail
Muffled in a cloak of velvet shadow spun
Moves on weightless feet across the revel-hall
Slips between the sleepers and their glowing hearth

Glistening ice below
Glittering stars above
Silvering snow around
Echoing silence within

No banner on the walls, no flag atop the arch
A kingdom ruled by drumbeat march and memory
The dance, the trance, the pantomime, the ritual
Down among the spirits, down among the shades

While teasing shadows flicker on the cavern wall—
Do you remember green, do you recall the rain?—
The forest mends its ways against your dragging feet
Oceans sweep the shore, refresh their salty deep

This is the oldest story ever told
To make a promise to the human heart
To cheer the sleepers in the frozen night
To hark the coming of the tender spring

Hush, child, listen for the quiet sign
A stirring underground too fine for adult ears
A hundred thousand seeds will heed the swelling call
Quicken sap, spur the root, bud the leaf

As with the waving of a mother’s magic wand
Born anew in beauty, nature pirouettes
Wobbling on young legs, enchanted to meet you

Froth of blossom overhead
Spangled in pink and white
Delicate, fragrant, sweet
Festival of birdsong

However does it happen, something sprung from nothing?
What peculiar grace have we deserved to win?
Yearly miracle beyond all reach of reason
That such a restoration should occur again

Then with the beat of leaping blood within your veins
Unfurl your eager soul and lift it to the sky
Raise your voice to welcome back the greening season
Reach out your limbs and drink of life again

A note on the text:

These verses, composed in alexandrine (hexameter), are inspired by the Greek myth of the harvest-goddess Demeter mourning the loss of her daughter. The maiden, Persephone, was abducted to the underworld and forced to marry Hades, the king of that realm. Demeter’s grief—and her anger, when she discovers that Zeus brokered the deal—casts the world into eternal winter until Zeus repents and convinces Hades to return Persephone to her mother for six months of every year.