Sunday, June 27, 2010
The grasses move like feathers
in the breezes through the canyon
and the fog in soft of cover
brings the ocean’s fragrant sand in
And the sleepy peace of dawning
with only sheets for cover
softly feather heads on pillows
touch an eyelash still a dreaming
And the buds of petals sing now
with a buzz of frantic movement
giving purpose to the beauty
that has filled the air with fragrance
And I want to dance on green grass
in a dress of yellow daisies
lay me down within the arbor
listening as the fruit is ripened
But I feel the clock is ticking
in the shadows past the hedges
caught within the dirt and drainage
of the folding fallen wildflowers
So I hold on to the questions
and I wait for the horizon
to reply with mauve of sunset
warm with dark and heavy breathing
And I know the perfect feeling
is in holding on one minute
to a look that’s filled with loving
falling into drape of silken
For the hum in dark of midnight
under canopy of stardom
singing soft the mad of midday
with a sigh within a love song
is the music from the first of coming home
Monday, June 21, 2010
Green is almost gone now;
tussling with this long day
that creases shadows of sunflowers,
still tossing their brown and yellow heads.
The meadow has dried,
mowed under and stomped clear
are the delightful dandelions.
They wait beneath the heartbeat
of the whispering wind
to become again.
How glory-full it feels
to let the open window stay all night,
letting in the sounds of summer children
until it’s almost dark with laughter
and slammed doors.
What time is night,
when the moon is so still and awkward,
the porch light reaching into the dark
with fingers like ghosts wanting company,
electric blue and eating sleep?
Today the day will stay
long into the fingers of twilight purple,
making amethysts in the river
before leaving once more,
drowning the bottoms of things
until the current rips hours
and time stands still.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Even though he was tightening lug nuts
his thoughts leaned against a tree
in mountains far away,
sitting so still that life
went about daily tasks.
A cottontail dislodged rotting leaves
stopped and sniffed,
scratched a soft, pink ear
and disappeared behind a log.
Purple Lupine caught the air
to dance in a spot of sun.
California poppies littered the slope
beside the trail.
The sound of water was everywhere.
Three quail bobbing their heads
in unison, their pointed feather hats erect,
marched with purpose towards the sound.
In the garage the air was stiff
with the smells of gasoline and oil
when a shadow fell across his vision
and his heart moved from the peace place
and skipped and jumped him a warning.
Slouched in front of him
was a man with mean eyes.
The man’s face contorted
then dislodged a sound,
belched an acid laugh into the garage.
It echoed unpleasantly
across the meadow
where the mule deer, squirrel
and black bear roamed
and a dark and menacing cloud
formed over the sun dappled place
of poppies and lupine.
When he saw the intent that waited
in those eyes, his hands became fists
and he watched as the lug nuts
rolled across the floor and settled.
a question came up from inside the cave
where the sleeping bear had wintered
and the question was hungry for answers.
He searched the verdant grass
and the trail that looped
from years of thirst,
towards the river that flowed
in moving crystal light.
He followed it across the years
into the man made lap of knowledge
that brought pipe and hoses
and he knew the answer.
The answer was a civilized thing
and it dripped now into his anger,
where violence waited to lunge
with the full black weight of its hunger,
fed by his father’s words,
echoed through generations
of fathers and sons,
"Be a man."
He heard his father’s voice
softening with the opening of his hands
and his father’s name for courage
gave up and settled into whispers,
as the mean eyes became confused,
tension slumped and defused
and a sigh emptied into the garage,
lingered a moment