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Thursday, December 23rd, 2004
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oh! the onion
you are a many dressed thing
numbering petticoats
in a wardrobe and
sleeping bulbs in spring
a many layered luxury,
you extravagant sphere!
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Comments: Read 1 or Add Your Own.
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we are born
spinning threads,
creating, destroying,
starting, stopping,
all along.
and so we
must find the needle --
somewhere --
and begin sewing together
the pieces of who we are.
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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i came here, if
only, to tell you,
hand-to-mouth
i wouldn't loan you a shekel
not even one.
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a bookshelf is where i was born,
a meager collection
of words given form
my mother, a fine volume steadily bound
and heady from age
the ink-world is where,
unabashedly,
i am loved and loving.
a pilgrim in a foreign vessel
whose fingers have turned
hundreds of lives not her own
revisiting some
telling them --
you have changed me
as i have changed you.
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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the moon blows bubbles
heaven erupts, spews forth a sunset
the desert spews forth the residue of virgin abandonment
my love tastes like horrible ecstasy
the morning breaks through like dark latitudes
angels & sailors!
the morning lives in horrible knowlege,
while the night aches for red blood
the ocean weeps with green summers
the desert lingers on in well-deserved humour
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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"i wish i had a river to skate away on."
-- joni mitchell
winter forest scene pulling apart like curtains, showing a formation of snowy geese in the sky.
newspapers folding themselves into paper cranes and flying away.
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Comments: Read 1 or Add Your Own.
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birches in winter
tall silent pillars rise through
cold soft lily flakes
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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haunting grounds
lonely tree bones hung
up to dry, then crumbling into
soft layers, veined as
inlets rise and fall, flow blue-green
verdant blades swaying
winged choirs circle
encased inside a moving monster
pistons pump, metallic clacks
i go by, an interruption
on these
obscene ruptures of tarmac and metal
jutting up, disrupting nature's grid
rolling over, it
makes me sick
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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Saturday, April 3rd, 2004
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The night falls upon us; stars take up their appointed place
Begetting their low prowess,
an odor of sanctity.
Profane silence:
this is our breaking point.
Tongues leave a shimmering trail
-- apologetic star dust --
flowing up and over lips
we drift apart,
sad constellations.
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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oh, sister! i want to cry and rejoice
as i read your words.
so richly blessed, messenger!
gazing with one eye
into the abyss of your misery and
the other beholding transcendent Mercy.
it is love, and again, love you speak.
the evil one howls, indeed
for he is losing much to this
revelation.
every uttering of your soul
directed to Jesus, intimately
sufferings of the soul, bourne with love
how ample your reparations
what number of souls redeemed!
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dress yourself in the gossamer of poverty
there is no finer thing than
rough-shod rags
and hands cracked
worked as instruments of prayer
cultivating sustenance, good for
body and soul.
feet worn, praising while falling softly
touching earth,
possessing nothing with attachment
praising all with love
unity of thanks
simple, pleasing things.
Our Lady smiles.
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