Category: Writing

Pieces of my foot (California. Summer 2004.)

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Pieces of my foot

have been falling off for days

small pieces

–hardening themselves

curling to mimic plastic

they boycott the work I force upon them

taking their chances

that seceding from my body will

allow them a better life

they each leave a younger sister

in their place

–tender sprigs of too new life

who yelp each time they are stepped upon

My foot, you see,

is out of place in shoes.

He is used to feeling

free grass between toes

hugged by cold ground

and these boots, well,

they send the skin on my foot

hiking.

When (The Netherlands. Winter 2002.)

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When

Even the stars did not know where to stand,

flame filled the void with his partner the frost.

Waiting and teasing, they joined on the brink.

Moving to passionate swirls and then me.

I was alone with a blackness that fell,

speckled by wandering stars.  Nothing green

grew.  Not one shore, sea, nor cooling grey wave

sang the full song of a dying rich life.

I was alone in the dark, not a sound

reached my new ears and the noise of that drove

me to creation.  The sun and the moon,

made from my eyes, from my toes are the trees,

stones from my teeth and my eyelashes, snakes.

Now,

I am not lonely, but I was the first.

Making (The Netherlands. Winter 2002.)

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Making

love to god

was only making.

Before there was

night or day

he came to me

and did not make eye contact

while he sculpted

my clay body to form

the mountains, continents, and seas.

I tried not to breath

as he brushed

ant hills off my stomach

and trimmed me,

leaving trees only

where they looked best.

He still had not spoken

when, finally

content with my form,

he made

and he left

me silently,

to give birth.

The jackal was first.

Though I knew he was not

pleased, god returned,

always pruning,

never speaking.

I bore turtles and fish,

snakes and lions, and

man.

I’ve stopped waiting for his return, but

his marks are still on my mountains and seas.

Saturn’s Return (Thailand. Summer 2010.)

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Atlas

 

 

Twenty-nine years, six months and four days,

and everything is back where it was.

 

Saturn turns her head just the same

and her rings dangle from fingers

threatening to fall without gravity

onto a new slate of a floor, the same blank slate

they rested on

before you wrote on it.

 

Many moons halt mid-orbit, holding their icy breath and stare.

What choices will you make on this rotation?

 

You’ve completed the circle of time.

The gases around you are all new.

You have asteroids, comets, and stars

any one you choose can be your own.

 

 

Creative commons love to http://www.flickr.com/photos/kokogiak/ for the photo!

Tamarind Trees (Thailand. Spring 2009.)

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The tamarind trees lie in pieces outside my windows, broken by a sense of caution. Their fruit snake away from the branches ashamed and the leaves shrivel brown in the sun’s stare. The blue-crested lizards search for their limbs, but they are now bodies alone. From the checkered balcony even the ants shake their heads, knowing the sun has gone mad. The tendrils of passion vine convulse in the wind, praying for a mango sky. Yellowsweet and orangewet. Only then can the leaves stretch their fingers. Only then can the ants lift their loads. Only then can the tamarinds rest their heads.

sometimes (Florida. Spring 2006.)

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sometimes

i want things to be

different

like when

i watch you

drawing almonds

and tear drops

and flames

in the sand

or when you

enjoy copland

just that way

and you hum

the songs

that say

the things

you won’t

or when we talk

just enough

to know

that we are

different

i want things to be

sometimes

Seasons in Prague (Prague. Fall 2006.)

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Summer and Winter walked hand-in-hand away from the Old Town Square. The shock of that communion turned leaves red in the face and sent them jumping from the roofs of arboral skyscrapers. The seasons took no notice of the fallen desperation beneath their feet. Time crossed the Vltava. Summer took her clothes off and waded until the water kissed her thighs. ‘Immersion is better than bridges,’ she called to Winter, and Winter had to agree. She left a bustle of ice in her wake and followed Summer and Time across the river. They climbed the broad white vertebrae of Autumn’s back one by one, the north star dangling from Winter’s neck leading the sun in Summer’s hair. At the top, they giggled, amazed and intimidated by the jutting protrusion of Time’s Arrow. Time had already abandoned it, leaving it frozen — not standing straight, but pointed north. Past the north pole to an Alaskan future. Winter raised an eyebrow and moved towards it. Her frosty fingers stroked the Stalinist metal. ‘We need to keep changing,’ Summer called to her, and Winter had to agree. Turning around, they found themselves in a blizzard of skateboards, writhing in the air around them. The fragile pubescent testosterone and the ollie-grinding snowflakes kept the seasons moving. Winter and Summer continued. In a field below, camels and zebras grazed in a Bohemian fall, and they knew that Time had abandoned them. Summer and Winter froze and pointed north.

Creative Commons love to http://www.flickr.com/photos/pike77/ for the painting!

Lauren and Aaron’s Wedding Poem (Florida. Winter 2012.)

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Under twinkling stars in a Florida night,

brought together by an unseen hand,

two sticks dance and twist and sparks ignite

a tiny flame that needs to be fanned.

Pines and oaks gather ‘round a campfire ring

and fireflies blink and wink in the dark.

Pine needles and smiles provide kindling

and the campground sees the very first spark.

With sparkler kisses the flames ignite

and fireworks set the whole sky ablaze.

In July heat explosions burn bright

and nights can be warmer than days.

With a burst of love the fire crackles and snaps

as branches and limbs intertwine.

The flames can now relax and collapse

and the campfire can finally shine.

It gives needed warmth to St. Augustine nights

which grow cold as the winter comes near.

Under evergreeen firs dressed in Christmas lights

the light of forever is clear.

Trees lean in to lend a hand

with shimmering decorations.

A question is popped under glimmering strands

giving life to sparkling sensations.

It’s now a true fire with brilliant red embers

needing stoking and tending to rise

For this flame will last many more Decembers

with laughter alight in their eyes.

Now family and friends add logs to the fire

and fan a blaze that continues to grow.

With love and support the flames will get higher

so that everyone basks in the glow.