Cruel Confections (Philadelphia)

They are pelting me
these snowflakes flying
in the streets of Philadelphia.

Somewhere between now and then
they crash into me
blinding me
bruising my skin
with a promise.

Cruel confections
and crystal gowns
splintering
flogging the profligate wanderer;
blowing in from the south
from the sea
meeting the chill
between you
and me
the rain
slushes
the veins
and foretells
the killing
killing
winter.

Somewhere between here and there
where its raining hard
I will see you
thinly veiled
as a promise.

They are pelting me
these snowflakes flying
in the streets of Philadelphia.

Tiger

Tiger, Tiger burning bright.
How far we will fall
in the heat of the night.

A shiny apple hanging low
to have and to hold
and to the depths we'll go

to taste
to tempt
to tease release
to tarry
in stasis
to cease
to cease
to savor
the succulence
of ripest fruit
to feel
to fathom
the deepest roots
in rhizomia
the utopia
of flesh
and favor
and flowing
frenzied
fissures.

Tiger, Tiger burning bright!
A shooting star
that dims tonight.

A supernova, outshine the light
a sublime explosion
our rare midnight.

Soma

the littlest things
distract
from the biggest things
so often
so every
thing
so
nothing
so much
so merry
so malaise
Soma
so much
so much
so much

Tall Chair

Sitting in my tall chair
listening for the footfalls
in the damp floor
below me, around me,
over me-
my room is green.

Rising from my tall chair
anticipating a felling
and a feast-
feeling, felling, falling-
my room is yellow.

Drawing deeply into the limbs
willing the blades to motion
to the heart-
brightly fallen,
crimson fallen
my room is red.

Descending from my tall chair
antlers on the altar,
and a prayer
and the incense
of the Earth
of her ever-warring children
and my room is brown.

Kneeling beneath my chair
green and yellow
and red and brown
in my heart
on my hands
we are light
and my room is white.

All Hallows Even

Holy Roller

Holy Roller - Cagey Tweed

Zantedeschia

torso

Shed

She
shed like snake skin
or cicada shells
or night crawler castings
subtle leavings
in midnight grass
and the dew
and the drunk
of summer
of lovers
she

shed like antlers
like a gecko tail
dropped in a dalliance
with danger
that writhes in a charade
of autonomy
and a dilettante's
dance with destiny.

orb weaver lullaby

The Cure - Lullaby Lyrics @ LyricsTime.com

one more bluebird day
invalid spectator blues
September eleventh

The Pier at Sunset in Key West (Rollin')

Chestnut Camille
freaks on the pier
and a shriveled up lime from Margaritaville...

Rollin'

Like a sunset escape artist
turning blue and spitting
while behind him bobs a big white boat...

Rollin'

Three stories high
where seagulls fly
stalled where the lifeboats swing-

Leans a man, and his lei, and his wide brimmed hat
looking down at all that mud...

Rollin'

Originally appears in a 1998 edition of the HazMat Literary Review

An Ending

Amusing
am using
a muse ingress
egress
distressed mistress
or damsel
doomed by
deletion.

Noblesse oblige
no beso
oh blight
obliterated
in one blow
in one cruel
contrite
night.

Assuaged
aborted
a choice
a churl
a gown
a girl
aghast
at the depth
of her lust.

Tidal
flotsam
where he
caught them
in words
and in wenching
and in dust.

like rhinoceros
angry and too shortsighted
admired from afar

Spine 1 & 2- Lest we forget how fragile we are

Recently, my life partner was thrown from a horse she was working with. She broke her back- I found her in the pasture, crumpled, face down and not moving. She has struggled back from that lowest point miraculously and will walk again, will do all again.

My thoughts have been infiltrated with the weeks of Doctor chatter about spinal injury, paralysis, trauma, and titanium. The imagery below is a manifestation of this infiltration. The blue vertebrae is "L1'- the one that was shattered. Titanium rods were installed with screws in T12 and T11 as well as L2 and L3.
























As I thought about this piece (watercolor and ink) I remembered that a spine-like image had appeared in my mind's eye once before, long ago. I dug out that drawing, created in 1994. I caught my breath upon closer inspection... the metal plate in the drawing was at L1.
























Whether an early premonition or an eerie coincidence, the imagery has become deeply significant, as have recent events and the miracles that have steadily followed them.

Agate Hunting

solo beach-combing
our loves spread out before us
agate hunting

diminished by waves
precious gems ground down, down, down
rock, stone, to pebble

Night Tiger Redux

Night Tiger

seeing

I see that the soil is compacted
while barn swallows
tailing the bush hog
exploit my labor for lunch.

I see that the seed won’t take
that the pressing
pressing
pressing
has turned my field to stone.

I see that the steed won’t stand-
green broke, needing a bit.
Eating my hay,
in an ungrateful way
resisting
resisting
a role.

The old floors they creak and groan
harmonizing with bull frogs and fox.
The dew, she’s falling.
Our carriage, stalling,
in the cave of a hot summer night.

The screen door slams with a bang
and a poem floats with the moths.
What’s forgotten can be found,
what's broken can be bound,
but not without light
on the break.

late June fireflies
many a fox is hunting
midnight shrieks and moans