Standing on a Hillside

Sometimes you look back on where you have been
Past the cloud-fluffy daffodils bobbing and green
Through the deep dark forests that hug at your feet
To that speck in the distance, planks that hold in
Warmpth and love.

Sometimes you look up, where the sparser grass
Claws its way heavenwards, and hides in the rocks
Where the trail lazy-curves it's own way past
The gap where the warm sky somehow eludes
The ambitious earth.

WhiteShadows

Back to the wall
And the white shadows
Illuminate us all
Looking at the greener grass
And getting a face full of glare
I'm just glad to know that you're out there
Somewhere.

Planes of snow, and tracks leading into
The space between the sky and the sun
We wander on alone
With just five smooth stones
Against a giant
And he's standing strong and tall
I would too, if I could hide us all
Like a giant wrecking ball
Crashing home

So I'm looking for the greener grass
And getting a face full of glare
I'm just glad to know that you're out there
Somewhere.

Hacking away

Tall tales frame small talk
With a walk on the beach passing time.
Beneath the veneer of a man swilling beer
You're a queer kind of king of sublime.

Hacking away at the ice of the day.

She loved you. She left you
A blue smudge of makeup in rose
Tinted gloss, decrying you lost
Embossed on the hem of your second-best clothes.

A seat on a bleached pallid beach
You teach me the essence of loss
Beneath the veneer of a man drinking beer
You're a sheer examplar of your cross.

I thought I saw a man late last night
He couldn't see what was coming up from out the night
He didn't put up any fight.
Could it be that we forgot to say
Something warm, something glib to drive the frost away
That's how I see it anyway

There's something there, you used to smile
Come and let's us talk a while
It's not as if we can't.
But something always breaks
Tomorrow tells us nothing
When we refuse to listen
Cramped and unforgiven
Underneath the heavans.
But you used to smile
And we'd find something to say.

Thoughts from a Moving Vehicle

Shouldn't be content with ambivalence
Wouldn't be hell bent on dissonance
If it weren't so hard to reconcile
The whipper-snapping, infantile
Record of my past events.

Just Been:

One hell of a week
Or one week of hell.
I am not sure.

Here Comes the Sun

On a night much as this
Where the gleaming eyes of the waters
Gaze over a sleeping city
Came a lone man to his bliss.
Wearing ugg-boots and a scarf,
She drew the night in beads
Laughing as she hurled them into the waters
Till the gleaming eyes winked back.

A poet relaxed on an urban hill,
Glass beneath him echoing
The dazzling lights above.
Stringing syllables together
In the noon-day sun.

Fishing for time or saying your piece
When you smile politely and swallow your grief
Doing these things beyond belief
Beyond the seas
Daughter come home
And pieces of one
Will be made whole.

Birthday

There is a tiger in the woods.
To the mist she clings
And trails like smoke
A wild thing,
Animal pure, bearing
Death's silent sting

She roars, like a beast in ascent
At the foodchain peak
Or a man on the brink
Of denying defeat.

She slinks in the soft shadows
Between candle-lights
And calls to the moon
In the vastness of nights
A gall-mingled cocktail
Of despair and delight
Alone and aloof
And hidden from sight.

Distractions from the Sermon

Saphires
Pearls
A waterfall
Summertime
Green shoots
and Golden thread
a Dawning day
You.

2 Reasons I Dislike the American Government

The way they seek to run other countries.
The way they run their own.

His tiny voice
His titanic heart.
The worlds sorrows
Did him drown.

Shells rain down on Arabs
The world glances
Then passes by.
Marshmellows drizzle down on the West
The world a splode.

A Work in Progress.

She decorates her eyelash
She applies finishing touches
Glowing in the starlight
Of her mirrored compact.
Rolling through the streets
On a swerving force of nature
With a suped-up V8 engine
Playing follow the lead.

A goddess in disguise
A universe of sequins
Smiling from beginning
For a magical evening.

She steps up to the doorway
She's a vision in a red dress
A lady bent on conquest
Leaving little else to say.
But nothing goes to plan
And night bleeds into ruin
He taunts her like their children
Dressed like a fully grown man.

And she is a ship between the icebergs
Looking her best
In that stunning dress
And runnels down her cheeks.

Three Presents Pulled from a Mixed Bag

Salvation sometimes is
A mixture of blessings.
When holding a seed to the light
I find myself counting into the future,
One, two, three, perception expands
Behold a tree, drinking deep in desert sands.



That man is born into sins
And borne out to the self
Is a question beyond answer.
He pools himself
In shattered shadows
And rolls the ground
Beneath his tread.
Till yesterday is smooth and narrow
And tomorrow is a rocky bed.

Cozened embrace
Processed air fluffs
My marshmallow hairdoo.
I refill my shotglass.

Fly My Pretties.

Over the silent storm
Beer couched in a sweating palm
Conversations flutter
Back and forth, back and forth.
Function follows form
As gazes swallow alarm
And toothless jibes are uttered.

Bequethed a sundered sunrise
Fly my pretties
I'd hoped for better
But the weather
Not a cloud in the sky,
And a star shining north
Like a beacon of hope.

We cannot tread
Paths of righteousness
Till Someone soothes
Our blistered feet.

Afterglow

I thought I'd post the poems that I rewrote for reading last Wednesdy.

(Untitled)

I'm sorry.
It was another life.
And it was
Another dream.
And I was
All but asleep in your arms.

Hear it,
That breathing
Soft
And even.
I am
Out of control.

Denial
Is the first sign
Of inconstance.
We are
Two pods in a pea
We can never be.

But,

You smiled.
To transform the world.
Stars settled
In the pools of your eyes
Universes dangle
From a new center.

I'm sorry
It was another life,
And I was
All but asleep in your arms.



Dry Eyed Terror

The quiet children on my floor
With bovine eyes. They shut the door,
And leave me on my own once more.

Inside TV news enspells by view
Almost old and almost new
Hiding from the naked truth.

But through the kitchen dusts a thud
Neighbours screaming out for blood.
My fragile peace is churned to mud.

Out the lift and down the street,
Gutters cleanse my sinful feet
But leav my conscience seared complete.

Trecking through filled parking lots
Through a veil of heavan's drops
I cannot find what I have lost.

Till in halls of home once more
I confront that silent door.
Freed by pity kept in store
For the quiet children on my floor.



Acidity

You're not a ship
To carry me
When the weather's rough
And raging.
You're not a dream
To fade away
Soon as I came
To waking,
Like the morning fog.
But you are gone.

This is not a day
For tears,
Not a night for
Goodbyes.
You are not the one
Who broke my world.
You're not the one
To set it to rights.
You are my daylight
As I hold you in my arms,
And gently let you go.



The Ballad of Dwight Fry

A simple man sits there
By himself. Alone
But for the frantic screaming
Scratching from his phone.
As time itself drips slowly
And wetly from the roof
Of the overhanging overhead
Onto his polished boots.
He shudders small and frightened
With each indrawing breath
Steeling a wailing spirit,
To the icy call of death.

Till by and by
He makes reply:
"Mister, won't you reconcider?
My fortunes on the stakes
And it's time to make or break!"

Into the barren sunlight
And crunching of his feet,
Down a garden path, at once
Too spartan and too neat.
A shiver peirces his vacant thoughts,
The alien breath of breeze
Stirs him to despairing
As it whiskers through the trees.
Till even birds ring futile
As they patch their fragile nests,
They can but fuel his sorrows
At the icy touch of death.

Defeated on a park-side bench
Hollow smiles ride his lips
Curling into jagged snarls
To launch a thousand ships.
"Are you lost?" probed a stranger
Passing through the morn-cloaked grounds,
With eyes of tranquil saphire
"Or waiting to be found?"
"Sir", he breathed so hoarsely,
That man too doomed to die:
"Can there be tomorrows
For a lost soul such as I?"
Spoke that stranger softely:
"Sir tis plain to me,
Tomorrows come for all men
Just you wait and see."





And also, one poem which I sadly neglected to read, harrowed as I was by the intellectual stares of those before me:



I think I lost myself
In a pocket of the past,
Or in my other pants.