April 2011


Supergirl
Stands, Stock Still
A Baby's Breath of Stars
Full
When I Was in Your Heart
Bigelow
- with Powdered Bone and Honey
Whistler's Tarnished Child
Some Dreams
Spring's Arrived
This Meadow's Release

Supergirl

Call me one day
when your demons have surrendered.
Call me when the you’ve risen
to take on the dragon
that holds your dreams captive and mute.
Call me when your shackles
have grown so heavy
that your dreams can no longer dance.
Call me when the Kryptonite is gone.

Stands, Stock Still

Dawn ventured out because it had to,
reluctant as a boy’s first dance.
The light talked in bashful clumsy tongues,
bewildered, nervous, cold.

Like wooden Holsteins, birch stands
huddle like Jews in winter camps,
the forest frozen in surrender,
stout and resilient in this bleak wash water light.

Infinite shimmers of ice coat this world,
as willows bow in prayer, their backs on the verge.
Split rail fences have braces in their teeth.
Each thorn on the roses has a tear.

A Baby's Breath of Stars

It is these weeks of the season
when marmalade swirls on laps of garnet,
as if light were grinding
ever so slowly,
sliding down,
caressing,
coaxing the sea of new denim below.
The seduction spills out,
in a clutch of hyacinth and violets
conceiving a baby’s breath of stars.

Full

Cross my bones with your soul.
Lay you heart upon my breast.
Smother me with your hips...
til I’m breathless,
til I fight to be free,
til I make you scream - “I surrender!”

Fill my cups with your tenderness,
with the blades of your drug.
Fill my memory with our honeysuckle and thorns.
Fill my belly with smiles,
with your rhymes of satisfaction...
until the sun is too tired to rise.

When I Was in Your Heart

When I was in you heart,
my day was filled with giggles,
your naughty smiles,
with life.

The redbud were singing,
flaunting their voices to the sky,
the meadows were greening in the brisk cold wind,
when I was in your heart.

When I was in your heart,
pussy willows reminded me of dreams,
still planning, just waiting to hatch.
I brought some home every spring.

Every morning had promise,
It only rained at night - in Camelot.
The snows were gone, the pears in bloom,
When I was in your heart.

Bigelow
- with Powdered Bone and Honey

I have my mother’s tears inside me,
the skies she saw,
and the loins she met.
I have read her diaries,
I knew her men.
I’ve made tea with her ashes.
I’ll give it to the roses… and wait.

Whistler's Tarnished Child

Form this belly of March I feel you stir,
a flick,
a nudge,
life from where there was nothing.
As quiet as a crocus
sipping the loam,
slipping from the darkness in a nub of brilliant green.

I thought I had lost you
In the bleak Vancouver light.
I thought you might be floundering
in the harbor’s arms,
in the cold raw charcoal night.

I am your foreign co-despondent
your solar array sending you light.
I am your Mountie correspondent,
your sensual sanity, the Do-Right dog in your fight.
I nip at the heals of your heathen
sniffing for the tiger on your breath.

Some Dreams

Some dreams are buried alive,
some scream,
some go quietly,
some mutter on for years…
filling your skull with ‘if onlys’,
with some color or feeling
that you will always covet.

Some dreams are just… dead,
ectopic, aborted, lost…
ever falling to the bottom of the stairs.
Some dreams are broken
on the blades of other’s tongues,
while some last forever
just out of this life’s fruitless reach.

Some dreams fill your spirit,
in a great cascade of color,
in an endless river of quiet and light.
They are the hand in yours
no matter the distance,
they are the words and wishes that hold you,
lifting your tomorrow with their heart.

Spring's Arrived

Spring’s arrived,
you can smell it in your coffee,
or is it the barista’s hearts in the foam?
Or is it the eyes you feel on your ass?

It’s in the dampness,
the lilt of floral hanging on each hungry molecule,
in the love songs of meadowlarks
unrequited on the sweetening breeze.

I watch as the jacket’s unzip, arms waving akimbo,
the blinding white thighs exposed.
I saw the first smiles crawl onto dour jowls,
and the bounce in the step of carrion attorneys,
and in the grin of Penrod as he lifted his leg.

Spring’s arrived,
Even my neighbor is grinning.
Spring has surely arrived
when an asshole starts to smile.

This Meadow's Release

The moon lit this meadow
in a wash of milky suede,
each blade,
each leaf,
poised, laden,
emo-posing as hoarfrost,
wet and wintergreen
as if stuck in the grasp of his stark white fist.

Dawn came to this meadow,
in a rampage of color,
a torrent of light
spilling primary hungers
neath a sheer peignoir breath of Spring,
a heathen of light
teasing, caressing,
insisting on this meadow’s release.