January 2014


An Amber Kiss
Kelli 17
The Demise of Our Moments
Homasassa River Dream
One Titan Afternoon

The Seismic Poet
Alternative Voyeurs
More now, than then
Spawn of the Singen
Each Limb in an April Dream

An Amber Kiss

Rain lingers on the screens
like a needlepoint,
a mosaic of drops
backlit to citrine jewels,
a tapestry of fire and water,
each droplet encased in an amber kiss.

Kelli 17

Amidst those dark sirens we danced
late night traumas
of knives,
lodged hoses, and misfire wounds.
Another night of bitten off nipples
and misplaced mustard jars
motorcycles kissing concrete and trees,
too much ‘Hey Y’all watch this!!’
…then a co-worker dying
from Shit-for-brains Boyfriend Disease

…as we feverishly
relentlessly
anguished
sweating
we pumped
no sinus
we pumped
no pulse
shocked
no pulse
for an hour
not stopping

Her father called it
3:17

we took a deep breath
and all of us cried.

The Demise of Our Moments

Through the arms of the madroña,
the harbor stutters in bright ripples of teal,
lit from the furnace kiss
of this dying day's sun.

Our days have numbers now
so few, so precious, the countless, counted
like gold dropping in grams
through the sieve of an evening sky.

As we watch the brilliant end of this day,
I clench you close
’til the cold lilac shadows
curl their shivers from around our backs.

'til the waters are midnight, sprinkled with ghosts
of stars and yesterday's dreams,
while our hearts try to grasp
the shapes and truths of goodbye.

I want to speak, I want to hear your voice,
but each time the moments will falter,
each time we are distracted,
shhh,
stay silent my love, too few moments remain.

Homasassa River Dream

I'm in the scope of stealthy watchers,
yellow eyes through the thick morning steam,
osprey and hawk alert to my presence,
this alien among them
slipping through the algae sheets
of their wetland dream.

A panoply of waters and light,
green-black and amber
in dances on chlorophyl glass.
stone washed shimmers from the shallows,
tree breached beams from above,
sprinkled blue and silver with sky.

These moments seem transcendent,
a splice of a rare understanding,
each sluice of my oar sending ripples to the bank,
an exclaim of motion in a wet zen whisper.
I ooze through their cellophane silence
as if a traveler from a different world.

One Titan Afternoon

This valley is key lime,
swirls of cinnamon in the cliffs,
paprika and black pepper
on these pates of Titan’s soil.

This is a land of ancient thoughts
disconnected,
too far removed to even dream.

This sky is a chaos of lights,
exsanguine and sallow,
until the blood comes around near thirty two,
and the lakes bleed,
scarlet clots smeared on silver lace,
‘neath a grinding saturnalia of light.

 

The Seismic Poet

In the midst of us is verse,
expressions,
explosions of surmise and observation.

poetry
waiting for adjective
for simile
for insistence of voice.

In explosion, in cursive or paint,
a poetry of our steps,
an engram
time stamped with our residue.

Why we came… what we saw…
What we conquered in the spit of our days.