May 2012



Down the Widow's Walk
when Norah sings again
Flushed
Some Promise from Gomorrah
A Murder of Albino Crows

Tautology
Capacitance
Two Edges of Darkness
Org
      anism-msina
                              grO
Before I Loved You

Down the Widow's Walk

Walk this first light with me
down the widow walk
out to the harbor of failing stars

Embrace me there
as the trawlers creak on their moorings
where old pelican’s line the jetty posts
barely raising a jaded citrine eye.

Kiss me there
in the arms of this sweet saltine breeze
my fingers threading your temples
your lips soft and inviting
warm as these tropical seas.

for when Norah sings again

I hear a soulful refrain down the yards
something Norah or Sarah
something that puts a bright ache in your heart
like a distant train
a ghost of cologne
the scent of sunlight
from a face full of cold winter hair
or that musk of your neck hollow skin.

Let’s create something timeless
a few thousand heartbeat’s
that take hours to savor
to roll over the tongue
re-running on the walls
of your mind and skin
to bite your lip,
reflexive sighs as you clench your knees
an ephemeral memory
for when the shadows pall
when nights are too empty
for when Norah sings again.

Flushed

The trees gave up their wings
in a flutter of thunders
a raucous scream
of migrants, illegals
creaming their wings
thrust out as a plague
a swirling
a dirge
a funeral of starlings
sent elsewhere to greed.

image by © Graham McPherson

Some Promise from Gomorrah

Hooked and released
severed from the flock
left to wander.
gotta watch those fish
severed from the school
to flounder in the wild

Some promises are made
of wanderdust and lust
some promises are made
with vapor smiles
with cotton candy bones.

Some promises are made
with faith and admiration
some promises are toxic
with self gratification

Too little - too late?
Ask Lot!
wipe the dust from your feet
when you leave this town.

A Murder of Albino Crows

Still the blossoms fall
on my battered eyes,
still the water pools
in ghosts on my glass.

Still the Callery bloom
and the winds blow like vixens
flashing your skirts in a naughty April wind
winking from the glare
of voyeur office glass.

Still the Callery tear
at the linings of my heart
ivory kisses
falling like a murder of albino crows.

Tautology

…carry you
out into the silver mists
onto the meadow
where the heart lights dream
a blossom in waiting, breathless.

…hold you,
in the wet arms of dawn
where light can kiss
an owl to a dreamless sleep
a leaf to a chemical frenzy.

…sing you,
from the sinews of your thighs
a melody of moments
drawn taut and sweet
through your gale of satin cries.

image by © Darrell Wyatt