October 2011


The Gracious Core
Vapor Drawings
Do Dolphins Sleep?
In this Cup of Moonlight
Painting by Need

Light Singer
Beneath the Skirts of Irene
The Last Sparrow's Song
Crayons Crying
I have Loved You Wrong

The Gracious Core

We watch our lives fall through the hours,
down the canyons of dusk,
easing up through the mountains of dawn,
our finite allotment of color and light,
our fleshy envelope of minutes, 
our time.

Mind-beats, 
the rhythmic thrum of our days.
Reality,
the bliss of our gracious core.

Vapor Drawings

Tracing you
                in these curtains of mist,
chasing you
                through a lifetime of almost
and just…

Racing you in the rain,
                faces dripping with grins,
vapor trails on my cheeks,
the dew of that morning’s bloody rose.

A delicate suggestion,
                a nuance of ivory,
a vague sensation of wind swept grey.

Vapors drawn on a canvas dream,
on the lips of a well placed brush.

Do Dolphins Sleep?

In a pod of ordered frenzy
they circled,
cornering some invisible prey,
like bottle-nosed sharks in a knitting circle.

Others rose and dove
in their slate grey arcs,
just Being… breathing.

In the night, is the sea their roiling quilt?
Or do they roam, insomniacs,
enslaved,
ever questing for air?

In this Cup of Moonlight

I feel the thickness,
the ivory gut
drawn back across the strings,
moon splashing your shoulders,
the burnished soft mocha of you.

I feel your arms surround me
in the frantic silence, reaching,
embracing the arc of our current,
the hiss of electric white, the apricot
drizzling sweet on this moment,
this cup of moonlight
added to our savory cellular stew.

Painting by Need


Hesitation…
at the cusp of…
                             first touch,
a parry of… suggestion,
the briefest swipe of canvas,
the condensation of color.

A resistance, poised…
in the space of a breath not yet taken.
The sweet lull of indecision,
umber or mahogany,
a peck or full tongue.

It begins.

The slash, the flourish,
the sweep of a birthing brush,
intense, full labor,
un-reasonable light, demanding,
aching with inscrutable need.

The intent is now known,
the feint of apricot,
the jab of chartreuse,
the fist in full control..

Painting: Scarlet WInd, by Arcipello, © 2011 © 2011

Light Singer

I can hold you now,
a song caught in the amber,
trapped in my forever.
A snippet, a dragonfly
weaving, darting…
painting whispers of mischief and bliss.

I hold you now,
this cream in my coffee,
the light that lifts
the lids beneath my tattered veils.

I can hold you,
a dance to whalesong,
to Spirit Romance,
a sprite spitting "Justice!"
from a scalding skillet,
a soul crying
for their deadened tears from hollow eyes.

I can hold you now,
this breeze of our tomorrow,
this echo of yesterday
filling my moments with songs of light.

Beneath the Skirts of Irene

This moon is muted afterthought
through this racing mask of cloud,
its face obscured
on this midnight silvered green.

Winds whip the palms
like chastised children that whined for rain,
puling through the fields,
frenzies of seizure gripping the grass,
botanical puppets
helpless in their mindless dance.