West With East

Posted on by

In such seeming eve of winter
This prophetic promise
The color will come back
Must the sun stay shallow
No!
Nor the green-gold, buried
Hearken days when cold, cold steel had not stolen light
Lift your eyes
Stride bold, through “til end of night

Original Inspiration Credit:
Psalm 121
1 I lift my eyes unto the hills, where does my help come from?
2 My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
3 He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: He that keepeth thee will not slumber.
4 Behold, He that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.
5 The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.
6 The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.
7 The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: He shall preserve thy soul.
8 The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.

Congratulations

Posted on by

When we find the dance floor
At our appointed time
Our souls and eyes at once meet
To herald new lang syne
Which memories might serve us
Which regrets must we loose
When we release the pressure
Which dance steps will we choose

Original Inspiration Credit: “Get Up Offa That Thing;” by James Brown

Fell

Posted on by

Sorrow, sharp
Under this circumstance
Can, with time, mend this soul
Knotted heart, released
Many an afternoon cry
Yearned to be wept
Dawn came quickly
Indigo skies turned to gold
Commonplace kindness, see?
Knave, be chagrined

Homecoming

Posted on by

An abyss Aegean blue
A dance fraught
A heartache shrouded
Where one sees the sea,
A tempest homeland
As such untenable salt

A fierce-fought choros
None eyes but one’s soul
None strings but ancestors
Where temptation to succumb,
A war on bare floor with bare feet
As blue sky beats back

Summon Oneself

Posted on by

I dreamed you drove secretly
To the end of my path
Seeing me not seeing you
You hide from police and Time
Watching my world
While sketching
Architectural plans
Recipes
Places for my poetry and me
And us upstairs

Summoning myself, now
I smell your leather driving gloves
Mixed with ink and exhaust
In my head
In your stead
Brick by brick
Your building on a corner lot
I’ve begun the mortar
My dream to yours
Although alone, I’d rather not