Dead in the water
Dead
Yet still flailing
As the body will
Grasping at the sea’s weeds
And the pretend hope that floats past
From above and below
I’m left knowing
To praise and to damn the child I was
Natural Law
The facts need no finder
No context nor light
And need not be put to a vote
They walk into the room
They stand up for themselves
They allege all your words inchoate
May 26, 2016: A Haiku
Lean on me darling
I speak into the shadows
Before you emerge
Gut
These thoughts circle ’round
Not quite coming home until
More precisely
Rustled in
By a dutiful cattle shepherd or the gravitational pull
Of intuition initially dismissed
But that dog in the dust
He knew
What I didn’t want to know, I knew
And that summer solstice
Which is never late
Saw me bow to its truth
Hunger: A Haiku
I hope you waft of
stonefruit in the morningtime,
cinnamon at night.
Chase
We question the dreamer
The hopeless believer
As though it’s an improper sin
To be lost on the doubt
And colossal sell-out
That flows from not gazing within
Yet who should abide
Those who would brush aside
The stardust of dreams held most dear
When for one’s lifetime long
The heart still hears that song
To ignore this is what my soul fears
See This
In the new of each day
In the impossibly early
Traffic-lights-still-blinking hour
If you dare with me
Pick up the grain of sand that represents some hope
Place it in a place not far
With goal to keep belief’s door
Ajar
Make the wish that others see to do the same
Tomorrow, tonight you’ll say,
Invite the ocean
Altered
If I
Must feel but
Stay silent outside
With wide eyes
With fine heart
And pen for my sword
Will youIf you
Must come but
With honor toward me
Stay farther
Stay shorter
And slay me no more
Will you
Sullivan Sailed
He blinked
Lifted his eyes to the skies
Cast them down
And jumped ship
So she would save him
She cool waters
Buoyed up hope
Smoothed the rocky shores
And slowed to a walk
So he would catch her
One dreamed this
Called by unspoken voices
Imagined as they were
And Sullivan sailed
So as to prove it
Provision
Living breathing poetry
Are people can’t you see
And at day’s end, the prose and skin of souls
Is my Goodread
Thus daylong I do gather
Good will, good faith, good fight
For provision to warm me
As I walk the cold, harsh Night
