Golden Age

What do you call that Far East Asian ancient sailboat?

The one that’s always amber-orange and silhouetted, multiple masts

Sailing slowly but deliberately to anywhere but here

Help me because I can’t think

What, with all the noise in my head, contemplating your silence

Your confident cowardice

What do you call it

I want to hitch a ride to anywhere but here

Treasure?

No — what do you call it?

Invisible Crowds

Pendulum swung
Centuries of scores becoming evened

So terribly many words for disclosure’s sake
Too many words to hear

And, I, of all people
The victim of generations of silence
Of crowds who couldn’t speak

Now feeling deafened

Such Ado

Oh go, wind

Leave at a speed faster than you are

And for once, have silence be your sound

How dare you awaken me

To the truth of the night

How dare you remind me

I am alone, and the chafe

Act sovereign, but know

I and the Sun

We will be here still, when you’re gone

Our Only Company

How
Are you handling this
The noise, increasing, asks

I long ago learned to shut up
I can only answer
I meme

Picking up each piece of all that falls
The thousands of them
While the fluorescent hums

I will stay
I will stay
He needs me

The sounds rise
Echo and pin-ball bounce
Through the hollow

Is It Poetry

How can it be, the hour's calm
Despite all that is happening here
The beat of the world
Foreboding and loud
Yet the chickadee sings its sweet note?

Wherefore the whims of the wind
At ev'ry map dot, it seems
Churning, marching
Fanning the pain
While the porch chime resonates fine?

What of the flames that burn so
Blue, yellow, orange, then to red
Smoke-filled eyes from the North
Westward heart deeply charred
As the core of your Earth sleeps content?

Found Now

The whole of you fills my days now
Those little pieces of you 
Busily, brilliantly quieting 
The noise I thought never would leave
The noise I feared would leave 
Gloriously
Quieting 

Shade

Once I reach the top

I’d decided 

I’d trek another hill of sorts

I’d seek what ever shade was thrown

I’d not care of the noise or thorns or weeds

I’d stop to inspect flowers, picking up discarded things

Once I was discarded