The train has left
Platform now unexpectedly empty
The morning’s newspaper blows by
Not even a whistle to be heard
The schedule was posted
Written in black and white
The conductor took one last pleading look
Idle-hearted, go home
Tag Archives: Poetry
Percussion
All of us are seven
Game plan in hand
Foreheads daring the mountains
Feet thanking the coast
American shoes
Purchased
By grandparents’ blood
Carried
By hope-chartered boats
Northward
What could I give the stars
The diligent ones
That peek through the thicket
And sometimes seek me from within
Lest all I’d see is the film of clouds
Surrounding
Drowning
Would they want my voice
Lifted
Lighting the way
Guiding the underground
Calling on the sleepless
To look, to sing
Then reach and walk
Starver
What other firmament awaits
And elsewhere salted sea at which you may jut your jaw
Is there new terra to sweet-talk now
Where its air be so kind to your longing lungs
Time and time again
Who else can you call home
Baton
There’s neither pressure
Nor something to prove
What purpose the drum
Why the brass, you ask
The warmth ‘neath your hand
Keeping most perfect time
The cool clarity
Holds your crystalline mind
The team of the two
If they will become friends
A life-force
That will deliver you
In Sight
Searching one day
Inward to learn
To finally find
That I favored orange
And spice
And softness after all
Overnight -treasure!
To outward know
I’ll still seek
Through the seeming black
For not cinnamon
For clove perhaps
hex
Unified
Driven
Brilliant to boot
Serving
To insulate
From cold
From disdain
Scattering
To reflect
Reminding
Of light
believers
Look! Here comes the morning
And we’re destined
Let it kiss the forehead of us
As if all is well
Princess Cut
A sister served to remind
That I tell you
Here
In the fall, I lost my ring
But not my promise
And I wait
I was gardening
Hands, feet and brow covered in dirt
In beautiful dirt
Making things pretty
So it’s okay
What else is there to tell
Oh
Yes
There is such difficulty in this
If there are choices
I’d say I’ve chosen
To not see, that I’d not know
So many else forget
Protect your eyes
Your skin, your perceptions
Keep clean from consensual dirt
This is that
Promise
Colonial
A moment of balance
In muslin white and waiting for them
On the outside looking in
But content
It’s an odd hour
What have you to do anyway
Return home, to the heat
Don comfortable clothes
And be with the telly and takeout
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