She did not burst upon the scene like a meteor, she came in increments like a baby down the vaginal canal, head, shoulders body etc. she came quietly and took her place in the conversation. From that first day that she sucked her first the air in the bedroom where she was born, she did not care to know that her mother who had just agonized to usher her into the world was almost in shock post delivery. Instead, she…
Music is that other thing. And God saw that it was good/ and caused it To make all kinds of feelings and bring new words/ to spit from your mouth/ that nowadays spit from your fingers. Your keyboard has all the unwritten answers and knows all your business because you may delete delete, but it remembers every stroke you strike. Once you strike a letter and conjure a word and make some sentences and once you think about them and…
In the desert there is no time, no measure of such an idea. in the desert what do you do for sanity/ talk to God in language of the soul/ the wind/errant sand particles in your eyes, your nose, your hair/ You meditate and expect the stars for you to wander by, you see the moon you say, aha! its night. Night or day, it’s all that you know. not minutes, not hours, not weeks in the desert there is…
Poetry, not the rush of untamed Prose is the language of Creation. Unbound, punctuated with nature’s photographs, to still your heart sensitive only to the soft rush of sounds that pass as words that only you can decipher, in your silence, a gray morning when God Himself passes as a vapor across the sands where Angels’ feet imprinted time past. can anyone know your heart? Its only the wind that whispers and you collect the words as music/chords/notes/vibrations/desires/color…
Once more into the breach we must all go. But before you go, I charge you to carry these words by Tennyson tucked deep in your heart; “Though much is taken, much abides; and though we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to…
She comes to me, Always she comes to me like a moth to a flame She comes to me. My eyelids flutter open She sits close to me and I can hear her breaths from behind me She sighs and crosses her legs and rests her papers on her lap She leans close to me and she speaks She speaks of things she is observing, observed She is finding language of the past and present, language, She furrows her…
A PREAMBLE TO MY ADVANCED READER DAVE, REGARDING THE BOOK “GHOSTS”. I am not purging, although I am in a sense. I am not going to die, as yet. “We die, that may be the meaning of life. https://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1993/morrison-lecture.html We do language. That may be the measure of our lives” For me those lines come out to mean we are all going to die as my parents did and others that I have heard of. So with that as a backdrop I…
Did I wreck your heart My love? Did my words wreck your heart? Did you die and die with The sweetest pleasure, Sigh, And Die Again Did you my love Sail on clouds Quite out of my reach To tempt more words From my mouth Calling you to return immediately My arms They shiver to hold you And did you my love Sail back to earth Embrace me One last time How bright Elysium appears That you are there My…