Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Late August Blue

These late August days
I look at the tired fields and
The slow and languid clouds
That are too lazy to
But will color the sunset
And I wonder how white and blue
Make bronze
How white and blue
Make honey
That drizzles sweetness onto
The cooling shadows of a still night.

I wonder.

But I don't need to know.

Don't really care to.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Slowly

I would capture the leaves
As they fall
To save them the hard fate
Of touching a cold
Unwelcoming earth

I am ridiculous.

Why should I seek to stop such things?

Anyway

The unwelcoming earth
Refuses to take the leaves

The leaves must make their way inside

Slowly,

In time

With their own disintegration.

That is progress. Growth.
It is also letting go. Dying.

It is the only way.

Monday, May 04, 2009

What's That Like?

Whenever I find an oyster shell
Soft as talcum and smooth as a bone
I wonder what it's like 
To be held by the sea
In its ceaseless, rhythmic
Push and pull of wave after wave
Then cast down to the floor
To the coarse bottom, the darkness, the mystery
To lose a little bit of itself
Before the sea raises it to the surface again
To cast it onto the beach
As iridescent and smooth 
As a pearl.
No corners, no edges
No ugliness

And I wonder how long it took
To arrive at this state of complete grace.

I used to keep such shells.
Now I toss them back

As I contemplate forever.

What's it like
To be the shell?

That's more than enough to think about.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Where Is the Rain?

I want the rain
There are promises of rain
Over and over again, promises

But where is the rain?

I want the heavy skies
The piercing downpours
The breathless feeling
Of rising from a sea to warm air

Yes that's it
Finally I have it
I want the rain

I want to admit to the rain
That I love to breathe

And will
Despite it
Despite me.

Damn it.
Where is the rain?

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Hushed

IMG 7038

Every cry for war and for peace
Of pain or pleasure,
Mercy or more, more, more
Every cry, every word, dream, hope
Is hushed by the break of every wave.

There is nothing to say.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Some People

Some people, he said,
Are hard to get along with.
He meant me, of course
Because there and then
I was not getting along with him
Or he with me who can say
And so I fell into that vast category
In which there is always
Plenty of company:

Some people.

He had hoped his words would hurt,
Would leave me insecure, uncertain.
Oh please like me I will take back all I have said and done
To cause you to say that bit about

Some people.

But I didn't. I didn't care.
Some people are like that:
They have been summed up and dismissed
So many times
That the mathematics of social interaction
Hold no value
That the only thing that matters
Is the value of this absolute truth:

I don't need you need you to like me need you to
Want me around.

What I need
Is for you to know
What I care about
What you disagree with me about
Is what I care about is important to me

Some people can do that.
They know the game.