perspective

when did we
become so small?

how do we fit
into these tiny suits
of self?

surely
we were meant
for greater
reach.

new moon

to the eye
there is nothing -

the hollow dark
of absence

even so
the mighty oceans
are moved
by its silent
power

old cart photo

There is a poem here. I just haven't written it yet.

please

hold me

hard

crush me

against your chest



I care to breathe

much less

than I need

to believe

predawn

lavender gray
haze
this
morning mist
beckons me

fold me
into your damp
embrace
hide me
for these moments
in the mantle
of obscurity

hold me
hushed

and cool

hurry not
the day
break

burden

tears sting my eyes
yet refuse to fall
through no fault of my own

this pain

this pain is anchored
heavy and deep

it will not
be washed away

portrait

eyes wide
with the slightest
tremble
in her hands
she cradles
his venom
as if it were
a gift

scattered

I protect myself
with disarray
and hide behind
this chaos
I've collected.

No one can really reach me.

I have to confess
at times,
I'm hard-pressed
to even find
myself.

unspoken

I keep hidden

deep

beyond the bottom

of my heart,

in a place

that does not exist,

a singular Nothing,

the presence of which

no longer causes grief

or pain.

No sense of loss,

no suffering remain,

at least that you might notice,

but behind every thought,

between each breath,

I am keenly aware

of this hollowness,

this empty space

which is not there.

once upon a time

it

is not.

it

never was.

how

then

do I feel

its loss?

collecting freckles

Collecting freckles

at the shore,

wind and spray

play wild in my hair.

I mark miles of sand

with a barefoot rule

to the cooling caress

of ocean foam

and reflect

in the light

of a blazing sun.

I search the horizon...

the sky...

the sea...

until a fresh perspective

finds me.

Unburdened

by this quiet gift,

I am content

to turn toward home.

september

there is an urgency
today
in the green
of the trees
behind my house,

leaves so seriously
intent
on coloring
the cooling light
as it falls to the ground,

as if they know
the nearness
of winter's
silver
silence.



jws
sept 2006

meteor shower

alone on my back
between midnight and morning,
I wait and shiver
against the freezing wind.

my eyes fixed on the deep above
through frame of roof and treetop

it begins.

first one…
then three…
seven…
I lose count
they come so quickly

tiny bits of cosmic (more than ancient)
dust on a journey too vast,
for a time too great
to be grasped by the humbled creature
I have suddenly become.

so beautiful the flaring streaks of light.
so elegant their arc and curve.
each blaze a brief and brilliant
death.

not a
molecule
left
intact.

what was
is no more.

and I watch in wonder,
in growing terror
that such a thing should be

so silent.





jws
november 2006

element

bend low
to catch a drop
of glistening
shimmer
from the blossom

lift it cool
and quivering
to your eye

watch the swirling
dance of color
and light

now listen


.

ashes

Chestnut curls
drift
in lazy whorls
strangely
slowly
to the floor,
time itself reluctant
to touch her.

But hair will grow
again not knowing
how relentless
is this blade.

clothes torn
hair shorn
nothing left
to cut?

(reluctant fingers
relax their hold – cold
clunk of steel on counter)

I need now
only ashes.

She turns away
from the mirror,
seeing nothing,
hearing nothing,
feeling blessed nothing
near the surface in this moment,
thinking only of the ashes...


must be something here
to burn...


12-08-2006
jws

upon the purchase of a new sketchbook

I wish to learn
the language of lines,

to sing
in effortless arcs
and sweeps.
to whisper soft
in shades and strokes,

to speak spirit
with movement,
to feed it
with friction,
with pressure
and lifting.

Then I might say
what cannot be
spoken.

rival

I held an enemy
once.

She sobbed
in my awkward
embrace

begging absolution
for what she would not
change.

Her tears fell hot
against the cool
of my cheek

and for a moment
I tried.

soon or late

there is a sound
that panic makes
when pressed down hard

a high-pitched keen
not heard, per se
but felt in teeth
and marrow

but my grip will soon
or late give way
the force set free
to run its wild
and manic course
until its fury’s spent

then I will rock
and blink
amid debris
panting in its wake

why?

I was born with a question mark
on my forehead.
Though this attracted
no small attention
initially,
my constant queries soon
became wearisome to all
around me.
So I learned to speak with grace
and quiet.

But you must forgive me.

Some questions
need be shouted
and refuse to remain
unasked.

Hoover Dam

Hands chest-high on concrete
I lean over and out
and the bottom of my soul
swings open...

tumbling untethered
in the eternal grace between
beyond the time of place
in joyous song
a swirling dance
unbound
unfolded
exquisitely undone...

I push back hard with trembling breath.
Afraid of falling, he says with gentle knowing.

I blink at tears of longing
and say nothing.

The King and I

In motel breezeway buzzing light
in the cooling air of descending night
I was stopped just short of the ice machine
by the glistening black of the apparent king
of every earthly cockroach.

He faced me square,
the hint of a dare
in the tilt of his tiny head –
his body raised.
Antennea waved
as if curious I had not fled.

Thus we stood for two beats or three
Till I realized what was required of me.
I bowed my head briefly,
begging his pardon
and asking his leave to pass through.
With a curt nod, he turned
to march away…

I laughed
and lifted my shoe.

on a good day

I like to walk out

barefoot

to the ragged edge of my sanity

and hang my toes over the crumbling

lip of reason.

Hair whipping wild about my head
in the sweet-sour updraft
from the deep beyond me,

I raise my arms and shout

daring the wind

to show some muscle.

a darker set of wings

There is a hole
in my house where
the wasp crawls in
again and again

I spend
countless hours
catching it up
in an empty glass
to let it fly free
in the garden
but it never
fails to
return

even so
I cannot bring
myself to crush
its

glossy

delicate

menace
.

meteor shower

alone on my back
between midnight and morning,
I wait and shiver
against freezing fingers of wind
slipping up between boards of the deck.

my eyes fixed on the deep above
through frame of roof and treetop

it begins.

first one…
then three…
seven…
I lose count
they come so quickly

tiny bits of cosmic (more than ancient)
dust on a journey too vast,
for a time too great
to be grasped by the humbled creature
I have suddenly become.

so beautiful the flaring streaks of light.
so elegant their arc and curve.
each blaze a brief and brilliant
death.

not a
molecule
left
intact.

what was
is no more.

and I watch in wonder,
in growing terror
that such a thing should be
so silent.

i swallowed it

Small dark sliver
of glossy black
pulled from a crack
in the sidewalk

Strange, it seemed
a living liquid thing
in my hand,
silently singing
its siren song,
too lovely
to ignore.

A swift slip
down my throat
and the heat of it
settled and spread
in my belly,
filling me up
with a hollow
need.

From ache to pain
this gnawing swells
so quickly I can
hardly breathe,

and I try to quell
the panic as I cannot
help but wonder
just exactly

what

might satisfy
this hunger.

collecting freckles

Collecting freckles
at the shore,
wind and spray
play wild in my hair.

I mark miles of sand
with a barefoot rule
to the cooling caress
of ocean foam
and reflect
in the light
of a blazing sun.

I search the horizon...
the sky...
the sea...
until a fresh perspective
finds me.

Unburdened
by this quiet gift,
I am content
to turn toward home.