Thursday, September 29, 2011

floating carnival

red stripes are clearer on a bluer day, illuminating the sky and tent-
today is a gray day
so we can barely spy it and the carnival drifts along the muggy horizon.
clowns' paint is brighter on a fairer day, scaring the weaker goers-
today is sunday
so there is no fair to celebrate and they grin and scream to no one.
our lives are simpler on a slower day, turning the sheets over again-
today is a fast day
so we push our brooms as the carnival grooms the lonely skyline.
sailboats ride smoother on a warmer day, racing along the shoreline-
today is a cold day
so we wait for ice and flakes and forsake their solitary white sails.
the lights and songs are more enchanted in a cloudy castle moat
today is make-believe
so we blink and sing and float high above the salty skyway
wishing for a real day

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

father's treasure

when they heard you say goodbye,
i felt it.
or maybe you didn't exactly say it,
you just meant it.
said or felt or meant, any which way-
you're gone.

you've gone every which way-
a million places.
or maybe you've just been stuck
in one place.
every way, or no way at all-
you're gone.

there's no way at all you're returning,
i know it.
or maybe there's no way that i am-
just saying.
packing your bags to prospect for gold,
you're gone.

your golden prospects are gone now-
only fool's gold.
or maybe you were just a fool,
you know.
whatever you mean, stop your panning-
don't go.

Friday, September 16, 2011

the boar creeps upon winter

i shimmer down to leaves
snows are coalescing flakes
those frozen spies
are shaking winds
down to the boar's spine
a groan and stretch and i'm fine

my peace is shattered down
to pieces in the snowbank
so few dollars and sun shards
but the forest floor is warm
in the mud and bark
shivering the boar's bristles

wild hooves trample far
away from the tiled floors
to gentle needles
smells of pine and health
surging through my lungs
escaping the forked snake

courageous to a fault
the boar speeds ahead
and i can not be still
at all or long enough
to sip the northern sea
saltless and wild and free

when those coalescing spies
the vulnerable boar is on
the mend
looking for that rabbit
noble friend
a glittering refraction
in a flake
breaking the piggybank
two scents
i see that the hooves
are mine
and i step lightly
to the line
of winter
slowly creeping on

Friday, September 9, 2011

fear ii

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain." ~ Frank Herbert, Dune

There is little left between my nose and the floor. the mat. a few millimeters maybe. arms shaking. legs gradually succumbing to my own weight. but an easy, undulating breath. later, i will be the same again, as before. i will be weak and childish. puking in the early september heat behind some groomed, suburban shrub. tears from the heaving. profanities towards my immobile feet. but for the moment, i am strong. a mascara-eyed warrior battling her own limbs on a fancy-ass mat made from recycled tires. fixating heavily on a shiny, manicured pinky. one minute. five more seconds. chaturanga dandasana complete. breathe. my heart flutters. swooping in, they descend upon me: eka pada rajakapotasana and svarga dvidasana: the pigeon and the bird of paradise. i tumble down to a unsettled pile of feathers. once i hold them, i will set them free. still afraid that they will return to peck at me. love handles, spiders, bills, republicans, whole milk, clowns, and marathons and...

maggots in my dinner. my mother dying in my arms. toxic water. pitch black. the low growl of unseen trucks and animals. the white backroll of eyes. leave your nets. only you will remain.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

a proposition for you, sanity

what would you say to playing?
would you?
carnival rides, blinking nights
caribbean snorkels to the deep
greener hills sprouting sheep
wooded trails, northern lights

what would you say to gardening?
would you?
if the wind was right in weeds
i would be knee deep in herbs
whistling to the lazy birds
and you could rake the leaves

what would you say to napping?
would you?
i could try, too. on the sand
rest these busy blues
on salty afternoons
only if you held my hand

what would you say to tea time?
would you?
if you twirled through the honey
in cups, sweet and spicy kisses
help me dry the dishes
and i'll always call you honey

what would you say to staying?
would you?
when peter the hare has fled
i'm rifling through the trash,
looking for my secret stash
of mystery in the garden shed

so what do you say?