The trees acknowledge me
Nodding their heads
In the breeze
Contrasted pillars
Of black and white
Glowing golden
Packed full of
Black birds
Suddenly silent
Then bursting away
In a tightly packed
School of flight
Growing calls
Of the animals
Preparing for the night
Herons tall
And purple
Pecking their evening meal
As little perfection
Can be found in this world
This moment, one–
Lifts my spirit and
Makes me bound
Giddy as a child called to home.
I wanted to be a
Rock Star
Drank enough to fall
Out of a car
But the beat, beat me
And the band disbanded
I wanted to be
A Novelist
Drank enough to make
Hemingway blush
But the narrative eluded me
And the book was shelved
Now, I have abandoned the bottle
And picked up my pen
Ever the poet, my poems my friends
Who have never abandoned me
In the moon’s blue light
Whose occasional outburst
Blooms before my sight
Words my salvation
When in anger this day
Softens the danger and
Beckons me to stay
True to my word
In a world that lies
Awake in the darkness
With new lines to try
Sun
Setting
Under
Setting
Sun
We weep
We weep
We cry
We seek
Meaning
For our
Reverend
And our lost
So many
So many
We knew
Intimately
Now gone
Now gone
To this
Viral cause
Sisters
Brothers
Fathers
Mothers
Our uncles
Grandmas
Our friends
And lovers
Few have been
Untouched
By this Angel
Of Death
Their flags
They fly
Cross the
Capitol sky
So many
Lights in
Reflections
Tonight
Now tamped
Out and
With our prayers
Take flight
Our river
Of tears
Pour on
Pour on
So many
Great Lives
Cut short
In their stride
We call out
Their names
We share
Their good deeds
A chorus
This mourning
Leaves us
All in need
Let us pray
I – Book of Matches
Theme, Tone, Meter
Subject so
Illusive
Matters, meanings
And Moments
Illustrative
We have relinquished our
place at the council table
We have forsaken our
Duty to protect the arts
We have been overcome
By our own eviscerating criticism
We have severed the artisan’s
Hand from the corporal community
We have left them behind
To suffer the brutality of the mob
They have come to the Library
With torches — Our Words
Read In Fire
II – Fire Song
The Pages tumbled
Off the shelf
Waterfall —
Firefall
Fire
Burns
Tumbles Pages back up
Full of Flames
The words read
One last time
by Fire
Falls
Fire
Burns
Pages tumble and whirl
In tornadoes
On Fire, Words
Consumed for
The last time
by fire
Falls
Fire
Burns
Swirls with sparkles
Of the Sun
Consuming One
Last time
Our words
by Firefalls
of Fire
Burning books
Consuming
One
Last
Time — Our words
Burn
What makes
A lot of Crows
A Murder?
Forty
Or so
That’s for sure
They’ve come
For the nuts
And some water
Their coats
Shining black
Night-sky pure
Crow, Crow
Pushy
Scared
Crow, Crow
Every
Where
Some in the garden
Some on the roof
Crow, crow
Sacred
Proof
Standing behind the crowd in the
Auditorium, looking down at
The Wasteland and more importantly
The Poet on a pedestal who
We were in awe to see. We bow
And say blessings to the lord of the
Modern moment where everyone realized
We were doomed. That the industrial gloom
Would blacken our minds as it had
Already blackened our lungs
And blinded our windshields
Our eyes in the dim lit neon spectacles, wept.
This was my experience from the lectern.
And I worshipped for many years the
Quartets and the high-minded — I don’t
Understand — Get the Encyclopedia — language
But, this was
Modern?
Now
I reckon
upon
a more clearly modern mind
Here
I find
The Red
Wheelbarrow
And a delicious
Plum
And I am
completely
satisfied
By nothing too Mythic
At all (save Unicorns & Beasts)
Just A
Waterfall
Of images
and words
That float along on pages
The rhythm
Tapping its foot – – –
Variably – – – –
Changing
Before you know it
You don’t know it
You don’t know why
It has changed
But it feels
So right.
Justified on the page to fit
Left and right
Right and wrong
Tomorrow and Goodnight
The Wanderer
The Sparrow
The Woman
The River
The Man
The City
The Poet
Founder
Of the plain
Every day
And therefore
Devotionally and divine poem.
We used to spend
A lot of time
At Christmas
Making magic
In the dark
Behind the curtain
From whole carrots
Left for reindeer
Turned to shredded Peels
The half drunk
Milk and a belly
Full of cookies
I didn’t need
To eat to
The secrets revealed
In the morning
When they wake to
Find “Santa Came!”