Friday, April 20, 2018

The Approach of Twilight

The slate blue clouds layer across the sky above the last remnants of gold clinging to the tops of the trees. It’s that melancholy time of day that I love so much.

It reminds me of the summer after my freshman year of college, when I was walking on the lawn at Rockdale, my Grandmother’s house, with my beau Langley, a fellow poet. We were discussing the book I’d just finished for English class and the report I had to write that weekend.

It was Faulkner’s “Sound and the Fury” and Langley felt it was a real story that exposed the underbelly of true Southern life. He had grown up in Culpepper, Virginia, and ought to know. He wrote poetry about cows and drying tobacco, then.

Somehow that stroll across the lawn is how I always feel about twilight. The fireflies are just about to come out. The air is warm. It's early summer, and you can hear the distant barking of a dog.

Now it’s only April, but already I feel the approach of summer. I’m ready for those languid days of drinking lemonade and watching the bees looking for clover and alfalfa. I’m ready for whatever inspiration may come.

Why are we artists so prone to melancholy? That’s a question for another day, but I put it out there. It’s always haunted me.

Wednesday, March 14, 2018


Life, this precarious
walk the line muthafucker

Life, a knife blade
through the consciousness
The oceanic plasma
enfolding, obliterating self

Life, that sweet
notion of a hundred senses
drawn into seven

Life, the essence,
the effervescence,
the endless, the
storm before the calm

We all have
high standards
We expect a lot

We've put in the time
We've counted the years
We think, okay,
can I relax?

Life, the great
You never know
But you have faith

Your heart beats
Your lungs take in air
Your lips carry the smile
from your eyes

Your human love
was crafted from
the Big love

It's an assignment,
for sure, and you're
doing your best

Monday, February 12, 2018

Waking Meditation

The eerie morning restless came gently to my bed
And pressed upon my heart three things
Remember love and honor, and the shape of time
Its ebb and flow, its worn remonstrance
To be unencumbered
And with this sinuous flower growing in my
Dropping peopled scenes like petals
I rose to wander through my rooms in silent greeting
Foggy morning waiting with its cold gray arms
To still my inner turmoil
While the trees danced from side to side
And the occasional car sailed by with eye-lamps open
Life, this fragile paradise
Softly nestled in this mute body
Who am I to question the journey's right or wrong
A vertical mind and thoughtful music
Coaxes random pieces into sense
My kindly angel resting her hand on my shoulder
As I write