Saturday, May 13, 2017

I Am Such a Messy Prototype

Like children playing with their food
Creativity without a care
Things fall down
They come together
For an earnest lifelike doll
All scars and broken beauty
Anticipating the next assignment

This finger painting
Without numbers, lines or lofty aims
Mixing colors always ends up
Browny green
Nothing smooth or bright
And yet you see it and you say
Oh, yeah, I know that feeling

In the end
It takes a lot of ugliness
Accidents and big mistakes
To make good art.

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Bird on the Wire

It's hard to imagine
the world after

Millions of people
hunt for food
and shelter

Acts of cruelty
and kindness abound

Animals and plants
keep on course
as always

We tell ourselves
we have free will,
dominion and agency

While scrambling on
the edge of oblivion

Poems like this
are being written
in the quiet tunnels

Of the lungs of sentient
beings everywhere

I am only a scribe.

Saturday, January 7, 2017

Hibernation Blinks

Pallid leaves flattened by softened sleep
Nestle among the remnants of our waking dream

Our nostalgic ruminations glisten
In the afternoon haze
As the first pioneering flakes begin to fall

Leaving snow kisses that appear
Like forgotten or yet to be lovers
Before dissolving on earth's tongue

There's something tentative about the season
Months of winter still to come

In that pause between the deep breath
Of lighted trees
And the side streets banked with old snow

We find the path we carved out
In the unforgiving past
Inhabited by disappearing longings
And inappropriate ambitions

It's there in clear, straight lines
Beneath the layer of icy leaves
That our ghost dogs love to sniff
For the rabbity fragrance of tomorrow.