Your Eyes

Like two deep pools with unknown depth
They look at me.
Soft brown, hiding something
I cannot quite see.

Soft brown like the sun tinted waters
Of a shiveringly cool pond in summer.
Dark and unfathomable;
But sun-warmed in the shallows.

Fascinating.
I could stare for hours.
I think that I would never tire
Of trying to comprehend.

In the Mist

The water colored trees are dim and hazy
Melting into mist just like my thoughts,

Where is this road leading? I can barely see
The road is even here. The stones look feather soft.

My hand before my face is like a phantom hand
And sourceless notes are cawing from the sky.

I fall and catch myself against the rocks whose looks
Are really quite deceptive in the mist.

The trees that look like dreams grow all along this road.
I know they are not dreams for they can cry.

Their dew-drop tears fall on me, though they are not lost
Their roots are deep, so possibly they cry for me.

For me who walks with torn up roots that trail behind
Me as I slowly, slowly walk along.

These roots have known the soil of many places,
And now they taste the moisture of this mist.

I shiver for my hair is wet and sticks to me
The mist seeps in and makes my bones feel cold.

The trees reach out their crying arms to touch
My arm and show me they are really there.

Although I feel their touches they are wet and cold
And make my chilly body shiver more.

I hear only the cawing, feel the dripping trees
And the seeping, cool mist against my skin.

Yet I am told the sun will soon be shining,
So on I plod believing this is true.

And is this life to walk toward things we know not of
Through mist and lost roads searching for the sun?

Starkenberg

What artful magic is there in this silence;
This soft-hued silence sifted through the light of colored glass
Warmed gently by the light of glowing candles?
What is so arresting that it will not let me pass

Unaltered? Something hidden is unveiled here
Within a quiet passage or a corner of my mind
A fragile, partial kinship with this beauty
That will not let me simply leave the thought of it behind.

Ah now! the sonorous praying of the faithful
Sends echos through the air like chanting... what is it they pray?
I would my head were covered with a mantle
And my feet bare that I might comprehend the words they say.

What artful magic is there in this silence
That pulls at me with fragile hand yet will not let me free?
I would my faith were so serene and simple
It brought me to this place instead of curiosity.

The Elm

I pass my hand across your moist, wide body
Smoothing off the chips left by the saw,
And count the rings that mark the springs you stood here
And cast your branches over smaller trees.

Those rings say you were here some time before me
What stories they might tell if they could speak!
I strive to pull some meaning from their color
And width, and from the ground in which you stood.

You were more beautiful than all your cousins
Who cowered on the edges of the wood
You stood out in the open - arms unfettered
To embrace the dome of sky which you adored.

Those graceful arms all waving in the sunshine
Had sheltered many a bird. I saw one when
We cut you down (feeling that we were evil.)
It flew off with a startled cry of fear.

Oh progress! Why are your dictates such harsh ones?
This tree was far more beautiful than I,
Because it had no fears and no pretensions.
And we betrayed that sweet trust in the world.

Night Sledding

The soft, quick swishing
Of sled on snow;
The snow spray burning
My naked face
Like strange particles
Of glowing flame.
The world is cloaked
In a great quiet.
Only the wind and I
Glide beneath the moon.

Sea Glass

The sea has a secret knowledge;
It is much wiser than we are.
Perhaps it is forgiving;
Perhaps it is truly resigned.
It has been despoiled and ravaged.
It has received the pollution
Of thousands of thoughtless people.
It can never recover again
It's innocence and purity.
Yet it took all this waste - this refuse,
And in return for these evils,
It gave us things of great beauty.
Myriads of sparkling jewels.

Picking Blackberries

If I could understand what draws me here
Evening by evening calling me away
Perhaps I could know better all impulses
Impelling me to love or hate or laugh.

I say it is for berries ripe and heavy
And hanging on the stem awaiting me,
Their darkness beautiful against the green leaves;
All warm and soft and succulent to eat.

The color of the red, unripened berries
Against the green of leaves and blue of sky!
The rich, sweet darkness of the ones I gather,
Falling with tender fatness in my hand...

So ripe, so sweet they crush and stain my fingers
If I do not pick gently and with care.
The canes all clothed with thorns to make me careful
And slow, and mindful as my basket fills.

Yet still I do not know what draws me here,
Evening by evening calling me away.
It is something intangible, yet solid
Buried beneath the surface of my skin.

The scents here make me heady with much pleasure.
That warm, gold scent of fading summer flowers
Almost assaults me as I wade through grasses
Shoulder-high and still warm from the sun.

When ducking in among the canes and brambles
There is the scent of earth where it is cool;
The scent of places sheltered from the hot sun
Where I expect to find a nest or den.

I know that there are creatures all around me
I feel their eyes upon me and I long
To watch them as they have their private pleasures,
As they are watching me while I have mine.

I do not really wish to fill my basket,
I want the sun to linger through the trees
So I can go on picking smooth, warm berries
In this rich, humid air of summertime.

The sweat upon my body trickles slowly,
And my hot smell is mingled in the air
With flower and earth and fruit and sun-warmed grasses.
A strange concoction that befits the hour.

The heat itself is quite a thing of beauty
Oppressive to my skin, yet full of life.
So rich and moist and full and ripe as berries,
So heavy - the air has almost taken form.

I do not understand what draws me here,
Evening by evening calling me away.
What makes me revel in the heat and fullness
And warm, dark sweetness of the berry time?

The fireflies are winking at me softly
And as the sun has gone so, too, must I.
I leave with basket and soul full of sweetness,
The warm, dark berries of the summertime.

Loss

I cried for beauty that was dead
Squeezed empty hands into my head,
My thoughts recalled what I had lost
I cried again.

My isolated mind stood by
An empty field and barren sky.
Cold snow fell down and froze my thoughts
Within that place.

So thoughtlessly my smile was killed
The empty place was only filled
With barren field and barren sky
And thoughts that question, "Why?"

Once Upon A Time

Once when I was young and unafraid
I lay beside you in a field of grass
And watched the birds careening overhead.
I felt that I was like them in some way,
And thought that I could feel their shadows pass.

And you were young then, too, and had a book
A thoughtful book, discarded at your side
(For talk was finer than the finest books
And silence best by far, or so we thought.)
The world still seemed to be immense and wide.

Then just to touch your hand was pledge enough,
Or else to feel your heart beat 'neath my head
Was full assurance that our way was good.
The grass grew very tall about us there,
And we saw little save our grassy bed.

In the Marketplace

I found you in a brightly colored street,
Amid a market crazy with the sound
Of vendors calling out their many wares
And happy people milling all around.

You were below an awning striped red
Sampling plantains and pomegranate seeds
Of which you gave me tastes straight from your hand.
(That funny smile my curious mind still heeds.)

There was a happy magic in the air,
A buoyancy of song and life and light.
Chaotic music waltzing with the scent
Of fruit that had been on a tree last night.

I found you there for we were lost together
And wandered happily among the stalls
Tasting every sample we could garner
And peering at the homes beyond the walls.

How strange to find you in a bright, loud street
When we both tend to favor solitude;
To eat of pomegranate from your hand
And be seduced by such exotic food.

Fire time

The time of fires is with us once again.
You sit there in the yellow lamplight reading
I hover by the stove to warm my hands,
The baby sleeps in darkness over there.

We live in circles for a span of time.
The circle of the light cast by a lamp,
The circle of warmth around the kitchen stove
The circle of warmth beneath the sheets at night.

The winter is a time for living closely.
I start to feel it's breath upon the air;
Feel it in the chill and silent mornings
When all the ground is heavily glazed with frost.

There is a sweet contentment in close living
A vague surrender bringing with it peace.
The nights are long and cold the stars seem frozen
Glittering a million miles away.

Yet here inside the fire is burning brightly
And as it warms my face it comforts me,
For the time of fires is a time of nearness
Sitting here within the lamplight's glow.

To a Sassafras in Fall

Slim sassafras with jewels in your hair
All braided in among your branches brown;
Two arms raised in some rapture to the skies
So curved and supple like a young girl's arms.

Your body clothed with wind and flaming hair
Has vibrant life so like humanity
I should believe that dryads truly lived
Were I to gaze upon you for too long.

Strawberry Time

Sun like molten copper
Pouring down as tawny liquid
Golden-hot, burning the skin.

Air thick and heavy
If I were a sponge
I could drink it as water.

I hear the plants grow
They rustle in the hot air.
They grow fat upon it.

The smells are intoxicating
More heady than a glass of wine.
I am drunk on the heavy air.

The sharp pop of a berry
Plucked from the green, green vine
It is warm and soft in my hand.

It is sweet and hot in my mouth,
It tastes of the copper sun.
Pleasure is a hot berry field in June.

Fishing

I often went fishing
When I was only five
And my Daddy seemed tall as a tree.
He helped me cast my line,
I always caught a fish.
And I made him put the worm on the hook for me

Once I went fishing
When I was nearly ten
And I sat in the shade with a book.
I was all alone
And I brought some dough for bait
Since I couldn't bear to stick a worm on a hook.

When I went fishing
And I was only five
I had all the luck that anyone could wish.
When I went fishing
And I was nearly ten
I never even caught one single fish.

Treasure

Golden maples

Winter is coming on

Hoard gold.

Carrion Eaters

Black flock
I smell a sick sweetness in the air.
Black flock
Silent and industrious and sure.
Black flock
Blood red heads and beaks sharp to devour.
Black flock
My skin crawls; I turn my face away.
Black flock
It is difficult to find beauty
Black flock
In such awful efficiency.
Black flock
If I could embrace the sight of you
Black flock
I could then embrace the whole earth.
Black flock
You know I am repulsed by you.
Black flock
You sail graciously off on wide wings.
Black flock
Your departure is beautiful
Black flock
You fly with grace unimaginable.
Black flock
You have done well the job you came for.
Black flock
The smell of death is no longer here.

Spider

I am a spider
long and thin and brown.
The wispy kind
with a transparent body.

Someone has put me in a jar.
I don't know who
they put me in here to look at
because I am interesting.

Not because I am beautiful
not even because
they liked me.
They were only interested.

I have only one talent
I can spin a web
to catch my own food.
But there is nothing alive in here...
only me.

Florida

Hot August. I am here again
The salt sea smell in the humid air
The tang of the taste on my mouth and hair
The wet, wild warmth of the sea.

We came to the sea this morning, we three
Hot August... my mind runs back a ways
To an earlier time of vagabond days
When we wandered here, we two.

Placeless and searching we wandered here
Miles and miles of road at our back
A pile of belongings done up in a pack
Meals by the side of the road.

The night was dark 'though the moon was high
When we smelled that first tang of salt in the air.
The white sand was fine as a baby's hair
Beneath our feet where we stood.

We tried to sleep there side by side
But the moon shone gold and the waves were wild,
Happiness came like a wide-eyed child
It kept us awake where we lay.

Hot August, water, sun and sky.
Mile after mile with the car window down
Scrub palmetto, obscure little town.
Our minds over-run with thought.

A jar full of pencils, some canvas board
We made our living here and there;
The joy of freedom was everywhere,
So we lived in that joy for awhile.

Mango stands by the side of the road.
Three hundred dollars between us two,
We slept in the car when the rain came through
(After washing our hair in the rain.)

Through white-hot days, hot, sultry nights
Wet, salty bodies; now it seems
We made a home, a land of dreams
On dusty road through starry nights.

Those happy days my mind has saved
We were placeless, the freer to roam.
No permanent ties yet, no real home.
Life was easy, without any cares.

Once, when the sun brought drowsy thoughts:
"Where are we going and how shall we live?
Is there anything new we believe we can give?"
We mused, and the tide drifted in.

We had nothing, we knew, but our own little lives.
"Our thoughts are our only possessions" said I
"Our thoughts, ourselves, and the blue summer sky.
So let's just be happy today."

Then you smiled at me and we laughed because
Life was a thing to be laughed at then.
The clouds were high and fine and thin
And the sun was a patch of gold.

Now with place and belongings and half-fulfilled dreams
Still our thoughts seem the dearest possessions we own
For the vagabond days are a happiness sown
That have grown up around us a bright field of dreams.

Our roving days taught us well, I suppose,
That happiness come from the little things
Like nights, sweet nights, when the cricket sings.
Slow days, slower nights, happy smiles.

Hot August, we are here again.
Same salt smell in the humid air
Your wet face, and my wet hair
And our baby plays in the tide.

Progress

This is a song for things that used to be

For this was once a place most magical.

A wild plum grew here and in the spring

Filled all the air with scent and hum of bees.



One spring we lay beneath it on the moss

Beneath a canopy of blooms so sweet

As to create a wild, exotic dream

And thoughts so deep that we cannot recall.



To come upon this place was like a dream.

Out of a wood of brambles and dense trees,

You would emerge into a little glade

Where some strange magic made you wish to stay.



Here grew an ancient cherry with a root

That curled for you to sit in on the ground

And made you think it was inviting you

To rest your thoughts awhile in repose.



Here in hot summer it was always cool

And here we oft' escaped in the mid-day

To lay upon the bed of moss awhile

And hear the green leaves rustle overhead.



Sometimes we found a basketful of plums

Soft pink and tangy - tart upon the tongue

And it was like a present from the gods

A manna for the wild things and for us.



Oh that we could come back to you tonight!

And smell the spring-scent on last autumns leaves

And see your buds near bursting into flowers

And lay upon your moss for a short while.



But you are gone, this place is blank and bare.

The trees have all been pushed away. The moss

Is turned to mud that I am standing in

And all the magic has been swept away.

Morning Mist

Silver morning glittering with dew

The grey smoke fog of early morning mist

Hangs tentatively - blanketing the trees

And wrapping all the yellow grass with grey.

The yellow sun is hiding in the fog.

A silver swirl of chill and opaque mist

Be-jewels all the morning - blinding sight.

The world has now become a hazy dream.

Sandcastle

It looked invincible

artificial ramparts

of pink, grey and white shells.

Turrets packed hard - solid.

A flag of brown seaweed

sagging as it waited

for a strong enough wind.

Cannon of smooth driftwood

round pebbles as fodder.

Prepared for a long siege

well provisioned with sea grapes.

Deep moat. The drawbridge

a chunk of Styrofoam

washed up with the last tide.

It looked invincible

facing the ocean bravely,

ready to take on

the swiftly rising tide.

You

I remember you

a beautiful spirit,

dreamy as air

or wind in the trees.

Beautiful hair

unbrushed

curled and tangled.

Beautiful eyes

Like a piece of the sky.

I remember you,

Memories more beautiful

then I could dream up

in a whole year of imagining.