Tag Archives: Poetry

Under the Bridge

How often I threw myself in tears
On the breast of the Chesapeake bay,
Exchanging my saltwater for fresh
The ever impassioned castaway

But the tide always brought me home again
Even when I had other designs,
Those waters washed me clean again
Time after time after time.

I never showed that side to you;
We always bowed to the other.
You recognized the weak in me:
The perfect mate and mother.

You quoted Kinder, Küche, Kirche,
As you prepared to take my life,
But my docility stood a constructed facade
As I refused to be your wife.

But you came by your oppression honestly
So I never wished you harm.
There was, underneath your tyranny,
Rays of childlike charm.

In what you loved, you showed delight
With a smile spread ear to ear,
And I mostly enjoyed our merry dance
Until you pulled too near.

Alone, I must have found you,
And alone is ever excising
But I’ve heard of all your accomplishments;
Your star seemed ever rising.

You loved our virgin state
For the dignity of her past,
And the grandeur of her beauty.
You were ever holding fast.

You’ve thrown yourself off a bridge,
Dying as every falling star.
I cannot stand in judgment,
Remembering where my own bridges are

And knowing what it takes to stand
On the edge of all you’ve ever known
The courage it takes to make goodbyes
And courage, you’ve always shown.

I will not ask you why, or say you are laid waste,
But I will honor you, old friend.
I only wish you had come home
To make your final end

Where the water flows in kindness,
And may have cradled you to her breast
To lift your head, to wash you clean,
To bring you home to rest.


Inkulpable

I’m no guiltier than the moon,
Credited with shining white
And causing howls, or lovers’ swoons,
But possessing no inherent light
Merely collecting forgotten rays strewn
On the lost side of the dark of night.

I’m no guiltier than the mirror clear,
Silver-backed, silver-tongued,
Reflecting all you hate, you fear,
All you adore now lost among
The wrinkles and smears
Depleting the memory of the young
You once wore here.

I’m no guiltier than the pen,
Or the fingers clutching tightly:
A marital dance, twirling again,
Ever swirling sprightly
Through the aged den
Of the unavoidable and the unlikely
Colliding into truth when
I speak in verse; I speak rightly.


Fissure King

It stained everything
In the days I was shaken
Seeping from cracks
Ripped through the foundation.

Broken, I became
All ink stain and rubble.
Who pained to look on me
Invited trouble.

Days and distance
Stilled the quake
I still awake at night
Prone to shake

In the wake of the devastation
I have tasted:
The flesh and folly
Quaking wasted.

Who I am
Forever stained
Along the fissures
Carved like veins

By a mighty hand
I could not see,
Guiding these cracks
That had to be

But in the deepest chasm
Of fractured despair,
I found one small flower
Blooming fair

A fragile, fragrant blossom,
Unfamiliar to my sight,
And it’s nectar held the power
To put every fracture right.

I did not have it in me
To shut up the chasm deep,
To force the little flower
Into impotence and sleep.

So I live along these fault lines,
This open, aching earth,
So I can ever reach the little bloom
That grants broken dust rebirth.

There is a great compassion
Built into my design;
I am the gaping fissure,
But the flower, too, is mine.


Tyranny

How we rove to find fault lines
Along the beggars’ crust.
Drunkards at our temples’ wines
Before they fall to dust,
And all we crave, and all that shines
Is eaten o’er with rust.

Kingdoms built up single-handed
Walling out their friend.
Blood and water have demanded:
Evaporation is their end.
The fools have all disbanded
Repackaged to transcend.

Governments so small
One mere ruler need preside.
Taxes levied all,
But none will thus divide.
We have built our gates so tall
To neglect the space inside!


Revolve

Great round moon
Circling my days,
Like a mother peeking at her sleeping children.

In the dark
I search your black sky
To dispel with your light what the night wants to paint.

Smiling face
Ever stalwart friend,
Showering on me from the safety of our companionship.


Fragile

I have worshipped you
And no fissure was wide
Enough to threaten
Your enthroned pride.

I’m still quick to bow,
But my eyes are open
To the strength of the vessel
I’ve stored all my hope in

Wandering allegiances,
Mobilized on all fronts,
Laterally exposed,
But you stood unified once,

Or so I believed
From my prostrate view.
Was this dangerous pride born
In my exaltation of you?

To believe you can submerge
Your hand in the flame,
To remain with what burns,
But escape more the same,

And you have already changed,
But your eyes cannot see
How you flicker like flames
For and against me

Like our kingdom could never
Be destroyed by fire,
Like you are invincible
Against your own desires

And I was wrong to return,
To bow low my will,
To allow you to forget:
All that breathes is fragile.


Freedom

I am waiting to breathe
Waiting to die until I can see
A watery horizon,
The layers of wizened
Peel off under the sun
I want to feel the ocean
Smell the salt water in my face,
Listen to its metered race,
Crescendo, crash and rescind,
The passion of the end
Building a new beginning

Each wave brimming with eternity,
and release.


Bricolage

There is a wildness in me
An ocean in a bottle
With a moist cork, I see
I stand a suppressed model
Of practicality,
Revving for full throttle
But for the wake of brutality
And all forgot, all
Sacrificed to creativity,

But there is something wild in me
And still it grows, and still I thirst
For open fields, and free
Paints, and notes, and words
And time and space to feed
What be the best or worst
Or wildest escapee-
All unheard, and all unversed,
La Pensée Sauvage will be.


Let the Redeemed of The Lord Say So

How tremulous are the times,
These smooth faced crimes
We cultivate as pets
Feeding crumbled regrets
Until our hands are stained bare
Our ignorance declares
Our bloodthirsty guilt.
We are born to wilt,
Screaming wild from the womb
Against our descent to the tomb
Fascinated with all that lies beneath,
Sheep with carnivorous teeth
Tearing at the soft flesh
The crave and the thirst enmesh
And each entanglement, syrup sweet
And each digestion, a mortal defeat.
On our mounds of filth, we stand
Making worship, inherently hand in hand,
An abstraction we practice alone
Bowing at our own thrones
Bowing, but never to sit
Playing the king, but unfit
To reign.

You reign
Holy and blameless
Ever shameless
Even against our mess,
This howling failure to confess
And repent, and consent to life.
Taking the enemy for wife
Restoring order to the disjointed
Renewing Your anointed

Who were the worst of the lot.


End Game

Am I fundamentally the same I have been?
If this is the wind-down into the end,
What has remained, and what has been changed,
And what should be changed again?

Have I done all that I could do,
All that only I could do?
Or do I pass the flame, less my name,
Along to someone new?

Am I a pitcher pulled from mound,
Or did I make the final inning?
There are a thousand ways to stop a race,
But only one of them is winning.