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Solitary (re-write)
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Jul 22, 2011 11:26 pm
4852 Views
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I am suddenly not afraid of growing old
alone. Each time has been the last.
No, I do not mind to see you smile
or look into your eyes
as they wander into mine.
There are years to thread
without regret.
What I've kept hidden:
that I am not half-read
and time is not my only option.
I will draw into the decades -
lines like sketchings
of my mistakes.
But only in the daylight
will you see them, so cleverly
are they disguised,
so heavenly was my youth.
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13
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Time enough
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Jul 12, 2011 4:05 am
5106 Views
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There is time enough.
A hundred years or more
you will see me laden,
vines of memory -
a web of silk
and lines,
you'll breathe one last
kiss upon my face
and we will know
what death can not erase -
your eyes so blue
and full of mine.
Will you hold me,
my ancient skin,
and touch me -
whisper this:
time is not for us?
We will drift
two seeds
upon the wind
to be planted
again.
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10
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An Afternoon
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Jun 22, 2011 8:18 pm
5060 Views
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It begins :
Trees resign
Their sound against my skin,
The sun smirks
And later will remind me…
The air
Was thick with him.
If this is not love
Then tell god to give up.
This master plan
Has landed us
In a cemetery -
And we, disguised
By youth,
Remain disused -
Like the hive
And the house
Upon the hill.
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7
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never-ever
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Jun 17, 2011 1:24 pm
5258 Views
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Well, if Wonderland can't cut it, and the Lost Boy loses his allure, what else is an Alice to do but settle in for one cold, limey g&t? Though still the aging question mark of Caterpillar remains, sometimes it is simply a necessity to stop and have that drink.
As we have discovered, the places between pages are the dreams we live each night - a life apart, but which is real? Do we have to choose a fairy tale landing or can we convalesce forevermore in the arbitrary white-space of our own imaginings? Ah, sweet nectar and tonic. You can take the plummeting dream, the recurring seam that holds her together And, no! She craves her midnight travelings. And without them, how else would she ever-ever...get home again?
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4
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Trajectory
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Apr 21, 2011 4:10 pm
5894 Views
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She will drink the last
of his sanity
with one long straw
drawing her up
as he speaks
to the top of her head.
Bars do that -
love happens in a cup
the size of my fist.
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12
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Threshold
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Apr 16, 2011 1:03 pm
5923 Views
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There are things that make me happy, though none right now can I recall. Where has Alice gone, is she still sleeping, pocket-dreaming - holding on for Peter's fall? All disordered, hair unwinding, tempered with a new un-greatness: Alice wordless, slouching backward - she and I against the wall. The door is peeking, slowly shadows frame its form. We can feel it, hands together, threshold beating - hear it open with resolve.
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8
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Disruption
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Apr 11, 2011 3:33 pm
5890 Views
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I will let go of you
like the failing days of winter,
although it is not in my nature.
Preference has always been the darker caves
of shorter days -
the lack of birdsong
and nothing to disrupt
my slumber.
Now - at 3 a.m.
I hear them
smoking songs
into my sleep.
I roll into another
early dawn -
and the spring and I
are pulled
unwillingly together.
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7
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Flesh and air
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Apr 9, 2011 12:05 pm
5865 Views
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The landing came too soon :
made of metal
splitting wood
flesh and air
the sound of bone
and parted earth;
the smell of beauty
fast
and failing.
She lay there
like a memory
in ragged leggings,
all blood
and echoes -
her bruises whispered
telling stories
to the dry
and morning sun.
Imagination
placed in her
a heart
of odds and ends,
she stood in death
and hovered
like a Queen
never-grounded
never-rooted -
she had
at last
misplaced despair.
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3
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hello again
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Apr 5, 2011 7:23 pm
6253 Views
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The words are dormant, buried under the slush of cheap years.
Once, a long time ago.
Respite and word-play saved me and I cannot for the life of me think how to trade them back.
Dammit.
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16
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Three years ago...who now is still here? (or Santa is not a sexist)
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Dec 22, 2010 6:52 pm
5767 Views
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'Twas the Night Before Christmas
(or A Visit from St. Nicholae)
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
not a creature was writing, nor clicking a mouse.
The posts were all decorated with colors and flair,
in hopes that our friends soon would be there.
The weirdoes were nestled all snug with their heads
composing poems and those stories, things better left unsaid.
Our Ari was splendid with wisdom, and I with my laugh,
we had just grabbed the bottle and popped off the cap.
When out there in the cyber there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to my blog to see what was the matter.
Away to my keyboard I flew like a flash,
tore through some posts, and threw on the Clash.
The words from the breasts of my new-founded friends
gave the luster of hope to my feelings again,
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a loopy crazed Oneman and his eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so silly and bad,
I knew in a moment it must be Quiet man.
More rapid than meal rations, his coursers they came,
and he hooted and hollered and called them by name:
"Now Sir T! Now Bigman!
Now, JiffyBob and Gower!
On, Quaint (man!)! On, Dan (my man)!
On, Goodguy and Dudley!
To the top of the list!
To the top of them all!
Now post away! Post away!
You're all off the wall!"
As simple as words that will lift you or fry,
these boys were our nemeses, our brothers, our pie-in-sky.
So knowing their power, to the list-top they flew,
with the sleigh full of smiles, and that odd little oneman too.
And then, in a twinkling, I searched on my blog,
For one last bit of proof that the magic was logged.
With head in my hands, and a big zero for comments
I looked once again and saw St. Nicholae in all of her dominance.
She was dressed all in fur, but she wasn't a cat,
and her clothes were all garnished with stardust - she was phat.
A bundle of spoils she had flung on her back,
and she looked like a peddler just opening her pack.
Her eyes--how they twinkled! Her dimples, how merry!
Her cheeks were like roses, her nose like a cherry!
Her droll little words were like a string on a bow,
and the beard on her chin was removed for the show.
The stump of a pipe she had hidden from sight,
but the smoke was still visible in this heady, calm night.
She had a broad face and a little round belly,
that shook when she laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
She was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
and I laughed when I saw her, it was me - my own self.
A wink of her eye and a twist for a lure
soon gave me to move away from the mirror.
I spoke not a word, but went straight back to type
and filled all my new friends with craziness and hype.
And laying my finger aside of my nose,
I typed up such prose, up the list of girls I rose.
I sprang to my sleigh, to this team gave a whistle,
And away we all flew like the down of a thistle.
Behind me I heard, 'ere I flew out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
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17
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