Wednesday, November 10, 2010
yeah - sweet
"The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
that good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
when the "Gales of November" came early."
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
that good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
when the "Gales of November" came early."
Saturday, June 12, 2010
I am but a faulty appliance but He uses me anyway
Like a cordless drill that seldom holds a charge
But I have some use yet despite the hours some wait for me to work
Or the days I just don’t or can’t
Amazing I am used at all
The projects are large and small
And still I am reached for
When the rains come
The pieces fail
And maybe my once steadfast application on the day
is enough to keep me around
The charger light is green
I’m ready
At least for now
Like a cordless drill that seldom holds a charge
But I have some use yet despite the hours some wait for me to work
Or the days I just don’t or can’t
Amazing I am used at all
The projects are large and small
And still I am reached for
When the rains come
The pieces fail
And maybe my once steadfast application on the day
is enough to keep me around
The charger light is green
I’m ready
At least for now
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Why do things
fall between the cracks?
I did not mean to let you fall
behind the fridge and forget your great intentions
My overworn magnet failed briefly
and I mistook your ability to hold on and take the unseen attacks
from each window's gasp, sigh, or scream
I am the most faulted device in this plan though
with my fabled heart and aimless appliance
I have been in that same dark cavern
once thought to be a valued accord
lost by way of colliding climates
and unsupervised ploys
I still value the salvation you held up for me
Your nurishing plan
Forgive me this
I hope
fall between the cracks?
I did not mean to let you fall
behind the fridge and forget your great intentions
My overworn magnet failed briefly
and I mistook your ability to hold on and take the unseen attacks
from each window's gasp, sigh, or scream
I am the most faulted device in this plan though
with my fabled heart and aimless appliance
I have been in that same dark cavern
once thought to be a valued accord
lost by way of colliding climates
and unsupervised ploys
I still value the salvation you held up for me
Your nurishing plan
Forgive me this
I hope
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
July 6, 2009
Heroine
The suit torn
Powers fading
So much of her city in peril
before evening news and the last standoff at story-time
A Cheerio stuck to her elbow
Watching the slobbery chin all morning
The shit and toil before noon
imagine the terror crib
a prison cell of fluffy, trampled souls
the teetering monument of dishes still waiting
The ground zero living room
toys looking up with stunned eyes
a frozen teddy bear tossed
the bumbling giant now sucking a forced bottle
at her private park bench, mid-commute
is it groceries or the doctor today?
the child’s red cheeks cool under streams of glassy release
Will the white elixir quell the raw scream?
The winced and angry crinkle of flesh pinching what once was oval-eyed innocence
tighter the dissatisfaction of little fists
the stubby vices quivering in her chest
the calming preoccupation of a bottle
like booze to an alcoholic
For now the world may not end
But if only the hot mug of brown reason weren’t left for dead by her basin of caramelized plates
The first and only sip of salvation long since coursed through her heart
The child calms as the brush strokes of bobbing limbs in the breeze paint the day
The once empty canvas of her life now almost full
She can see the tattered mural -
harmless dalliances by the shoreline
The top down, sunset rearview and radio that one summer
The congregation and her groom waiting
A dress dripped in tears when he smiled
The note dripped with tears when he left
The lonely winters and pale walls of her secret palace
The day her purpose arrived and powers returning
the fewer and fewer dances with sleep
The many villains of time
It is decided now
She will wear many capes -
many tragedies soon averted
Heroine
The suit torn
Powers fading
So much of her city in peril
before evening news and the last standoff at story-time
A Cheerio stuck to her elbow
Watching the slobbery chin all morning
The shit and toil before noon
imagine the terror crib
a prison cell of fluffy, trampled souls
the teetering monument of dishes still waiting
The ground zero living room
toys looking up with stunned eyes
a frozen teddy bear tossed
the bumbling giant now sucking a forced bottle
at her private park bench, mid-commute
is it groceries or the doctor today?
the child’s red cheeks cool under streams of glassy release
Will the white elixir quell the raw scream?
The winced and angry crinkle of flesh pinching what once was oval-eyed innocence
tighter the dissatisfaction of little fists
the stubby vices quivering in her chest
the calming preoccupation of a bottle
like booze to an alcoholic
For now the world may not end
But if only the hot mug of brown reason weren’t left for dead by her basin of caramelized plates
The first and only sip of salvation long since coursed through her heart
The child calms as the brush strokes of bobbing limbs in the breeze paint the day
The once empty canvas of her life now almost full
She can see the tattered mural -
harmless dalliances by the shoreline
The top down, sunset rearview and radio that one summer
The congregation and her groom waiting
A dress dripped in tears when he smiled
The note dripped with tears when he left
The lonely winters and pale walls of her secret palace
The day her purpose arrived and powers returning
the fewer and fewer dances with sleep
The many villains of time
It is decided now
She will wear many capes -
many tragedies soon averted
Friday, May 15, 2009
Under that tree, I'm not from Ohio
Under that tree, I’m not from Ohio
May 15, 2009
There is a tree there
Like no other
old as God
branches down
almost a half bubble of timber
The perfect spot to put up the tent
build a fire,
drink beer all afternoon
and bum
Under that tree I’m not from Ohio
I don’t have a job
and bills
I never existed
I never went to college
or mended broken hearts
I wasn’t even born
I’m alien and instantly there
as though beamed down Star Trek-style
all my cells freshly arranged at the bottom in a mass of glowing flesh
‘Who am I?’ I’d think
I didn’t care
The sought-after amnesia was perfect
Everything new
I had no stock in anything
The anxiety gone
I just watched crows pick scraps in the campground
I might as well have been Walt Whitman
Deer wandered by at dusk and scared off the bobcats
I could hear the waves plock as they hit the pocket of the shore where that mountain river ends
A wall of hills curtain the east,
it is the end and the edge -
there is nowhere left
just a gold field
And a trail to the sea -
An old place and new life
May 15, 2009
There is a tree there
Like no other
old as God
branches down
almost a half bubble of timber
The perfect spot to put up the tent
build a fire,
drink beer all afternoon
and bum
Under that tree I’m not from Ohio
I don’t have a job
and bills
I never existed
I never went to college
or mended broken hearts
I wasn’t even born
I’m alien and instantly there
as though beamed down Star Trek-style
all my cells freshly arranged at the bottom in a mass of glowing flesh
‘Who am I?’ I’d think
I didn’t care
The sought-after amnesia was perfect
Everything new
I had no stock in anything
The anxiety gone
I just watched crows pick scraps in the campground
I might as well have been Walt Whitman
Deer wandered by at dusk and scared off the bobcats
I could hear the waves plock as they hit the pocket of the shore where that mountain river ends
A wall of hills curtain the east,
it is the end and the edge -
there is nowhere left
just a gold field
And a trail to the sea -
An old place and new life
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)