for saving me
to death in the depths
of my heart;
any more pain would have
frozen it through,
making it so brittle
that even a kind glance
would have fractured it
into too many pieces to restore
to the glory I am warm in
with you and a whole heart.
Posts Tagged ‘Untitled’
Tags: Dark, Fear, God, Heart, Scorpion, Untitled
sometimes I finger the scars on my heart
in the dark, all alone,
rough ribbons of hardened tissue;
they are braille lines of poetry;
railroad tracks to remind me of my innermost fears.
They feel almost skeletal,
and read like the scriptures of God,
and sting like the scorpions of God.
This inexplicable heaviness of my heart
comes when it understands
and the remainder of me doesn’t;
yet it holds the responsibility,
and everything else must follow.
wow Michael what a way to get back into
writing in your poetry journal:
a little scotch,
a little blood,
a little scotch in your blood,
[a little blood in your scotch]
and you’re back to begging
that it’s all over.
lost in the dark,
sometimes I sit down wherever I am
and wait for the morning to come,
stealing through the thick air
and lightening the darkness,
like highlights in your hair.
we write poems when our tongues tie
together in my mouth, behind your lips;
unspoken words like unnoticed snow
in the shade of a tree in the high mountains.
the stars swim down
through wicker-woven clouds
to say goodnight to your beauty.
I say goodnight to your beauty,
too, though I wish I was a star like you,
exploding over millions of miles
or quietly winking from farther away.
I sing and I sing and I sing
to you of dreams I’ve had
and notions that came to me
while I watched you sleeping
and I sang them softly
to you into the little cup of your ear
which never overflows;
it listens and holds all of my nonsense,
but only while you’re sleeping.
only while you’re sleeping.
when the dew-drops poise
on blades of grass I like to
wait until they fall
before I kiss your smooth brow
when I must wake you from sleep.
yet, never alone, the company
of those who flicker candle-flames
always keep me entertained
with wishing you were here.
no sleight of hand by any season
could console me for the loss of your smile
of girlish enthusiasm if a trick of my own
has caused you some fleeting delight.
Tags: Beer, Friend, Joy, Light, Love, Smoke, Untitled
what is life without a smoke and a beer
freely given and freely recieved
like the love from your friends?
life’s little joys to be consumed
and forgotten in the moment.
happiness tends to be transitory
like the light zipping past you from the sun
or one smoke and one beer when they’re done.
Tags: Heart, Magic, Mind, Smile, Time, Untitled
the heart is a marvellous thing.
it does not think with logic -
it “thinks’ in magic
so your mind usually takes
a bit of time to justify
what your heart says is right.
meanwhile your heart is smiling
and has its arms crossed
over its chest, very comfortable
especially if you’ve listened.
a spray of flowers
erupting from a glass vase
is a frozen firework
of love from you.
Tags: Car, Echo, Ghost, Memories, Soul, Spirit, Time, Untitled
a car travelling with my soul
in the passenger’s seat: this is time
and I watch fields of wheat breathe,
amber waves of grain…
an organ plays melancholy from a building
and people pass, they do not hear,
too busy looking down when I have stopped
to listen for the sound of the wind:
echoes and ghostlike spirits of memories.
I cannot explain the music I hear,
be it cacophony or pure, ringing clear,
perhaps the different drum I march to.
each time I turn a page
I wonder if it is already written -
not like as in I’ve done this before
or it’s something I’ve forgotten
- but rather if Fate or Destiny has called
and their webs are woven invisibly;
the strokes of this pen color in
what they’ve decreed delicately.
Tags: Cry, Dark, Heart, Light, Love, Untitled, Wood
now I know I love you
when I heard you sad because of me;
I realize things too late
and make due with writing poetry
to read or think on when
I cannot call or hold you with me;
my thoughts may wander briefly
but I will always love you truly.
when did my heart become so armored
that I couldn’t feel a thing?
like what I do or say to make you hurt
and never feel it sting me like it should.
did I disremember to knock on wood
when I found that I was enamored with you?
all I know is how you were curt
and I knew that I had made you cry;
I felt stupid not knowing why.
in the darkness
of being insensitive
perhaps I will light
my way with my task
what I always
these poems are chunks of my mind;
sometimes they’re raw and unkind,
but they are always what I’m thinking
even if (especially if) I’m drinking
and I know I convice myself sometimes
that I’m guilty of various crimes
but when I see I’ve written that I don’t care
is when I’m falling again into despair.
I hate that feeling coming through
and I know that you hate it, too.
big and small
and sometimes with a tail
that is clutched
by twisting hands
I try to write like you do.
no starting out
with an I
but statements that swing
through the sky
and sometimes like tuning a guitar
Tags: Crow, Fire, Forest, Shadow, Untitled, Window
there’s a shadow who lays on my windowsill
from the crow who sits on the telephone wires
and if I wasn’t home reading up your poetry
I’d be out in a forest setting fires.
I can’t help thinking of what you’re writing
my red-haired twin of poetry and sorcery;
a pen and a sword are our two-fisted fighting,
to roll back the sheets of what you and I’ll be.
Tags: Druid, Eagles, Flowers, Forest, Light, Mice, Night, Owl, Sky, Time, Untitled, Woods
A Druid has stood
In the green of my woods,
A forest of lines of verse.
The light from her eyes
Has given me my eagles
Which soar through my nighttime skies.
I hunt for the words
As mice run from an owl
And stand them in bowls;
Bouquets of flowers
to please me.
Tags: Dream, Fire, Light, Love, Time, Untitled
I can only know
that time will tell me when
I can be in love again -
meanwhile, what do I do?
love has struck me down
and lifts me higher and higher
each day is consumed in fire
but I’m not quite sure for who.
I am a poet – I dream
and emotions may come easily
but this flood is confusing me;
I’m not sure what is right.
this horrible uncertainty
an important indecision
melting myself with derision
but not shedding any light.
Tags: Angel, Cloud, Dawn Spinda, Girl, Grass, Rain, Sky, Tears, Untitled
I am free of ties to glide the skies
and romp and play like a colt in a field
of clouds and grass and care no less
for life is a packet of sugar I eat
while chatting with a pretty girl
on the sidewalk where an ice cream cone
has fallen and looks like crayon or chalk
the color of strawberry milkshakes, easter eggs
and we watch the rain come in and get us
wet and warm and tropical release of angel’s tears.
[for Dawn Spinda]
Tags: Bear, Blue, Brown, Cloud, Dream, Earth, Fly, Red, Untitled, Water, Wind
I know that something’s changed,
my bear’s stomach smells like you again
but I’ll yell to myself.
you come walking through my daydreams
as if you were some travelling Indian
who I must chase off my land.
my hair’s getting long and in my face;
both yours and mine, they’re red and brown
like all of this waterstained earth I see.
over this I fly, sortof falling from the sky
all around you, a shattered pane of glass
melting to dew on the tips of the new grass.
I go with no control like a paper in the winds,
scudding, a cloud, a castle;
help me find my center in all the blue.