The Room - A Poem

I walked into a room

The window frames melted,

Flooring came undone,

The ceiling, pocked already,

Cracked open

As gravity found it’s hole

And I, suspended

Arrived at another world.

There was no sky to observe,

No earthly frame of reference

To take hold,

No color refracting, no air,

Only the after glow burning

On the backs of my eyes

Of horses running in fields,

And turtles creeping ….

The august light, disembodied,

flowed through finally

to some core I had withheld,

just some kindling spark

that burst into flame

and devoured the brazen world

leaped deep into my bulb,

what was left…

A Homecoming by Sea - A Poem

I saw father returning

His first light on the ship

At the drawn line

Between heaven and earth

The lamp bobbed with the wave

Pushed by the wind

Carrying him home,

Homecoming at harbor

Not safe, this cold place

Jarred with peaks

Of hardened coral,

Ravaging the soft curls

Of glassed surf

They were in his brow,

Stories of landed curiosities,

Long gone islands

Deserted at haunted knolls,

What remained,

His smile,

Uttering fervent prayers

Thanks given,

Finally home.

His Sawdust Hands - A Poem

His sawdust hands

Clapped and rubbed

To relieve the aches

Of a hard day’s work

The sweat leaves tracks

Through the wrinkles

The knuckles bulbous

From over exertion

He manages a smile

That belies the pain

Developed over time

And adjusts his hat

Keeps the sun away

Looks good to boot

We stood on the beach

I held his hand,

Us two in Bermudas

Nothing to cover

Our eyes from that light

It floated over

Waves glistening in salt

Then enveloped us

In an otherworldly haze

Fruit in an Orchard Byway - A Poem

Fruit in an orchard byway

Discarded by the vintner or one passing,

Lies in the blued and bright grasses

Curling around it, concealing it’s worms,

A hint of breathing airs

Eddying the trails of moss and greens,

Suckles the fruit to decaying,

What kills the orange and apple now,

Sparks memories driven by similar ways…

To Sing - A Poem

I leave the flock

To sing,

Not to guide another,

Or ask any question,

But to sing

Simply because I’m alive.

A Sparrow lays Waiting - A Poem

In the elbow of the branch

A sparrow lays waiting,

His feathers could be green

Only if in a swarmed flock,

When, bells tolling in the square,

The last gibbous moon

Before full,

Sweeps over the only steeple,

Then falls madly, Icarus drowning,

In god knows what open sea