Birthday Girl
Deep room debate
silent adults sitting in a circle
hunched shoulder arena
nothing left to do
the birthday girl wants to leave
but no one else wants her to
so we all wait.
Categories
Category: Poetry
Categories
People ways
People ways
How the sun must rise
red stone step
places to pray between rock and shadow
holy in our movement
we hear the faint sound
shut our eyes and keep our mind open
to boys who come from all directions
by the sound of their young voices
from the mountains they had come to sing
their oval mouths blossoming like spring.
What is at stake
taking in where you live or
living where it takes you as
traveling
opens your mind,
like seasons,
and touching nature.
Categories
At the Edge
At the Edge
When at the edge of a mountain
you should do nothing but look
after climbing a tower see the
people ways
hallways through stone
down to the Great oval circles scribed in Sienna
When conversations don’t need works
and the world in different languages
appreciates dancing
hands speak
touched
palm to palm
danced circles
in the piazza
Forget your thoughts
and when someone speaks
listen.
Rose
The deep veil.
An exterior with
ruby remnants
turns the color of a
crusted leaf.
Twisted, wrinkly, permanent
a still color.
.
The color
of a brown rose
until the last petal falls.
.
We planted in the yard last fall
hundreds, into a hibernating sleep
losing track of them and
keeping score.
.
In May, the blossoms came
all at once, almost unexpected
the bed kept so many
warm within the blankets.
.
By August, the blushing shade of
weddings, warmed with summer
they were almost open
pulling away
each succulent piece taut
keeping together the crisp
essence of what lies beneath
each fold and petal.
Categories
The Great Oval Circles
The Great Oval Circles
A man can balance
at the edge of a mountain
hold only a ledge built into the rock
peer from behind a parapet
over a shrunken landscape
sheltered from a fall like a china dish
on a shelf without a lip.
.
Look down to the people ways
carved in continuous travel
hallways through the stone
down to the great oval
circles scribed in Siena
.
Walk along the mountain path
to the piazza in front of the church
where people dance:
hands speak
touch palm to palm
dance circles
in the piazza
Once in the church boys came from all directions
in the loft the sound of their young voices
approaching in a chorus in front of dusty sunlight
stretching through the windows
crowded in the pews
young children sat in the aisles
and on the altar steps
.
An older generation waited
closed eyes keep an open mind
a mass between neighbors
as open as the sky
listening to the faint sounds of a city in motion.
.
The sun made red stone steps at dusk
places to pray between rock and shadow
away with daily routine
surprise and gesture
keeping memory together
a beating heart pulsed.
He is so perfect, a little baby with soundless breath, a head to fit in your palm, so small, a new life bloomed a whole new world, how can life go on without being centered around him?
Swaddled arms he pulls close to his face. Big eyes, so alert to voices, he looks, lips smacking. Mothers sweet words and Dad’s strong arms. The parents know what they are doing, and no one questions that.
He is a quiet miracle, literally lifted from the womb.
I feel the baby’s heart, pull him close to feel mine, and touch his chest with my pressed fingertips to feel his heart, but instead feel the quickened breath of his small but serious life. I can’t stop thinking about his small face, his little body and his big wondering eyes.
Categories
One Year Later we Spoke of Lisbon
One Year Later we Spoke of Lisbon
Among the small corners
in tops of a city Portugal
sitting in the shade of a tired castle
the layering facades of streets
having people all between.
.
These colors, nice from the sky
darkest green, all shades of brown land
rolling white paths around them
red roof urban collages
the busy amount of people
an organized pattern of buildings.
.
Music invites a look through
to the band playing, hidden in the back
people dancing on low roofs, hiding in terraces.
.
Pockets of churchyard men
their old-age game of cards,
people behind their dark slit shutters
more people waiting in shops
leading near the ocean.
.
I tell you I am
unfamiliar but attached to this
degree of separation
where the city is like the sea
a background resonating
and when traveling, a comfort of consistency
to release missing
and find instead the fair sounds of hope.
Categories
Spring Fever
Spring Fever
head tilted
slide horizon
tip toe puddles
It rained all April.
.
We climbed up a ladder,
tightly wound
like he slid into a hole
from the ground.
.
An envelope licked, held shut
we were close,
his hands drove down
a bare neck, a
soft shoulder
.
Molding clay,
softly rolled between the palms.
.
The chalky taste of the moon
caught in our throats.
Categories
Love was in the Rivers
Love was in the Rivers
Rivers he took me to at the small shores of Virginia each year.
Every year at this time we were closer to being older.
Being older as wiser and similar people.
Similar people, older, wiser, changed and refreshed.
Refreshed in the semblance that the river could never lose its name.
At least the name would always be the same.
Categories
Summer of 2006
Summer of 2006
I thought dating someone new
could stand up to my looming memories
sailing in Annapolis
New Jersey shores just north
where candle evenings were
buried in the sand.
.
Criss-crossed blankets were over, a lot
of time passed since then.
Memorized hips and feet felt like new,
kisses too were changing my memories.
.
I wondered if time could pass this
and replace it with new people
never knowing me then
these memories dying
were hard on me now.
.
I looked for new qualities
possessed in the realms of a new person,
not you,
writing me letters,
likewise,
not mentioning any one else
you were forgetting,
.
so we could
say we did
keep going.
