Circus Fair

If now is the moment
why are you not here?

When I call your name
nothing appears...

Apparitions, full of fear
Haunt the mind as day draws near...

too many corners
in between
when i see you
you don't see me
turn the lock
toss the key
go running back
thru history


Lover, love, lover, loved,
so it slips to the sky above
like prayers cut from trembling lips
the secret stolen from bridled bliss
your truth like rocks, piled high
a stark, solid, crumbling pile
fades into the dark night sky...

I remember midnight when
we sat giggling on playground swings
and flew so high, falling back,
it was glee
it was slack
it was tiptoes
on wooden floors
avoiding boards that made squeaking noise
I showed you my childhood toys
and you smiled with all your poise
knowing little girls like that...

so now i see
how we missed
each moment of sattvic bliss
disturbed, and unending train
like the ocean becomes the rain
becomes the falling on mountain tops
becomes the spring, becomes the cup
and she drinks it, ever near
a trembling lip and falling tear...
she waited for him to appear
night sky unframed by his silhouette
she knew she had not found him yet

Memories fade, like morning dew
I never thought I would stop loving you
I never thought you would stop too
We never knew which thought was true
but here it goes,
the poetry becomes the prose
becomes the smile turned upside down
becomes the stories in which we drown
becomes the way we lose ourselves
the ideas that steal our health

nothing resolves,
yet something grows
filling up the broken holes
something glows like molten rock
and suddenly, pain just stops

all is free, and light and air
like children in their underwear
forgetting just why to care
about having a soul laid bare
just enjoy the circus fair
kick up your heals
toss back your hair
balance your heart on moonbeam's stride
tone your mind, forget your pride
remembering it's just a ride
and only the living come out alive...

the undulating dark

quiet morning
like cherry blossom dropping
when the wind is absent
i arose, remembering.

there was an angel in my dreams
before i woke
all was golden light
gold on gold
even standing in the cold
bold

a summer field stretched
wooden fences
with gaps
to keep hapless sad in
the soft wind
disturbing air on skin
everything cast over in gold

he tried to remind me
of where I had been and where I was going
such an angel.

But not quite the same as God.
although beautiful answers
that made perfect sense
alignment, structure, form
all represented with precision.

I could not agree

Something inside of me
Murky, raw, sleek
the dark places where things grow
the room you board up
the part you hide
laughing it away at cocktail parties
and weddings, at church, and funerals
although at funerals we let it out a little....
but not at the supermarket
the part we spend our lives avoiding
tumultuous, turning, yearning, unseen,
tumbling down like a castle in the hands of time and vines.
until we die
and are reclaimed by the vices of microscopic life

This part of me was not in his vision
he refused it's consideration in his calculations
this way assured I knew
if the world failed
it would be my fault
for harboring darkness
for not cutting that part out and offering it's writhing to the cleansing rays
of the sun god

i told him he should seek peace
instead of change
insight instead of gold
trouble, loneliness, desperation,
such beautiful flaws are the landscapes that invite sunset horizons
sitting beneath a vast sky in a life of flawed achievement ripe with meaning
and bursting with poetry to ease the soul
mythos and mangoes,
ideals well-met with dripping ripe sweetness
instead of museums of well-sorted gems
stacked upon each other
untouchable and frozen
the world can never be perfect i screamed into the golden polish
for then it would surely die
without the undulating dark rolling out
creation.

The Dishes Had Piled UP High in Her Mind.....

my dear,

don't miss the forest for the trees
he said
they were in manhattan
and she wasn't sure which forest he was talking about

the dishes had piled up high
in her mind
stacks of filth
and soggy bread crusts
lost ideals
sunk deep in the wilted lettuce sink drain
tumbling backwards in time
and undoing all the beauty
that could ever exist forever between them
replaced with memories of childhood furies,
and the failures of parentals
with muttered curses
she uttered under
dried egg yolk stuck
scratched teflon pans

and he would walk by it all
and ask her to dance
what an inappropriate activity when there was work to be done
cleaning, organizing
buying
lists
upon lists
upon lists
and things to clean the things you clean your things with...
and he walked right by it all to sit high
on the urban mountains called "roof"

as he sat on the top of the building
the world an open valley
 anywhere he perched was his castle
she would look up at him as he gazed dreamily upon inner landscapes
remember. 
she could remember him when she saw him like that
softer days
when love made their feet touch feet
and their touching feet made their life tingle with meaning and joy
when she wanted to share every secret, every joy, each little story and big dream
where she whispered sweet promises of forever to him

and he told her
'we can decide upon forever when first you meet me here'
i have been waiting for you for 40 days and 40 nights
just show up
come back
all will be well
with love and kindness
do not forget
what can be
and loose the forest for the trees...

but they were in manhattan
walking down another street
there was no forest as far as the eye could see
but right in front of her was a maple tree.

Kurt Vonnegut and Easter

i will be back in an hour he said
as he grabbed his hat and left
the feeling of sunset arising early in the morning
left Mary's head spinning.

it seemed they had only just begun.

the kitchen smelled of caraways seeds and olive oil
on Easter Sunday
all the butter and fluff and tinsel
couldn't make up for too much familiarity

after an hour had passed
it seemed eternity did an impression
of 2000 years of human turmoil
filled with misunderstanding
of what is sacred
what is seed
what is fruit
and where was he?

so she grabbed her hat and stepped out.
feeling naked as she combed the city searching

the grass was pregnant with eggs
and every passerby
was a parade of apparitions
pale imitations of him
that faded when she neared.

as she wandered
as she wondered
what would come next?
one thought echoed down through eternity
from a great master
who saw straight to the heart of humanity...

 "Since Alice had never received any religious instruction, and since she had led a blameless life, she never thought of her awful luck as being anything but accidents in a very busy place. Good for her."

"So it goes."  - Kurt Vonnegut

Letters

Letters

i have written you many,

at night,

dim light,

light of the moon,

not hurried, not sullen,

contemplative,

i swoon.

i write them in pencil,

in case i mistake.

i write them in sweet,

i write them in gray.

a silhouette of all that i feel

i yield,

and let it become real...

i move it thru my hand....

a scratch on the pad,

a memory, a vision,

a thought that i had

and then like an itch

in one foul stroke

i crumble it up,

all that i wrote

i wanted to tell you

about the wind,

and the way it caresses

so many things....

and it reminds me of a way late, late at night

before the dew cracks

and thoughts of night,

to run my hands down the small of your back....

alas....

my hand stops on the page...

and crumbles it up,

to send it away...

each scribbled word,

each uttered ideal.

each shattered world,

each humble appeal.

and lights it on fire,

like a pine-bough in the night,

all faces revealed,

in the flaring of light.

un-uttered, un-heard.

i lost every word,

with the light of a match...

everything i said, burned...

each fumbled sentence revealing a sweetness;

i could not let you catch.

cause i never could send

a thing that i wrote.

so i set them on fire.

each 

individual 

note.