black door,
impenetrable portal
to the silent night,
when a sudden train rushes,
filling the darkness
with wailing desire,
and suddenly is gone.
Now only my fingers linger.
pressing your giving flesh.
(10/18/2014)
Saturday, October 18, 2014
The Vine
The ugly stump, desolate, dead
and too deep to pull, waited for my saw,
but I, lazy and pre-occupied, lingered
as winter inundated
the mud and rock desert
outside our kitchen window.
Then spring came, and all excuses spent,
I slogged out, grim executioner,
ready to cut and pull,
when I beheld green, craggy fingers praying
for just one more chance;
so putting the saw back into our messy garage,
we began the project,
raking, hoeing, cutting, digging
(hard work for a lazy man)
and soon sod to lay
and bricks to haul for a patio,
when, bushwhacked, we spied
the truant stump
proclaiming itself a grape vine,
stringy runners running rampant
through the little garden we built around it,
hooked fingers grabbing for anything
to pull nascent leaves up,
up to the warming April sun,
out of the dark winter earth,
and alarmed we cut it back, fearful vintners,
afraid for threatened geraniums
and knock-out roses,
but a treaty agreed upon, the vine settled
for one corner and left the rest
to more delicate flora.
Life will not be denied
in our backyard.
(4/10/2009)
and too deep to pull, waited for my saw,
but I, lazy and pre-occupied, lingered
as winter inundated
the mud and rock desert
outside our kitchen window.
Then spring came, and all excuses spent,
I slogged out, grim executioner,
ready to cut and pull,
when I beheld green, craggy fingers praying
for just one more chance;
so putting the saw back into our messy garage,
we began the project,
raking, hoeing, cutting, digging
(hard work for a lazy man)
and soon sod to lay
and bricks to haul for a patio,
when, bushwhacked, we spied
the truant stump
proclaiming itself a grape vine,
stringy runners running rampant
through the little garden we built around it,
hooked fingers grabbing for anything
to pull nascent leaves up,
up to the warming April sun,
out of the dark winter earth,
and alarmed we cut it back, fearful vintners,
afraid for threatened geraniums
and knock-out roses,
but a treaty agreed upon, the vine settled
for one corner and left the rest
to more delicate flora.
Life will not be denied
in our backyard.
(4/10/2009)
Friday, October 17, 2014
First Rain
first waves of grey
push in from the sea
impatiently driving through
wind-thrashed trees
my back yard's aglow
with the strange, filtered sun
red garden blooms sway
against dark, stoic trunks
Oh,inhale the sharp fragrance
of autumn's first rain!
infuse your dry world
with life once again.
(10/18/2010)
push in from the sea
impatiently driving through
wind-thrashed trees
my back yard's aglow
with the strange, filtered sun
red garden blooms sway
against dark, stoic trunks
Oh,inhale the sharp fragrance
of autumn's first rain!
infuse your dry world
with life once again.
(10/18/2010)
Monday, October 6, 2014
Unknowing
"Unknowing" photo by Steven Federle
“The most excellent way of contemplation is to ascend by unknowing…as Moses was led into darkness.” Thomas Merton
Dry October hills -
life fulfilled. and dying. See how the ridge cuts the sunset, draws a thin edge of blood. In the valley of man red lights throb. Leaves fall, unknowing.
(10/1/2012)life fulfilled. and dying. See how the ridge cuts the sunset, draws a thin edge of blood. In the valley of man red lights throb. Leaves fall, unknowing.
Nocturne: October
level land
fields
blown brown
and hard
fade with day
to
hazy
night.
the wind does not move!
there’s
a smudge
on the
moon
and
even
the geese
are
silent.
(10/8/2013)
(10/8/2013)
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