It's been said that the darkness
with the moon in the sky
speaks of the night time
though morning is nigh
Not that you'd know for
there's no light in sight
not even an inkling
in the blackness of night
Yet what is that glow
in the east very feint?
Yes, that is the the day
though at present it ain't!
The night holds weapons, battlements, arms
how fat it grows, full and strong, with the wooly
thickness of a coat, and the deepness of a well;
down, down, down we both go, holding hands
with exhales flaring up, hot flotsam on the sea.
Deeply is the word he professes
in lipless verses, bent eyes and a high collared coat.
The heart is never worn on a sleeve but often
breaks over a lover’s face like moonlight.
We are unconstant, unstable, unmanageable
under the Terms and Conditions of Modern Love.
We check no boxes, gather no bouquets,
make no stringent declarations or mad attempts
She swims the night; the street is her sea. The street is her wave,
that clashes and eats at her tired soles. Unmarried women
don’t walk alone, so she dares it – whispers, Come on, breathy anxious
with wheels going round in her inner life. The troglodytes remain
shut up in their homes, rectangular mirrors smiling in their eyes.
Men only love us
when they need us, women dip
their babies in, Nereids seeking
to scale their children in armor;
we, ugly selkies, melusines, mer
maids and lads who swim in
black waters, we cannot breathe
the light, merely claw and scrape
at the tops of waves, legs
greeting us with nets and offerings –
Pieces of me didn’t break. Socks I didn’t roll, shirts
I didn’t fold. Hardly limbed, I carried
each cup of malice in my clenched teeth, and scoured lands
on ten quadrillion purring wheels, a wave of
stampeding machinery, throwing up trees.
Ten thousand one wings in the lion’s ring, Holy and houndish in pursuit from mountain; Trembling are the shadows of the dogdayed age, Widowed from the Summerland, adieu.
A road that winds back in on itself, handless creature
of the wood whose crown is dirt,
slow in pace
and intake.
Killing is a long trial,
that begins with observance and waiting. From cool dim morning
to the heat of high noon, darkness inserts itself
into the squeeze of time.
Ten years ago I saw someone die.
A thin beatless heart tugged from an outlet; there was
Singing, a high aria reverberating throughout the cave.
We all tipped and tipped as darkness
Slipped and slipped,
Waking us from the stupor of a life
Trapped in an hour,
Waving flags we had made
Lives and lives prior.
I never saw that room again. Never laid
A rose in it.
in your length, of life
you give lessons, of depth
your soul stuffed, in a hard shell
carols its heart, till the last breath
living for nothing, but to give
you are a bead, so special
strung amongst us, on this earth
half look below, on your footsteps
to follow the rhythm you set upon
the remaining half look up, above
by your inspiration, to see stars
Poet's Corner 