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17 entries this month
Irony's Gate07:12 Nov 28 2008
Times Read: 1,185
Irony, you are invited across the threshold and into my mind. Not so very much going on in here lately, but because I love you, my disjointed thoughts are yours:
Such arrogance. If fences could speak,
They'd sound like every bully ever known,
Physical presences empty of truth.
Tend your garden. Build your house.
"Good fences make good neighbors."
What do excellent fences make?
Cage that bird. Keep out. Keep in.
White picket, barbed wire
And the neighbor's boxwood hedges.
You are an illusion and a temporary lie.
Beneath the soil, there are no fences
To hinder the trees
As they stretch their roots lazily
To hinder the burrowing animals
As they tunnel quietly,
Blissfully unaware that the earth is owned.
PRIVATE ENTRY
07:22 Nov 25 2008
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05:58 Nov 24 2008
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05:57 Nov 24 2008
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05:55 Nov 24 2008
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05:47 Nov 24 2008
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05:44 Nov 24 2008
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05:41 Nov 24 2008
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05:37 Nov 24 2008
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17:52 Nov 23 2008
Times Read: 1,241
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08:51 Nov 23 2008
Times Read: 1,244
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19:45 Nov 10 2008
Times Read: 1,387
I have edited this post after receiving some questions.
Yes, I'm sorry that I was unclear. The Exhalations section will remain here for now, but I just won't be updating it with poetry any longer. It really has been a pleasure writing for you all these past two years.
Thank you to everyone who was such an encouragement to me. You'll never know how grateful I am :)
Still Within Me
01:09 Nov 09 2008
Times Read: 1,425
The wind chimes are sounding at my window
Like the bells of St. Rosalie, calling my name;
And the stillness within urges my answer
Past today where soup fed the poor,
Beyond yesterday's little blond daughters
Snuggled greedily and warmly against me
For the great war cry Rikk-tikk-tikki-tikki-tchk,
And back to play yards and classrooms
Where the Holy Order Of Dominican Sisters
Wore their authority like an auto de fé,
Ever in session through the hallway
Crowded with youth and happiness
Which would make apostates of us all.
God, I recall the smell of Catholicism -
Poor is the man who has never breathed
Within a Catholic church, beeswax candles
And spicy smoke from the censer,
That swung from a chain which clanked softly
In time to a Salesian chant while I drowsed
And the clanking became boats far from my pew,
Fishing boats docked and hoisted in the air
Where they swung like the censer
And worshipful men cleaned and painted
Their vessels which smelled to me like life.
The smell of boats still makes me cry,
An honest scent of salt and man,
Net and sweat beneath the clanking mast
So like the windchimes at my window
Where all is still within, save the memories
In my weary mind and the steady breaths
Of the good boy whose tail is also still
Where he dreams his own dreams,
Snuggled greedily and warmly beside me.
PRIVATE ENTRY
17:09 Nov 06 2008
Times Read: 1,447
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06:59 Nov 06 2008
Times Read: 1,457
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Netting Suns and Moons and River Jewels21:28 Nov 05 2008
Times Read: 1,484
Along the banks of rivers
In the early morning hours
When sun and moon
Are sleepy neighbors yet,
I have watched the fishermen
Casting into the sky, their nets
Resembling dragonfly wings
Where they weave silhouettes
Against the light,
A suspended, magical sigh.
Water beads imbued with flight
Scatter like jewels
Sacrificed to heaven.
And I wonder in that moment
If some of the sky is netted
And sent down into the deep,
Where the moonlit morn
May swim in a freshwater world
Alive, and newly reborn
In the shades of daysong.
The nets give and the nets take.
Straining winches creak along
Attuned to God and grace
While the muscled arms of men
Struggle beneath the bounty
Of River's morning embrace.
Where Bastions are Blankets
19:12 Nov 05 2008
Times Read: 1,501
I have woven my favorite words
Into a warm and flowing shawl
To drape across my shoulders,
Soft against my cheek.
Love words spoken in hushed tones
To flutter the tummy and flush the face,
Poetry that has watered my parched soul.
Every word I have ever loved,
Wrapped around my vulnerable flesh
And the breakable bones and heart
I must present to the world.
But if only I have around me my words,
Woven more intricately than any maille,
What power has the world over me?
COMMENTS
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Irony
07:44 Nov 28 2008
You made me cry:) Ask Occam, he gets to hear me sniffling right now. I love your words and I now have a beautiful image of cool roots stretching their way under the soil. For some reason this has really taken my mind off my painy legs, I now have tree roots instead. Thank you for sharing your words and your heart with me. It means more than you know.
BLOODLIFE
08:18 Nov 28 2008
My envy needs to be checked. How well you tease.
placidchaos
13:59 Nov 28 2008
Even though this is for Irony, I too appreciate this. Every poem of yours that I've read has resonated with some part of me. Beautiful. Thank you.