Tag Archives: words

contained

she brought me words in ceramic
all polished and glistening,
language sauced and disheveled
and piled in this vessel.

she sent me themes in a crate
stacked edge upon edge,
corner and treatise
with motives alleged.

she carried her thoughts in a barrel
swirled and unmixable,
leaving me pondering
the whole thing was fictional.

when all that I managed was off-beat or bland
and all that I want, her true heart in hand.

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Choice words (Cento)

Under the wordless sky, come
with loveliness and the icy drouth
of hate –

The diverse forms of things, how can we learn?
Such is life’s trial, as old earth smiles and knows
We call things beautiful, not as such, but because of what they mean.

One moment rests my heart, to rend the next
with words alert and bold,
betrayals so long repeated
that they are taken for granted.

And passing on, smiled like a singing rainbow,
the sky too soon shall witness on your winter hill
as atoms dissipate, as chance sorts life.

*********
A Cento is a poem comprised of lines borrowed from other poets. This one owes is origins to the following poets:
Edward Albert Clements, Margaret Fraser,V.N. Wylde,John Creagh, Kathryn Worth, Joseph Stanley Pennell, John Davies, Robert Browning, Anthony Madrid, and W.S. Merwin.

eau

a fragrant voice,
a merging sound
to gather yellow, red and crowned

in a glottal stop
between the soundings
of the clock.

in a fashion, step
betwixt the puddle
stones and ripples, mixed.

lovers with their grasping hands-
arose, then reached at its command
and cleaved the blood-pricked
thorn, alone

in silence
and in clamored tones.

something, about very

As if it is more than she first breathed,
a life beyond the ocean’s crest
or past the highest tree.

She feels her wants, and gathers what she needs.
Marked assumption, close and firm, and pressed
to carry passions free.

An apple redder than anger’s seed
or simple care to disentangle tress’s,
the golden, ornate key.

SilkenĀ girl,raging whorl is she
who’d rather give the world waking regrets
than silent repartee.

As if it’s greater than the sum of her marquee,
but most of all in her largesse,
the inspiration given me.

loop

I’ve seen the gyre and pivot
around the grain uncurled,
still- reversal and stagnation-
(and as the water swirls)

The contemplation makes its way,
all coy and taciturn,
into a rolling, restless gob
that smolders as it burns.

As leafed through- which is page on page-
then little more is left to do,
than humor – pander – orchestrate
these words that I’ve warmed to.

Etude triste

when you love her,
and practice different words
between the silences,
ascending in chromatic notes
to tempt her fortress
until the muscles betray the bones.

yet, lamps smother their song
and I hear a mandolin
when she says,
“it’s too soon for another forever,”
words that are too soon splayed
for another poem.