Skip to content

Autumn snowing

October 3, 2015

Autumn snowing: wind
is sewing earth a blanket
of cedar branches.


September 14, 2015

You are the colour red: the wagon red
of childhood, sweetheart red of school; the shade
of eyelids closed against the sun; homemade
red, berry red; you’re glowing summer red,
the latenight sun; you’re red like autumn leaves
and poetry–with cadence, weight, and form,
and life that grows and fills with vibrant warmth
beyond the page and season. Red believes
in me, demands importance, seizes me,
immerses me in lively depths; red shows
and tells, and teaches, learns, and yearns to know;
red flows through veins to understand and see:
the beauty of humanity; and tell:
not all in life is red, but all is well.


September 9, 2015

I cannot handle
today: I, like the rain, must
fall and wash away.

Downes Bowl

September 8, 2015

downes bowl

Forest mist rests gently on the still
black waters of the marsh. Dead sentinels,
dried husks of trees, root rotting in the ink,
stand proudly through the mist and reach with long
lost lovers’ arms as dry as bone for nothing.

Love walks freely on the ghostly trail
recording sights and sounds and lightly breaks
the forest mist with whisperings and sighs;
in falling spectre dusk and creeping cool
love’s arms reach out with warmth and life to grasp me.

almost human

September 1, 2015

Every night I meet despair
and talk with him.
He speaks in the old language,
of a time before
God hovered over the surface of the deep,
of a time when
the eternities met,
were one;
before Earth came between them.

Every night I meet despair
and eat with him.
He eats of me,
and I of him,
but his substance is my substance,
and my substance is my substance,

Every night I meet despair
and sleep with him,
but with despair there is no sensation,
just tomorrow’s agony,
no thrust
but heartbeats demanding rest;
giving perpetuity
but not procreation.

Every night I meet despair
and every morning misery,
in autumnal darkness, deepening,
sepulchral shades, diminishing,
until the sun shines soft above–
when, liquid black retreating,
I feel



The Cube

August 30, 2015

The cube is over the horizon; if it is in the desert I do not know, only that I am in the desert and I see it. It is enormous, illumined upon its nearest face by the sunset behind me; its other visible sides are wrapped in a gloom darker than the night around it. Its lighted face has no colour but that of the sun.

I look down to my feet. Upon the cracked surface of the fading sand I see a ladder fit for a mouse; a tiny thing of knotted reeds, so small yet so excellently formed as to be clear in its design: it is a ladder. What it is doing by my feet, casting its infinitesimal shadow down, down the desert towards the cube I do not know.

A horse rushes past me as I follow the ladder’s tiny shadow; I feel its wind like tendrils of its mane tracing lines on my back and cheek. The horse slows as it passes me, crossing my shadow to the left and tossing its head, each line of hair afire in the sunset as it becomes free from my darkness.

The sun disappears beneath the earth. The cube is a silhouette, huge against the stars; the horse is still; the ladder vanished. In the sudden moonglow, pearls appear on the sand far to my right: a thousand winking, nodding petals on stems as blue as midnight, glowing like faerie gems.

A wind sets them to dance; tears them laughing from their throats to swirl and bend, painting curls of storm in madly glowing pinpricks. The horse screams and the cube, the horizon, is black. I feel it then, and, surrounded by these incorporeal lights and battered by a viciously corporeal sky, I fall to the earth and clutch at the shape there, all I remember of the earth: a ladder, fit for a mouse, woven of reeds.

Though tiredness doth afflict my very bones

August 11, 2015

Though tiredness doth afflict my very bones
and distance yawns between my flesh and mind;
though all my muscles creak and organs moan,
and energy a resource overmined,
it takes a second’s wink to know this truth:
my very bones are thine, my flesh is thine,
from foot to tired brow, from toe to tooth;
my thinking heart is thine; and thine my mind.
My ardent adoration weighs upon
my heart in downy folds of peace and warmth:
no tiredness touches where it rests; upon
my love no weight but joy profound can form.

My love, my life, is thine: thou art my queen,
my empress sole; for tiredness rules not me.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 488 other followers