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Contrails
and starving clouds
playing x’s
and o’s
will nature
win
or man the
skies
a line is
drawn across the blue
let’s have a
game
let’s have
another game
or is the
world a table spread
with the
fruits of other lives
which will all
be eaten
though we
laughed
at the
thought of his body
and blood it
will all
be eaten in
the end
What good is
art
that can
only show us
what life
looks like now
not who
we’ve been
or where
we’re going
are we better
I mean
at dying or
fear because
of Hamlet or
Lear
have we
learned to love
not as
feeling but as deed
because of
Juliet or Desdemona
or do we merely
lease a love
as need
from that
other Lisa Mona
Every
morning two or three
small blue
morning glory flowers
appear among
the fading seeding
orange and
yellow nasturtiums
almost more
a pale lilac color
with five
purple stripes running
down each
corner brilliant yellow
stamens
standing in the center
like many
others they can endure
only a
solitary day on earth
like that
immortality-bestowing
plant
Gilgamesh dove into the sea
to fetch and
bring to the surface
(he would
need it to find his friend)
but it was
only his for one night
before a serpent
ate it while he slept
so his long
life passed in a single day
waiting for
that blue to come again
Between the
child screaming loudly
across the
street and my neighbor
across the
alley banging on his car
between the
shadow falling vertically
down the
wall of a bird flying
horizontally
over the house
between the
riots on the television
and the
riots in my heart
between the
parched hollyhock
lifting its
first red flowers
and the
empty taxi cab
sleeping off its metered hours
there was
something about today
I wanted to
say that never changes
between you
and me
If each leaf
is a little self
each tree is
a civilization
undergoing
waves of reconstruction
followed by
waves of sudden exodus
with an
intervening period of
calm and inspiring
consolidation
and followed
by a period of
mind-numbing
leveling snow
but we never
see the original leaf
from which
all the others
as rainy
variations grow
out of its
purely musical theme
to know if
it’s a symphony of joy
or a march
of endless grief
I love
strawberries but
I love
raspberries more
and
blueberries more than
that and
lingonberries more
than that
and elderberries
more and
cranberries more
but my
favorite is the grape
which like
the tomato and
the pumpkin which
I love more
we don’t
think of as berries
I suggest we
just substitute
the word ‘amazing’
for ‘berries’
how cleverly
they plant in us
the seeds
embedded in their flesh
that we too be
‘amazing’
Freddy is a
feral cat
that special
breed of cat
who lives
alone and loves
to roam
freely homelessly
he does not
want a home
he
emphatically rejects
the whole
idea of home
of
comfortably abandoning
adventure
surrendering
to thinking
everything over
trying to
weave it all together
his
philosophy is no philosophy
he’s sure
the earth is too insecure
a place to
settle down
No one
should be made to feel
awful about
themselves
isn’t that
the real demonic
and yet we
all do at times
for
innumerable reasons
experience
nothingness
as a
possible option
or
pre-existing condition
to which
we’ll return in time
but think of
the other planets
even grandmother
moon
and her ambitious
son the sun
as older
siblings who run on
ahead of us
and yet are waiting
in their amazing
bodies of light
for us to
catch up to them
Birds observe
storms I observe
both above
them and below
from the
distance and the depths
the infant
storms just being born
free range
dust-devils
practicing
their pirouettes
and the
gray-bearded tornadoes
that eat
sparrows like grain
they all
disappear before the rain
into the
labyrinths of the hedgerows
or out-fly
their threadbare nets
cast
languidly over the laggard hills
yet it’s
these storms they owe
for carrying
the bodies of their songs
out beyond
all the stars we know
My parent’s
penmanship
was perfect but
now extinct
though
sometimes my mother’s
words were
just beautiful flowing
letters
strung together to look
like words
on their last track
and then the
shapes would shrink
and blur and
slowly fade away
which was
what she wanted
my father to
do only ASAP
meanwhile
his supple cursive
was hardly
ever on display
so in the
end all he could write
even if not
without a fight
was his own
name but perfectly
How the
young man’s wisdom
segues into
the old man’s foolishness
for those
young men who live
to see it
land in their own backyards
Icarus
flapping his wings for years
till flight
did happen
who couldn’t
wait to grow old
but embraced
death easily
as the
genius part of the earth
the
overcoming of the fear of
felt to be
the point and
purpose of
the flight
otherwise
confined
to dreams
and fancy
but now set
free
by day and
night
The storm is
coming
we were often
told of course
but it never
came
once a few
drops fell
and we said
yes alright
let it rip
but that was all
so we quit
listening
until one
morning again
a few small drops
fell
then equally
a few more
picking up
speed and volume now
you could
smell the trees sighing
under the
lashing that ensued
pounding
down louder and louder
you could
feel the scary weight of it
four freight
trains falling from the sky
I thought my
house would break
and float
away and then it did
roaring and
crashing a river
swept us
to the end of the world
it looked
like Babylon we wept
From time to
time I take a nap
in the bed
you left behind
when worn
down by the world’s crap
your body
comes to mind
and I just
want to lay with it
(the pillow
still keeps your scent)
as if
nothing had come between
and fall
again with you
into love’s
mortal dream
capricious
clouds and wind
but all out
there beyond
the
trembling window pane
and life can
wait and the gods
for a change
while we love again
I only want
to be a poet
when I’m
writing you a poem
I only want
to be a lover
when I’m in your
arms
I only want to
have a hair-line
when I’m
combing my dome
I only want
to be a gardener
when I’m
kneeling on the ground
I only want
to be a sky-line
when the
city’s in my bones
I only want
to see the future
when I’m
living there alone
I only want
to know you’re well
when I’m
sleeping like a stone
You don’t
have to overindulge
if you give
up holding a grudge
you don’t
have to scheme and lie
if you give
up pie-in-the-sky
you don’t
have to move a mountain
if you just
add a fountain
the mountain
will walk
around the damn
fountain
you don’t have
to be beautiful or wise
if there’s some
goodness in your eyes
you don’t
have to love me or not
if you give
up feeling caught
you don’t
have to lose your mind
but the
heart is different you’ll find
Nothing is
as sober as a flower
not even a
stone can match it for an hour
that depth
of radiant concentration
which
denatures time
without
falling into stupor
or self-congratulatory
bliss
it’s almost
more than one could hope for
a fully-realized
wish
taking on
bits of color and form
to better
serve its secret work
all the
while plotting to escape
promising and
promising to return
but I came for
you to follow me
not linger
here alone
We still
seem to be
working on
the basics
is all life
sacred yet
how can we
not bully
the earth
out of existence
must we
destroy physical life
to prove the
soul exists
when I was
small I thought
cats were
the girls and dogs
were the
boys in the animal
kingdom
which it turns out
is exactly
right and the fact is
we’re the heroes
who keep
building
onto the labyrinth
we’re caught
in half-asleep
In my last
blue dream
angelic fire
trucks and ambulances
came rushing
toward me
having
mistaken me for spring
who was
really having a heart attack
which turned
into a panic attack
poor spring
just sat there like a homeless
man on the
curb black but lucky
the cops
were busy elsewhere
we lifted
him to a bench in shade
we said we’d
run for help and food
but spring
just glared and drooled
and by the
time we rushed back
he was gone
into the pale green
trees
hoisted like a sail or flag
or body hung
and slack
These flowers
make two seeds
or three but what can
a seed
give back to
the sun
its little
saucer leaves
stretching their
eager veins
look like
the hands of children
having fun
will soon be done
even the
brilliant flowers prove
fair weather
friends
but the seed
is like the sun
bearing
worlds of leaves inside
sleeping in
the dark earth
every night
a need
every
flowering a dawn
When even
the resident moths
have gone to
sleep in the trees
or maybe
it’s the breeze tonight
frisky as a
new foal
leaping
around the place
that’s
keeping them away
from this
bright moonlight
waltzing
toward us over the bay
so sometimes
there’s a sudden
gust of
light and sea-spray
a piece torn
from the surface
of
appearances the sky of waves
and for a
moment we can see
the luminous
beings behind it all
holding
everything together
creatures of
a serious ecstasy
recalled
from before the fall
As foretold
the lost map
of memory
and reason
was found in
the breast pocket
of the last
survivor’s jacket
folded and
smudged
with his
blood he said
throughout
the ordeal
he had
stared steadily at
an ascending
hollyhock
the wide
unfurled grandmother
leaves at
the base the sense
of
determination in the stalk
leaving its
daughter-leaves behind
like little
bursts of pain
and when he
climbed to the top
a door
opened by itself
but no one
was there
just the
waiting air
Quietly
reality approaches
no it’s
already here
it’s you who
approaches it
gradually
perceiving there
the bright
burning first
of its finest
points of form
dissolving
into grammar
the
beautiful distractions
but if
reality just warms its hands
on our
abstractions how
can it
afford such nonchalance
if not after
many years of practice
if not after
many millions dead
bringing to us all
we need
I don’t want
to get into it
it’s just a
swimming pool I said
for crying
out loud
I could see
his love was dead
and floating
underwater where
we met now
blue once red
the heart
still taking either side
still as
ever stitching time
drawing
together all its threads
into this
knot of arrival
this node of
letting go
with a smile
of betrayal
with a kiss
from long ago
this sea
once luminous wine-dark
now
blue-viridian aglow
where love
left its mark
You feel it
before you see it
on the face
or hand
a touch of
the beyond
you quick
brush away
thread of a spider’s
hair
delicate
tensile fair
floating in
the air
in and out
of visible
space the
sunlight shares
with motes
and multiple
human pains
and cares
carried
outward into stars
where yet a
further runner waits
to carry
them even further out
and fit them
for another fate
What does
the bird see
landing in
front of me
then fleeing
just as quick
is what it
fears what I
too am afraid
am sick
I’ll find if
I look back
over the dim
plains
of my accomplishments
the daisy chains
of my endeavors
now under
drifts of snow
but it’s the
last tear I would flick
of sorrow
from the corner of your eye
as on and on
we skate
over the
thin ice of happiness
until it
melts and we can swim
more
skillfully and safely drown
His greatest
talent was his friends
his artful words
returned the favor
the right
ones to the right ends
nothing
wasted or wanted for
which lent
his restless life
internal
rhyme and reason
each seed
breaking in its season
sang and
rose to leaves
and
extraordinary flower
loyal to his
child’s desire
not to
disappoint his mother
now in
heaven he’s
become us
and another
in a word immortal
I leave the
water running
I leave the
fire burning
I leave the
radio blasting
the world in
ruins for you
I leave the
long hallway
of sleep
without opening
a single
dream-doorway
I leave my fear
on the pillow
I leave my
face in the fear
I advance
toward you
I move my
pawn forward
I walk on
fallen flowers
I make great
progress
in the wrong
direction
there is no
wrong direction
The waist of
time is a 31
the length
cut as you want
for easy on
and off
the collar
of space is a 15 ½
a hole in
which the neck sits
if you think
of your head as the sun
eventually
you learn to leap
into your
pants in one bound
the shirt
remains unbuttoned
the style
was to wear your clothes
at least as
ready as they were
to fall off
at any moment
think of your
body as a garment
your soul
throws on running to the door
The moon is
a rather poor mirror
when you
think of the sun
trying to
find itself in it
but it’s all
it can do
building its
light
night after
night
until it’s
finally full
and starts
to spill
itself under
the weight
because the
light
is not light
it turns out
more like a
cross or stone
one fights
uphill
but cannot
hold
I don’t
deserve you
I said Lord
and he said
let’s live
together
side by side
in the world
we will
never
be alone
never be out
of the
other’s
conscious
presence
as air and
light
as stone and
star
as the sun
at midnight
I hear your
voice
from faraway
in my new
heart
still
worried about us
and
rightfully
mourning
doves text often
as though
God wasn’t only dying
but going
extinct one by one
in each of
his species
the world c’est
God and isn’t
what don’t
we believe
about this
religion
everywhere I
look
something
important is dying
something unimportant is
being born
Careful as a
sparrow
careless as
a sparrow
two eggs
waiting somewhere
the sky
suggests
a chalk board
half-erasing
some final solutions
me I mean
erasing
or you I
mean erasing
whichever
one we’re facing
under these
tall spires
of hollyhock
an Oxford of
ants
an Elysium
of sand
where the
flowers will land
