Dark Secret of the Sun
I have just learned
the dark secret
of the sun:
he only seems
to share his warmth
with everyone,
but this charity
is only illusion:
really he is seeking
the elusive moon—…
Category: Dreams
I am often inspired by dreams, and many of my poems contain dream images.
Dreamer
Dreamer,
new magician,
beware of wishes:
for they become living beings,
awaiting your coaxing touch.
Beware the ease with which
they fall into your unsuspecting arms
in basketless apple-bushels.
Beware the icy smoothness
with which they slip into your life
and snap the tense winter of waiting…
Victory
I’ve won.
All the fountains are lit up
and all the trials I’ve been tasked with
are done. I’ve traveled the underworld,
cakes in hand; kept my coin
for the ferryman. I wandered in the dark,
cards close to my chest
and when the lost souls cried to me,
they didn’t know my real name.
Morning Pyschopomp Raga
There are so many rooms in the house of sleep,
and for too long,
I’ve been pacing the hallway
listening to things clatter from behind locked doors,
and I’ve been too tired to stop
and search my cluttered pockets
for the keys.
It’s easy to talk myself into
believing this isn’t necessary,
that I have everything I need
in this narrow corridor—
but last night sleep possessed me
on the couch, still in my coat.
There was no arguing with it…
Gravity
There’s a place beyond the runway lights
where clouds learn to talk to each other.
The air traffic signals
bounce off the silver linings,
radiating light spokes into the ether
and the wheels turning
sound like the music
of departure from the body;
the bullroar hum
indicating something otherworldly
and not quite comfortable
to the habits of feet…
Calypso
salt and sugar
sugar and salt
the captain’s asleep
and the fevered crew
sleeps below deck
sugar and sugar
salt and salt
I am swimming too far
from the shore today
but somehow you’ve found me,
cradling me
with infinite starfish arms
in a yellow room
beneath this blue infinity
where even islands hide…
Archaeos
for L.T. Rest in adventure, friend… you are cherished and remembered forever.
if you read between the lines
that striate my iris,
you’ll find a hidden reservoir of blue
with a name written on the other side
in invisible ink—
a poem written so long ago
and with such a young and heavy hand
that pen trespassed paper and broke into sky,
until I cried because no page could contain
the words that could describe him—
Baby Dragon
…She learned to fly by climbing the walls
and sometimes burnt the curtains
just by breathing.
She chatted with herself
and vibrated like an electron.
Drawings poured from her restless mind
over every freshly painted surface.
She always asked “why,”
and the reasons never satisfied her…