Arrest in the Garden
Driving to Tucson
Family
eating poison
Birth
Winter Cliffs
Rooster Waking
Black Mold
After Jessica's "Winter Sun"
On Joyce Crissman's "On the Steps of St. Paul"
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Arrest in the Garden
Arrest in the Garden
he says
he is the one
take him
he is the
one we have
come to
take
orders
given
we obey
taking
the healing man
away
Who will
let them see
Who will
let them walk
he is the
only one left
to let
them
just this
man
and when
he says
"I
am he"
we fall
to our
knees
try to
bury
our
swords
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Out of Roses: Art Gallery Poem
As rose petals fall from my eyes
I come into a world fuzzy with
the heady scent of illuminated images.
I'm breathing in a land of loose
definition, a land where colors
surround me, fill me, drive deep
into orifices once blackened
with the soot of a charcoal existence.
Coming out of the roses
and I'm new, renewed, infused
with a blurred vision that will
come to dull focus only when I
decide to leave this field.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Driving to Tucson
It's March and the rows of pecan trees we pass
are dry as the sandy ground. They stand,
unnatural dark pillars in a flat land of desert scrub.
Nothing else here comes above my waist.
We pass a train going east, we head west,
speeding 80 down Interstate 10, the semis
like old men carrying packs walk slower
while our young strangely fit 15-passenger van
sprints past reaching for more road.
Shouldn't it be impossible to move this
many miles in one day? My feet would take
weeks. My breathe and stomach can't catch up.
This hard asphalt knifes, dividing the
desert floor with a long trail of tar.
I want to stand on a distant mesa and become
part of the air, part of the wind that has been trying
mightily for hours to blow us off the road
and place our feet back onto its dusty kin.
are dry as the sandy ground. They stand,
unnatural dark pillars in a flat land of desert scrub.
Nothing else here comes above my waist.
We pass a train going east, we head west,
speeding 80 down Interstate 10, the semis
like old men carrying packs walk slower
while our young strangely fit 15-passenger van
sprints past reaching for more road.
Shouldn't it be impossible to move this
many miles in one day? My feet would take
weeks. My breathe and stomach can't catch up.
This hard asphalt knifes, dividing the
desert floor with a long trail of tar.
I want to stand on a distant mesa and become
part of the air, part of the wind that has been trying
mightily for hours to blow us off the road
and place our feet back onto its dusty kin.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Two Easter Poems
Arrest in the Garden
he says he is the one
take him
he is the one we have
come to take
orders given
we obey
taking the healing man
away
Who will let them see now
Who will will let them walk
no one left
just this man
he says
"I am he"
and we fall
to our knees
try to bury
our swords
in the sand
Rooster Crowing
i won't betray
not me
you said i will
not me
not me
i won't betray you
not me
not me
not me
sounds at dawn
i weep
he says he is the one
take him
he is the one we have
come to take
orders given
we obey
taking the healing man
away
Who will let them see now
Who will will let them walk
no one left
just this man
he says
"I am he"
and we fall
to our knees
try to bury
our swords
in the sand
Rooster Crowing
i won't betray
not me
you said i will
not me
not me
i won't betray you
not me
not me
not me
sounds at dawn
i weep
Family
Memory from future
and past guides
her thoughts;
her steps
dance
into
history
and
time
where
fibers,
bones,
sinews,
energies
sing within a
once dormant body.
and past guides
her thoughts;
her steps
dance
into
history
and
time
where
fibers,
bones,
sinews,
energies
sing within a
once dormant body.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
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