The lime,
Shored up, spine cracked
And open paged
Is ridden with vine,
Life
Rife with tree and green
A hidden lung
To which you inspired,
This rich tapestry of coral
From old looms of woven Word.

As time washes them to the sea
And their beached bones populate the beaches
I rest my feet on the shores of shores
The neap of these spires
The catch of your breath

And am left without any.

One of the minnows
Cast in the light
As blades of chaff in a summer plain
Flares, as a star in the dappled light
To become the murk of dancing sea.


As babel casts distance between our words
Flowers and plants we drink and burn
Our church is upon the water,
Where God writes his testament in the rock
And shows us Our image
Reflected on the sea

Where I come to understand
Command
The path of all beneath
The current made
With every stroke
Guided and goaded
With rice and stick
With love and fear
I knew Him in me.

The deep holds Your waning disk
Twilight dyes the waters
I saw the wonder placed in us
Traced upon the fleeing skies

I have no words for your kindness
I found etched between the ancient grains
Only that I wish I could see them better
Written for more familiar shores.

As darkness blots the sky with ink
And the ocean fades into crashing waves
I am left with but the faintest warmth of day
Whispered 'long the breeze.

I write my words in cursive so they know how to.
The lines that bind us together can seem so thin,
like a dash of ink, it can be wiped away.

An island only knows water for the way it extends beyond the horizon.
The peaceful splashes of rippling waves can’t pacify the feeling of loneliness;
a passing bird squawks as it carries on its journey.
And the sun keeps rising day after day.

Have you ever felt the jolt of holding someone’s hand?
The spark of life that is embracing them in a hug?
We were made to connect,
yet so many of us sit aside
unplugged.

The singer on the stage begs us to sing along;
and for a moment, every stranger is bound by word and sound.
That post-concert depression hits hardest during that long drive home -
riding solo.

I write my words in cursive so that they know how to.
Because if they do, maybe you will too.

Sleepy Sounds-
cacophony of the
shared studio apartment
An island of misfit
toys
Some straight from
the factory with
missing parts
Some with
limbs lost over
time
All wandered/fled/abandoned
here
neglected/broken/discarded
Five sets of
eyes
finally closed to
imperfection/rejection/expectation
All found now
in this place
Whole

Savior or Savor


E.B. White

“If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning, torn between a desire to improve (or save) the world and a desire to enjoy (or savor) the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.”
<>

E.B.
you trap me tween savior and savor
and my plans well prescribed on a yellow pad
get ignored and the ignorant fool not cool

the poetry plane is my escape route
but that is now a locked door, saying goodbyes,
can neither save nor savor,
sorry have to return your world weary wise favor

frozen on a verse, a line too far for my composing,
but thanks for alliterating my stuck place

I want to live on an island, all alone. In a nice yellow house, with some vines on the windows. And i'd relax for the rest of my life, and wander around my island. I'd be the only soul. No one to bother me, no one to talk to me. No one to impress, no one watching me. No one to laugh at me, no one to tease me. No one to ever love me. And not once would I ever, attempt to leave that island. Even if that meant, I'd be all alone. As long as I wasn't. Lonely.