Monday, August 13, 2012

Labor Pains

There you sit, just tick-tack-typing
At your desk,
Thinking you should’ve learned to type,
As the hours slip away like
Crumpled whispers from dying lips,
Softly-rustling papier-mâché birds
Flapping off into the dark.

It’s blood and strife makes tick-tack-type, to
Get this right. Who would have
Guessed it would be so hard?
It’s just
Writing words, after all, not
Giving birth.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

When I Find You

When I find you, it won’t be
Forced, but
Natural, flowing, smooth, like
A song from the practice room of lips and throat,
Now flying, long rehearsed,
At last set free, this single
No more concerned with
Intonation, but only, now,
With being.

When I find you, it won’t be
Artificial, but
Fundamental, whole, like
The dark and living earth
Beneath our feet,
Full of promise,
Life squirming between our toes,
Green and color startling forth
Like sparrows through the


I would never hurt you.
I would never do you wrong.
All I wanted was to look and see
a spark of recognition,
like a grizzled old sea dog
who locks eyes with the sea,
and sees, again, what 
made him love her first.

But it wasn’t meant to be
that easy, love,
because the road to love
is one hell of a storm, and
we, it seems, aren’t above
getting holes in our ships
on the way.

I thought we’d bind our rafts together,
sail the sea together, share our
journeys, and our stories; but
it seems we still
have some storms to weather; but
we’re going different places.

So let’s leave this desert place,
because Cupid smiles
like the Cheshire Cat,
and I must go, 
and I must go;
but I’ll look back once in my
rear-view mirror.

Because, you see, it

wasn’t meant to be,
my love.
It wasn’t meant to be
my love.
It wasn’t meant to be
my love;

but that doesn't mean it's easy.


I understand you, you
bushy-headed palms,
stretched so tall
against the sky.

My soul's moved with you,
bit by bit,
raising the tent
of the sky;
upward, toward the

You've risen above the other trees,
tall to see
beyond their crowded heads.
You long to see a


can't be seen so
low. You
miss a place to stand and
let your unobstructed gaze
touch anything,


like a shepherd patrolling
the slumbering ranks
of his fleecy white charges,
his touch like bell tolls:

"All is well."