{Sat 27 January 2007}   Primeval Watercolour
Primeval Watercolour

Primaries pounce on the primitive page,
usurping space with bizarre pizzazz:
Opposing waves squall and break,
brim-brilliant crests crash, create a jazz
of chaos!
Interference drags a screaming thread of blue
across the careful splotches;
panicking through cooling pools of sulphur,
a purple pulse breathes whirls of fire,
willing them to swirl against the caking air,
to savage expectations, flay the fair
and even strokes of intent
with edges of the depths,
fan water into flame
with split-atomic spatterings
of aquamarine and shame
and shatterings
of line, design and reason—
Oh, Image, imagine
Imagination’s breathing:

See a subsequent digital version of this poem here.


{Mon 22 January 2007}   in the rosegarden
in the rosegarden

where will i go?
will i find home?
and if i wander without a home,
what will i give to the world?

drinking roses,
longing to be with longing,
not drawing back
from their deep white scent;

longing to let them pour
their wide, hurtful beauty
into me;
to stay, stay in swollen softness;

let the cupped hands of my mind
contain the full, firm, rounded,
perfumed richness
that pours into my weeping.

open, open,
searching heart,
open wide your mouth:
tongue, taste of longing,
yes, yes, of longing;
drink deep;
scent sweet.

{Tue 16 January 2007}   True Colours
True Colours

It startles me that you should be
So disappointed in my poem
That you’d even mail my home
To tell me that you don’t agree!

The kind of poetry I wrote
Is not the kind you’d like to see?
Oh fie! Oh my! Oh, dearie me!
A rising lump still gags my throat:

For failing you will make me blue,
Or green with envy; red with shame!
But soon I’m pale and wan again
—The proper shade for poets true.

Having no countenance but mine,
I can but try my lines to rhyme.

{Tue 9 January 2007}   Relativity
Relativity at Injasuti

I, corvine clutcher,
pluck at bits
of reflected sunlight;
grapple rainbow shards
that glitter and twist,
beckon and change;
always over…

streams pour ceaselessly
and the blue skies extend
and the mountains continue
and night is simple,

Dawn’s golden tongue licks over pearly teeth
to melt the half-sucked peppermint
in God’s blue and awesome jaw,
and we are small,
the mountains and I.

And the high orbs lock there, and linger
and challenge for the sky,
for an instant eternal,
but we are hurled on regardless,
the mountains and I.

et cetera