under a scant sun
winter throws his brume
of snow. fields lie
vanquished in lambent
splendor and robed in frost,
trees stand
in mute glory
under his imperial breath
creation covets the hearth
her haven, barren slumber:
a bold consummation
of autumn’s bounty
the earth waits, a sleeping beauty
’til spring breaks
upon the white spell and
redeems her joy.
Photo Credit http://www.gardenwalkgardentalk.com
i chew the leaves of my poem
they fan green and spirited
in the height of their hour
veins visible like these
that inscribe my hand, run
with the life of dreams
that have nowhere to go but
back down to the
branch to the root
you don't see
look:
their asymmetry of being
red oak stained with rain pollen
much like the blemishes on my face
t o r n by time and caterpillars
that become f u l l and
bloom into butterflies
the leaves testify to all the seasons
green ash have weathered the wild
waltz of wind and rain
hungry for the sun
they drink from the clouds
i feel the laugh lines on the maple
and swallow their history -
this one, curled copper
like rusted edges but it's
just the candor of time
grain and weave of memories
cru n ch between my teeth
composition on my tongue
i chew the leaves of my poem
I vault the sky – blue is a trite fancy —
the expanse, the clear color of longing
The horizon gives way
to empyreal heights
and delicious air, my face
to the eye of the sun
Is it calling or indulgence to ride
the wings of one’s own prayers?
I could sleep in the wind.
I hold onto this incarnation of
dreams but the sun revives me
from slumber on a pillow of dirt
and the sweet draught of
yesterday still in my throat,
I try not to disturb my broken wing.
A vine of dreams:
luscious grapes resign all fear
They bruise underfoot
barrels brim in earnest dark
and time turns into wine.
Wikimedia Commons
He dressed the day with clouds
and spilled a sea of stars
into the night
calling each by name
The night's aria declares
His deep pleasure
The universe is intoxicated with glory.
The Autumn wind gasps
the surety of Winter
The geese, one giant wing
a moving geometry
that angles into the wind
How do they know?
where to go
when to stop
Trees give up leaves like paper hopes
swept into the slumberous season
The gray whale pursues the southern waters of Baja
to warm her heavy womb
How does she know?
how to birth
what to eat
Spring forgives the freeze
and laughs to live again
in the resurrection of color
before the ferocious Summer
The dolphins' dance is
a cadence of instinct
in waves wooed by moontide
The Earth sounds a symphony of reverence.
We build skyscrapers and businesses and poems
and the tides rush up and claim
the sand castles of our dreams
i, the crown of creation
trifling, a mark of punctuation,
know less than the beasts
that play and live as they ought.
The little guy fell in love with this song by Chris Tomlin, Sovereign, when I was practicing for church last year.
I think Tennyson played better here. He was 5 1/2. In the zone. I quickly grabbed the camera:
