Hydroponic Ode

Pretty castle on a cloud, 
Your foundations taken in
a ghostly maze unfolding-
a drifting life
on a cold liquid breath. 

A new home, this is- 
new soft sleepy hands
to tug at blind roots-
a basket woven tight
for sitting.

Forget the silent shadows,
forget the dark velvet-
the full, heavy embrace
of a thousand generations;
Stand on a million
tendrils of curious light.

Grow with me- 
Let us swim down,
shed our drowning shells
to show slippery skins- 
above us, forever
our offerings to spring.

Unfolding Under the Trees

The sun drops a dusty screen,
a curtain through
the window in the tree,
a wall of leaves, wood beams
thick as winter
and summer and fall.

I lay my heart down
(the roots rise
to meet my eyes)
beneath a blanket of ferns,
shadow puppets swaying
a silent chorus- on stage
a lighted sky.

Then the whole world forgets
I am me, dressed,
washed in another light-
little hairs on my legs, my skin
treated with another fantasy.

Here, I wear slippers of sun
on peasant feet-
I've no claim to truth
but a life, a whisper
beneath my cracked toes.

Here, my flat eyes common
see the concrete scraped away-
all I've known
a little, hard creek running off,
a kite string
light as my sigh
bound to a heavy heart of green.

The City in the Night

A river runs, a river runs
where the people do not rest;

I sit and watch, my post
in a ship old as extinction,
the stream of hiding souls.

By night, they rise
higher than the trees,
skim the dreams, the wet crumbs
the grit of the watery stew-
silly souls are fed
who know to fly away.

So many, they are-
they cover the moon,
leave the city of dreams
a sleeping Atlantis,
drowned in what it knows.

One Sky

Forget the moon,
so it falls
fighting the burning tide
between that other sky
and yours.

Forget and my brown hand
kisses its trembling face,
my touch, the moon
crumpling into this memory-
a sea breaks up on us,
my sky and yours.

But give me, this
sad, unending cry-  this hand
that does nothing, nothing
but praise the faceless gods,
and so it will be-
one sky once more.

As It Must Be

Shake the skies in my starry eyes,
take the key to my open door;

Bottle my cries,
they'll break as time flies,
set a fire across your floor.

But stay, take me
and my tangled lies,
free this heart
from its burning ties;

Show my soul
where its magic lies,
and I'm yours evermore.

A Rosary of Sorts

I reach out, hold close
the blue jug of sky,
the drop of blooming star
dangling on meager string.

I pull them in, even
think of a face still young
in centuries of repose,
lost in a soft veil of hair.

She sleeps, not knowing,
in her dry, faint smile-
her hands- they are
the source of a million streams.

In the sweet seas of her eyes,
we float in her arms,
all of us as one-
birth before birth,
a womb of light for souls.

World One

A desert

a storm of stars

rides a wind in one hand,

a sanctuary for a broken fire

thrown only in the other-

for days yet unused.

A sky rises from the tide

clutching the seas,

one in each hand,

two eyes, sparkling stones

heavy as the ground. 

An empty heart, sunken

from the fleeing sky-

it waits, splinters

into clouds of quiet green

to flood the golden sand-

the fading shores of war. 

This is the golden eye,

fallen

when heaven became hell;

it knew every star,

every root of ice,

every heart of fire. 

If Only She Were Here

When you wear that last ring,
a sunset wraps into your hand,
into your bones,
a wobbly vase tottering along
in shadow puppet shoes,
still trying to meet her again,
and so you must remember her.

Take care, you say-
She has missing parts
where her scattered ashes flew-
a dream-catcher's breeze took it
on a breath of shattered glass.

You know she walked away
You hid her, take her out
from the hollows of your heart;
the last shadows sway on the wall,
a pendulum sweeps the hall
so she can come in.

Ode to Earth (II)

The grace of her lord dwells here,
in all that she shares-
she, the most faithful,
with eyes for no one else.

In this life she sleeps,
Dreaming of past rivers, broken
in the sea of empty seas,
With him, burning so bright,
the shepherd of a million souls.

Humble sentries keep her still
Wrap her in cruel, old shadows-
the stories, in the night
to hide her gentle soul, so still,
from the cold realm he keeps.

Yet, she trembles, murmurs
her hopes to a senseless sky-
To be free, at last,
to see the one she adores most!

One day, someday,
His glorious light will rise,
His last coming, rapturous goodbye,
To spirit her away.

Like her lost sisters, angels
waiting in their rafters,
She'll scatter flesh and bone
to the heavens once more.

Ode to Earth (I)

New roots crackle in soft ground,
the battle above, long finished;
pieces of wind stray, torn
on the shadows of pennants green.

Forever is the siege below,
the soft ground, the fairest
in any starry eyed soul,
a place so uncomely
in all but its secret eyes,
an endless heart, it stole
from the lord of light.

Forever her heart opens,
her soft gaze lost at sea,
where no broken spirits,
no ghosts can dwell.

Forever the wanderers seek
with hunger of new life,
with twisting trails of winding years,
to open arms so blind
(and the sky leads them away).

Summer Belongs Here

The earth falls in me;

heavy pieces of rain-

spring, sneaking in

on silver tap shoes

through young skirts of mist.

A sea of cottons drowns

all but the shadow sky- and me-

who lies

with eyes to fly away,

on lashes the wings of moths,

a sweet, paper pair

rapping at my button cottage door.

A hollow of butterflies,

filled with the pulse of the sun-

it ripples in my ear, tell me to go

where they have been

on wings of gold lace, silver strings

faster than any sea.

A whole world of leaves-

through the dry window

on the wings of a lost fly-

a story made for empty air.

The heart of the earth is a broken star,

bare as the rare, unarmed evergreen

hiding behind yellow feather hands-

yet it coaxes a lullaby

into a body as open as the wind.

Look Up

The celestial ballroom opens its doors,

so cold beyond the dream;

The age of masquerade is seized,

possessed by wild phantoms unbound.

Alabaster hands become

rivers slow, unmasked eyes

blinded, groping

for a balcony in empty sky,

ribbon-tied feet not up, down but

head over heels.

At last, proud gems burst-

a rosy spiderweb filigree

hot as any hell;

Just another day, apparently,

of the empty rage- still cold-

yet unquenched.

To Love a Poem

Some say, it is to reach out,

take a forbidden hand,

run with her

through soft midnight beads,

a million pieces of an eye ,

to look away, with her,

as the world blankly stares

into heaven's endless embrace.

Some say, it is to love nothing,

to see her doe eyes

gaze from every lost dream;

through time not promised to her

you hear her whispers, a dandelion's

silver trees in the air-

hope is the thing with feathers.

I say it is worse- to be thirsty rain,

angry ice with fingers

blown from broken trees,

thinning wind still longing

to hear you find its name;

For me,

for these,

the sun shines on another day.

Light Summer Night

Even heavy firs awake

in the moment, the pinprick,

the right measure

long plucked from wind.

Old henna lattices open,

deep veins staining through;

a strange, rich calligraphy

to pressed flower sky.

Deep as teardrop symphonies,

spherical mysteries grow

opal fingers, thin as ice,

to clamp fistfuls of light.

The dry square matchboxes

(where old souls hide)

catch in full fire, a dance

to fall on en pointe shadows-

dry, fresh rivers, runways

to and from the air.

Every branch, every scar of smoke

remembers to fly,

remembers to grow thick plumes

in old peacock green, beetle brown;

Every flower already blown alight,

the sweet air is full of flight.

Awake, But Not Alone

A ghost of a pulse follows me,

Floats, woven on the shadows

on the seas of sifting shade

brazen in the night.

It choses with care, then takes

a corner of an eye, settles

with bones of dust beneath a cloak.

It lingers longer than any moth,

knows the moon is too far.

Then comes the gentle serenade,

Wrapping me from the dark,

A spell that finds the fragile heart

awake

and ties its shadow, softly

to the trembling earth.

The Things That Still Rule

The bitter rush of old ocean-

Impossible, yet a ghost of gods

tossed in elaborate song!

Stale and sweet,

The mighty roar of waves rolls in,

A velvet, too smooth with lost wonder

grows brittle claws like arrows-

still at war with the silent voice-

Innocent, yet another soul lost.

The magic still lies, of course,

Deep in the fortress yet untapped-

The darkest stronghold, a dulled enigma,

a palace of the greatest machine.

Forever in tongues few will know,

are enchantments, untouchable on tightropes,

for their false gods who stand,

ready in songs of siege.

(The real demons, the real lords

call those threads a city of light).

Magnolia XII

Is it all the same as before?

her being a goddess once more?

She shines in gold, but

modest blush of her maker.

He falls into her soul, as only he could,

revels in soft layers of cool;

Her word unspoken, her fullness

quiet in shimmering grace-

Born again, as she dances.

Her silver veils fall away,

the cold mists, so exquisitely dark,

does she remember?

Mourning came, morning went forth

from behind shades of pastel,

from the nights of shadows awake,

sprawled and arched in dust.

She was once so wide

she folded up to the stars,

a silent maid, behold!

The kings of celestial court

warred to distant stalemate,

'til the night wind burned with fire.

Endless courts, endless watercolor palette-

One sky of her own, one sky not,

she flees them both- her fate-

The dark dance of years suspended,

illuminated in tossed shadows-

her hourglass.

Another Wish

I'd wish you a million wishy wishes

if I could see but one,

over the crest of the wave of sky

before the day is done.

I'd wish you a million million more

to see them in your eyes-

Such magic meets it fellow quick,

To spark it- how time flies!

A million, million, millionth wish?

What good would it be?

You have the rest inside of you,

except this poem from me.

Magnolia XI

How fine is she, now!

The day is whole of heart,

flushing all in soft, swirling dance,

His bold hands stroke, caress

the tender cheeks of all dames alike.

To her, a visit unexpected-

She blushes, a lofty story tumbling

in flourished cascade,

filling unseasonable robes heavy.

Rich emeralds rise, burning

on jade alight with fresh ember-

A fullness fluttering, a languid bliss-

Suddenly, a ripe joy once more.

To her king in all his glory,

A fickle man, yet the crown jewel-

That shard of impossible diamond,

That memory lighting from within,

bound in the sea of sky, a gift

from the finest merchant of charms.

Magnolia X

My lady, my solemn muse

strolls in the shining rain,

layers of petticoats tied heavy,

laced in patrician airs assured.

Fair with an ancient gravity,

She faces the east, plain to the fickle day-

(he who comes and comes not)-

more a song than deserved suitor,

She of no blemish but longing mourn.

'Tis the season to wait, poised with hope,

A goddess subdued in trappings of time-

in somber, rich emerald, her masquerade,

yet she glows just the same.

To Dream

She wears her mask of sadness,

The same melodrama,

night and night again.

The butterfly trapped in shadow

spins in late cocoon as time wheels on,

a bare chain of what eternity left behind.

The same tears rip seams, pour forth,

Bleeding from the same tired portrait-

dead wings still fly,

dead profiles still walk,

the last of the soul still burns;

Still, her wicked beauty lives ever in fire-

her hand traps all that comes my way.

Once, I was the sole spider;

This glistening story flooded turgid,

Draped in canopies of rain-

Came the sun upon my palace,

struck all but the bottle of her flame.

Spring Yet Unwritten

Teardrop flowers drift

full and heavy in tall water wheels

climbing, falling in lost time-

the finest thread on the loom

yet unwoven by the sun.

A bittersweet silk heart knots hidden

yet exuberant in scattered light-

scattering the seams to see the soul,

the secret lost in blushing green.

Come galloping the spring rain

to scatter the falling earth,

And perhaps the twisted stones,

the hard flourishes of pressed song

will open and fly free.

Imagine (II)

Imagine if my hands were the wind,

My soul a water nymph, quicksilver fast

in a dance among thoughts,

My heart, a maid of the sun

lost in unending silks of light.

In my high castle amongst the clouds,

Cold with deep keystones of ice,

my own sky

in nets of crystal

a river of thinnest golden frost

running always over my lap-

The unripe sun pools on the ground,

The whole world light as a feather.

Forever, I'd weave the day, guard it,

Hold it close in the night-

A keeper of life in a sea of stars

on an island nearly lost,

An unending siege in a standstill.

A Struggle of Dimensions

My thoughts were once fish, yet
Stretch legs from bare bones,
From weak, unceasing whispers-
A destiny called forth.

Fledgling ripples, unrelenting blooms-
They peel away at the subtle veil,
Rising, unstoppable, tangled
in the ancient shadows, the stranded light

dancing on the surface,

crumbling in mild conversation-

All but the movement of a subtle line;
Still is the pale night, above and below.

Full, clear waters fall glassy, now blue,
The sky, just another surface on this one,
Now gated hastily too-
Shadows and bowlegged trees stand,
Twisting in locks of oId.

How impossible it is to stand still,
to take the living ghostly candlelight,
cut its seams from the water,
wish it free.

Imagine (I)

Imagine if my hands could fly,

Plucking a world of liquid color,

shadow birds and butterflies

dancing behind each current-rose,

A different taste of pastel, each

touched by a blessed light.

Wide as the sea itself, I'd let it swallow,

Paint me as I change my threads below-

Some would catch in impossible stone

where even the seas come to rest-

in a place of perpetual ocean, left

asleep in drifting meadows beneath.

Tying my knots at the horizon,

I'd wash myself in sunset, a soft beginning

to the sweetest oblivion, yet to come-

To watch the sea, washed anew,

as I pull in another gossamer tapestry

from above the river of night.

The Spirit of Words

Dark, pungent airs dance light,

wings unfurl in maddened flight-

It flees from prisons of narrow glass,

To be seized, drowned in the empty air.

Pierced by the fine-threaded horizons,

netting the world, end to end-

It falls upon the running wind,

Old screams choked to whispers

Unending, woven tough and thin.

Thus, it forgets the lofty sky,

The sweet carriage of barrelled sleep,

To meet worlds, tempests far in the mist,

Behind a wall of broken songs.

Magnolia IX

The stillness overtakes me,

Casts pale sheets of light

upon the soulful, trickling want

dripping slowly over weary eyes.

Her soft gaze bears deep pools of gold,

Ringed with rippled watermarks-

veins left from the receding deluge

pin the sky over her face.

A dancer in subtlety, she sweeps, at last,

Bending to touch the cloaked ground,

Clutching its hidden seams,

So slippery, in nimble hands

so wisps of winged shadow fly,

but to come back in morning sky.

How quaint, as old memory recedes,

My friend of unchanging grace;

My love, as firmly rooted as she,

In rare, sweet rediscovery.

Deluge in Unfocused Eyes

The sea has never quite left us,

Isles of its soul above the land

hanging on where life is.

Time has fought the tide,

Won in intricate wars, but skirmishes

writing, rewriting colorful limits,

Burying tenebrous songs of old.

Yet, the waters labor on, now clothed

in green, crimson, and gold-

In the fall foliage breaking,

spears of waving green,

Unending in a floating world.