Tuesday
Jan312012

Upon the Feast of Stephen

When the desert steppe bleaches plastic sacks

Into gossamer shreds of elven weft

And salt tears follow home the saline tracks

Of ancient lakes and marches now bereft,

I am inclined to doubt the path revealed

When in that bourbon, velvet voice you said

My name, called me "beloved," and healed

All scars, the sorry wounds my childhood bred.

My Southern comfort, heart honed by care,

Hard heat-seeking words made these eyes anew

And proved what fire a fearless man can bear

For we are more than polished bone and sinew.

 

I still feast upon your desire of heaven.

There is no despair your trueness cannot leaven.

 

Saturday
Sep242011

On Recent Fires

On these smooth white sheets my heart cannot lie  

Quiet, and the wild geese circle and sing 

Over the dark lake without rest to fly,

As hard upon my pulse your words still ring.

How can I tell you now of the blue heat, 

Sheet lightning, old dirt roads, and desert fires,

Of whitewater, the winter’s slow retreat, 

The way the light explodes inside, then tires,

How granite walls in Challis Canyon fall 

Hard, dark, steep and bright as a man’s heart.

Let the deep river current carry all,

Sleep here tonight, two souls one breath apart. 

 

Come then unto me my fire-spent lover;

What wilderness might we still uncover.

Friday
Jan212011

Rebel Creek -- The Secesh  

 

(After the Battle of Pea Ridge in Arkansas, Confederate stragglers and generals, isolated from the main events of the war, made an early resignation and moved West. Many ended in Central Idaho. Towns like Atlanta and rivers such as the Secesh [SEE SESH—abbreviated from the word “Secession”] still bear Southern names.) Sitting near this wild white-water river, one has to wonder about the effect of this untamed and untouched territory and pristine waters on the war-ravaged men who came here with nothing.) 

 

The men left when the end never ended

Left the red deeds, the enemy, the nerveless fetters

They went west to spend themselves here

Where the Secesh sweeps the glen they rested,

Let the scythe, the dysentery, the stretchers,

Recede by the kestrel’s eye, by the heckler wren,

The shyest grebe, the deerfly, the steep jeweled crest.

 

Rebels here were sheperds, or eked deeper mettle.

Never regretting Tennessee—

The fettered bells, the cypresses, the levees held.

Here where the creek revels, they defect.

Where evergreen temples bless the clergy elk,

The endless pewter creek wheedles serene.

Here the wretched remember,

Here by a western sky renewed.

The etched, deserter pyches here met

Verbless peddler breezes, elderberry exegetes,

Rebel brew, rebel nerve, rebel embers—

By perseverant geese, by sleet, by tender eddys,

By depths, and by regret,

These men were here redeemed.

Wednesday
Dec082010

On Radar, Or the Lack of It

Shall I go blindly to you, down dark roads

That drop from sight, again, again, and though

They never cease to rise once more, the folds

Will not reveal if this is stop or go.

Invent for me a way to see what lies ahead,

And I’ll not ask how dolphins swim to sound

And little bats use ears not eyes to tread

The night and never see the meal they found.

How so did I, who would not meet your face,

Become the one who caution-less will say:

Was it the laughter or that brief embrace,

Wry waves of sound that meet and bounce away?

 

Will you, won’t you call and will I wait--

It is (I warn you), not my natural state.

 

music -- Sleepless In Idaho or Don't Ask Why Dolphins Swim to Sound

by @Igor_a

Monday
Sep062010

Resistance

This poem was modeled after Robert Graves Counting the Beats and was written in 

In Memory of Noor Inayat Khan and all those who still resist

 

 

 

One pale break, love

(they touch fingers) one pale break

“Will we meet tomorrow?” one pale break

Is this one last break

 

Counting the stops

Counting the dark train stops

The flagellation of time, in dark train stops

Parting always tempts fate

 

Wait for the door

Blank-faced, wait for the door

Soldiers smoke and laugh, wait, wait for the door

 Why that double-take?

 

Where will you be

(she whispers) where will you be

If I’m still free tomorrow, where will you be

No gloves, her hands ache

 

I will be waiting

Rue de Sang, I’ll be waiting

In the alley, behind the café, I’ll be waiting

Smile, love, for my sake

 

Counting the stops

Counting the dark train stops

The flagellation of time, in dark train stops

Parting always tempts Fate