New Day (1994)Emptied chasms open lay
As she tips before the silent gray, Shrieking bloodless in dismay The deaths of millions in her wake. Guiless whore! She spreading lay in darkest lover’s Stinking shame. Curse to mothers; gasping lovers, Kin to angered and inane. Frothy fields of dewy rain Kiss upon her screaming rage, Coolness soothing searing pain, Upon this Woman comes Famine’s feast and healing plagues. Awaken! Upon Us comes this day. Silent Passage (1994)Upon the arid branches
Of a cold November sky, The pathos of a snow owl’s cry Rings out the Great Divide. One lone chick in search of they Who’d long-since taken flight, From Mother’s e’r-shortening days And brutal hoarfrost nights. The tender fluff of downy white ‘Round solemn liquid eyes, With razor beak uplifted Twice the owlet sadly cries. Adolescent wings outstretched Beat air in frenzied flight, With an eighth’s strength of his sire More fury’s passion compensate. His thoughts – I could not guess – As in desperation and pain, He explodes upon sights Yet unvisited by his kind. Driven by his aching And by pelting drops of rain, He swoops down to shiver in the eaves Of a farmer’s sagging barn. The owlet flutters out across The dank and dusty floor, To bat a dying mouse left from The hunt of night before. Farm cats, fat and lazy, Blink and watch his growing rage, His fever pitch unmatched By his inability to feed. As driving winds and frosty air Turn water into snow, Icy slivers rip into The baby’s infant down. The blasting sheets of Arctic slate Rage on into the night, While owlet drifts as in a dream Into the dismal white. Like a candle that flickers once Before it wisps away, The owlet lifts and rushes The tumult of coming day. Crashing through the clouds He struggles with fates unknown, Pathetic flapping drops into The wash of daybreak’s glow. The creamy down of baby’s coat In patches torn away, Expose beneath the flesh Of youthful splendor gone astray. Even as the scarlet drops Slowly drain beneath, Hungry crows gather silent To feast upon his memory. The locusts rise in sudden flight And anger fills the ‘scape, As a girl approaches across the field To inspect the congregate. Leaning over the remains She sees not its smearied waste, But instead is shocked to silence By the peaceful sleeping face. She lifts the weightless snow owl And strokes its silky neck As his head flops backwards In most horrific haste. “Daddy, daddy … come and see,” she cries, As she rushes across her father’s field With her terrible surprise. The shovel clatters noisily Upon the shallow mound, The child sobbing as he’s laid Into the frozen ground. “I’ll bet an angel’s lifting him To heaven as we speak,” The father coughs and savors The ache of numbing feet. But the daughter hears nothing On that melancholy day, Except the crying of the wind Against her tremulous face. For the blessings of the Lord Are hardest to discern, Until you have endured The sweet agony of them. |
The Days of Then and Now (1994)I remember brightest days
Through the cloudburst haze of time, Softly creeping, they steal into The far–reaches of my mind. Gently chiding kisses Open passions dusty lain, Cast aside for countless years, They well and rise again. I look upon collected things First sighted by your eyes, Seashells – once shown opulent – Now dusty, Haunt my nights. The sands of oceans fall between two lovers For all time, Drifting, sinking, washed ashore… Then sifted through the greedy fists Of many other’s lives. I catch myself floating between The days of then and now, Older – both – but wise to life’s glimmer On which reality is sown. Never knowing where I am Or where I’ll ever be, Only knowing in my heart What Forever lives in me. A Shining Harvest Moon (1995)Cascading peaks of airy foam
Drift light the coming waves, With each intrinsic melting moon Ripple seagrass silver grace. As speckled pipers lightly rush The depths of Mother’s lips, Her icy kisses reach to steal Her children’s lively steps. Ebb and flow eternal grace Hints secretive dismay, Rushing low the darkened wake Wherein all God’s creatures came. On and on the ceaseless dance Long season’s cyclic ring, Not knowing the joyous riches The very sight their coming brings. Headlong race for ocean gifts Laid out with loving hands, Ochre waves glide trickled hiss Of sun–warmed, sinking sands. Breath held a timeless instant Before shimmering retrace, As Mother sighs and relaxes Her watery embrace. Aching with the longing cries Ancient songs peal one desire, To bring Her children bosomplace Swirl frothy depths’ conspire. In harmonic time pirouette and sway To winds tympanic tune, As cryptic spirits rise and fall Beneath a shining harvest moon. For My Sister (2002)Soul survivors in limelight seek
Center–stage with theatrical flair, Childhood hearts that tremble and quake At the blood sport exacted with care. One smiles and laughs in seeming madness Then shrugs as if nobody cares, Anger spilt forth in heart–pounding rush Hunted rabbit into hidden snare. The other perceived with beauty and strength Gives her Self up to spiritual growth, Determined resolve for this sanctified state Drained away by the need to be loved. With scarcely a thought to their circular course Calmly chanting each hardwired verse, One in vulgarity, brashness and pluck The other in anguish and curse. Sadness prevails over secretive hearts Dark suspicion; pervasive self–doubt, Fear – the essential hazard of love Peaceful passage relinquished throughout. |
