Word processing disorder 

I see your word pictures

in every song.
I’ve written words 

that spell sadness

But I want to write

the

Image of sadness’

sound.

Letters in water colored

vibrations and rhythms.
Drops of rain

falling on November’s

dead leaves.
Prayers rising 

and falling like arrows

on the 

heart’s grave. 
The whisper of our 

hands not touching.
Tail lights and tires carrying 

You away forever over a 

Western horizon.
(I cannot bear listening.)

After I write these

sounds,

maybe they can 

simply become

material 

that I can 

handle, 

touch,

crumple tight, 

throw out

or recycle into

a nice poem.

Word pictures 

could spell my own 

name, not your’s, 

with music. 

And I will hear 
myself 

walking back to me. 

Advertisements

Crows: Giver of dreams, receiver of seed

imageA fat Crow was enjoying the treats of the field without laboring for it. He seemed to be making fun of me for my exhaustion from gardening.  I made a sour face at him as he cawed and easily flitted to his next bite of food. A little jealous of his ease, I warned him that I was gonna pluck a feather from his wing and place it in a dream catcher.. he inspired this:

The Crow is at it again.

Picking and spreading seed

Over the sleeping fields of Sunflowers and Sorgum.

He pretends he doesn’t see me

Looking at his joy.

He pretends it is not joy at all,

But behind the melancholy call,

I see a little dark grin,

And a twinkle in the dark eye.

And then he chuckles

As he tells me how easy it is to

Be a crow.

And he mocks humankind as I watch him

From behind the sweat of my brow, working so hard to sow the seed.

He mocks me but its just his way.

He’s a tease.

He fights his arrogant nature

And leaves behind a most gracious and sleek feather.

He knows that I collect them

and hang them on a catcher of dreams

to tease him back.

In reverence

I am honored to
feel your baby’s fortune, 

 To 

lay my white hand upon your brown belly.
I feel the love of family 
shining from your eyes. 
I  become circled by  the poetry
shouting 
from your lover’s heart,
singing you to be strong.
And you are a lioness!
beautiful and fearless.
I am privileged. 

An outsider in your den, 
uninvited , yet welcome. 
In this moment, 
I am home with you,
but I am homeless.
I feel  your history’s rhythm.
smell the earth and the rain..
..it never changes you
to a colorless white,
or leaves you homeless
without a sun drenched nation.
I wish 
that your baby was me.

Born to you.

Birthed into your story. 
I am so honored to rest my white 
hand upon your brown belly!
I hope you can know this..
to this daughter of a white face, 
You are a queen with a beautiful name..
and you wear the crown of 
A king’s wife upon your head. 

A Poet God and a Word People

We press words together,

watch them grow, breathe.

We hear them fight us,

mock us, whisper, scream.

See them become love between two

lovers lips,

The passion in a kiss.

We press word together, you and I.

We create fabric language:

Silk, cotton, burlap language,

Wrapping threads around a nation.

We create working language:

Farmer, doctor, blue collar language,

Working vowels and spirit into a society.

Then words press us together,  all of us,

And we become written language:

Molecule, atom, people language,

Born of breath and word  by a poet God.

Holy Lyrics

On the day of us,

an azure

sky,

and her sun

rose early to watch

a dance.

The golden leaves

sang soprano

winds ,

they tap danced

in the air,

twirled through

my new mother hands,

waltzed through your baby hair.

Inside this ancient

song and dance

My arms held you for the

first.

Tied by tides,

and blood and veins,

we finally

see the other.

We watched God

smile that

“It is good smile”,

as Grace flowed

From His pen.

He began

to write

not just words

for obedient men,

but Holy lyrics of

you and I, my girl,

in Eternal ink

upon

golden leaves

that never

lose their color.

And I’m sure I heard Him

command

an everlasting

“Something gold WILL stay. “

The Ghost of You

You are left here
in books.
And your voice echoes
As music.
Your face invades a room
Permanent in my mind.
You rest and wrestle
In my body.

I scream over hills,
Whisper through trees,
Over miles of highway
In prayers
For you !
Will you not
hear me?

You read words
not sharing.
Sing songs without me.
You see the room that I am in,
But you walk through me.
You rest and wrestle me away
From you!

And I stay on my side
Of the world,
A hell silenced
By your finger
To my lip.

Resurrecting the Fox

This morning after
A night shift of childbirth
And coffee,
The outside world looked
Enormous , tremendous.
The sun is always brighter after leaving the confines of brick
And policy, rules, and laws.
Driving away, I thought of you.
Would you know this same
Kind of freedom?
(You are always weaving in and out of the traffic of my thoughts. )
The thought came that
I may never see you again,
How it feels like our death.
How rules and laws forbid us live.
How love suffocates behind the policies of a society created
By brick people.
Confined. Confined.

Then I spotted it.
A red fox. This felt symbolic and my heart raced toward him, a flutter of hope.
He was asleep in the middle of the black and yellow paved forest of engines and rubber .
Asleep I say because I cannot
Admit that his perfect little body was lifeless.
That the sleek and meek
Failed to escape the confines of man.
His freedom wasted beneath
us,
Confined. Confined.

And then I wondered if love could resurrect him.

And I thought of you..

Super Symmetry Has a Gate

Never had a night
Forget to touch my skin,
caress of stars
Of moons, planets,
Of you.

Never a night
So dark
That even white
Bone could not be seen.

But in this night
Stars and sound
Have vanished
And banished me to
earths blind and deaf
laborious
Works.

I cannot hear your                            Aquarius splashing,                                      Or my Taurus’ thunderous hooves…      The companions                               Separated by the expanse                            Of water and earth                                      and history.

Once, the solar system
Was a park for our souls to
Meet.
there we would play with
Time and gravity.
Defy the odds
Of religion and astrology.

Now that place is closed
For the construction of
a gate I never wanted.
This gate will keep
Trespassers out.
It will keep us apart.

If they ever let me in again,
I’ll wait for you at the gate
Eternally.
I’ll be wearing a dress whiter
than bone,
holding a sign
That bears your name.