beyond

July 10, 2014 § Leave a comment

the worst part about forever
is not knowing if i’ll ever be
completely immersed in it

end of the day

June 18, 2014 § Leave a comment

if there was ever a greater feeling
than thinking about absolutely nothing
and staring up at a spinning fan
spilling icy air across your face
after collapsing theatrically
onto a pillowy queen size bed
after ripping off constricting clothes
and putting on sweats and a shirt that’s too big
after pushing your way persistently and slowly
across crowded asphalt roads
after staring at a computer screen
for eight to ten hours,
then somebody better tell me right now
what it is

the spiteful haiku

June 18, 2014 § 2 Comments

it’s harder than it
seems, to write a haiku that’s
syntactically clear …and syllabically correct

the man on 7th street

June 3, 2014 § 2 Comments

a mournful saxophone,
just one. its noise like a sermon
echoing above drunken yells
and tires treading. over the constant hum
of street lights and broken voices,
night after night, he plays. making loneliness
cry out into a crowded street of half-hearted
listeners, who sometimes toss him a smile
or a dollar, or two and then shuffle heels
across the concrete walk to catch their friends,
yelling about the a taxi. bar food. a lost wallet. what time it is.
and the man remains, alone and still,
sans his dancing fingers and heaving chest
loyally blowing lonely life into his instrument
filling the crowded air with ups and downs,
a mournful jazz hymn, showering
notes onto an unsuspecting crowd.
they yell about life,
but they may never actually stop to listen to it.

The Effulgent Ballad

June 2, 2014 § Leave a comment

The night before
we parted ways,
I lay on my side
the world singing soft carols,
a luminous and constant hymn.
Or maybe it was just you.
A glowing beacon stands
tall and fir green,
growing out of the mahogany wood beneath.
It wouldn’t belong at another time or place,
like we don’t belong in this sweeping valley
engulfed in a veil of night.
But of course it’s here,
and so are we.
Your voice, still pressed to my damp ear,
comes in choppy blurs,
like over a short wave radio.
It breaks and breaks and breaks–
the lights are everywhere,
but especially in the memories of you, or us?
They come in scorching rays. Bright blissful rays
that hurt. We don’t belong,
but here we are.
My eyelids fall in a watery glaze
that convolutes the shining scene
and with each blink the light bends
and the fiery kaleidoscope of reds and golds
morphs. First a mournful face,
then a spinning carousel,
a pulsing, burning, beaming, starburst,
a lonely sailboat in an aqueous field.
The scent of luminosity; of pine.
The lights hanging and crossing make your voice
a dizzying spell.
It chants, radiating
words that fall and hurt
and break. The mournful face tries to smile
and wish the world goodnight.
“Listen,” you say.
But the light is all I hear.

from Sun Dance 2012

train

May 20, 2014 § 1 Comment

a haunting whistle
echoing across cities
is night’s lonely voice

the search

May 8, 2014 § 2 Comments

inspiration rests
on roses and mountain tops,
between storied pages and hemispheres,
among rushed crowds and hands held,
it comforts prayerful knees,
and falls in time with pouring rain,
it’s the voice on the other end,
and the stars on my dashboard,
and it rests quietly, profoundly,
always before us,
but always within.

Where Am I?

You are currently browsing entries tagged with poets at rosepoems.