Posted on 11/24/2003 9:52:48 AM PST by January24th
now the gray
waiting
harsh winds
bare snow
stern
vestments
bind our
unbridled
need
reflective
silver days are
blanks that await
the strike
that shapes
the commerorative
message upon the
medallion prepared
in metal that remembers
both the melting fire
and the cold confines
of the mold's
restraint.
between dreams
and not enough
van halen
bookends
make the story
stand up,
in spite of contra
dictions
dreams spun
dreams caught
in the circular graph
of life
of need
glorious in cruel design
oblivious to the beauty
of its own perfection
dew-spangled dream catcher
cannot pity the errant desire
impaled upon its breast
paint me this riddle
a black cat on a blue rug
notice his absence
she hopes
i won't write
delighting
in this symphony
of silence
summer's
last rose
crimson
darkly
stained
fading tales segue
to grins and philosophy
we are all mad here.
gestures
sentience structure
diagramming silent thoughts
poetic jesters.
incidental insights
into
eclectic efforts
of placement
and purpose
reveal
the artistic appeal
of cast-offs
framed
in a different light
baccara dusk
curls around
the bright center
of conventional
crimson
its muted shade
a cloak
that closely guards
my last redoubt
against winter
Supreme court choices
of obstructing justices
point of view function.
OED
It’s a trip of
sorts wandering
thru word history
an archeology of
grammars grown
from earnest grunts
to circle an empire
and then decline into
meanings pejorated
by time and changing
realities, or improved
and ameliorated by
political exigencies,
that favour the accent
of the hour
neologisms
invented then
metamorphosed
into structures
mapping the separation
of minds, bridging silence
transforming and grabbing
the whirling moments passing
and committing hopeful prayers
to the heroics of preservation
of ideas limned in the persistent
scratches that tell
of our perseveration,
in words invented
to matter the concepts
between the scroll’s
abrupt batons,
reread and unread between
the windup and unwind
between begining and end
its not what was noticed
but what was said.,
and gathered into
dry stacks of writing
the bindings
holding the whispers
that hearts refined
to art, and then left
on the foundlings step;
hoping to be
gathered within
sheltered, illuminated
but démarched, defiled
debriefed;
the knave admitted
in the nave, has
written his confession
persistent in spite
of meanings of assault
more than any edifice
and remind me that
without you
there was
no need for
for the work of words
for once it was recorded
a day, unlike any other.
when our word was
made and shared by
two, which was all
the history we needed
and was all
that we had.
just now
candlelight silence
remote in my memory
sunrise in the sand
preservation
autumn dragged
its languid amber
finger over
the story that
summer wrote
upon a pine tree
carved, an inscription,
and what we recorded
drew the blood
that hardened around
us and we were
just inclusions
she smiled
hello
while
her sentry
sniffed
my shoe
Pigment of my imagination
Winter houses exhaling
seeing their breath
against the high blue
empty arch
like words
launched into
inter ether;
there is a colour
just beyond reach
to give this pretty
moment a shade
like no other,
And let us not pretend
earnest amateurs need
their pigments
premixed and
neatly labeled
like a tube marked
“sky” or “flesh”
could be a poem,
or maybe a crutch
for those who just don’t
get it,
But rely upon the
googlebrilliance
of roof against heaven
insouciance
without nuance
that covers everything
but understands nothing.
then
the marble
celebrates its
noble brief,
in stone that
feels the heat
of the sculptor's
hand and holds
its fire forever,
never again
surrending
to the cold.
warm to the touch
that shapes
the stone that waits.
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