let me remind you
how we labored side by side
our sleeves rolled to the elbows;
our forearms white swords in the
afternoon sun

in case you have forgotten
those halcyon days we held our breath
against lethean ether,
clutched our faith to our breastbones
and stumbled righteously into fresh darknesses–

let me remind you as
you stand like Abraham, quenching
daggerwords in the blind fire of
your faith, poised to
sever heartstrings between us–

we were warriors once:
grim-faced, hard-eyed,
battle-angered, yes, but
stitched together, spine to spine with
pure, white strands of love–

let my words paint you back into
that clearing on a battlefield where
we, our wills, our words, our
onenesses were
one nation in-
divisible,
a bright circular meadow
among ruins

Sinatra

Posted: November 3, 2013 in Uncategorized

He sings across a great distance,
evenings
when mist rises along deep canyon floors,
when the world is monchromatic blue–
sings to her,
sings to you, as though he
were speaking into telephone lines
falling in graceful arcs down
pine-crowded mountainsides,
His voice blue smoke
on still water–

all of night closes in,
presses closer, its darkness
squeezing his voice into a
corona of sound
11-3-13

Starlight on Shriver’s Creek

Posted: November 2, 2013 in Uncategorized

Evening music washes over me
sung in minor thirds against
starlit strains on the dry riverbed
of Shriver’s Creek
poetry reaches into me though
I stave off her long white arms
with ritual and songlight,
rolls across me like water and
gathers me into her liquid arms

if only I could accept that I
am stone
the river’s bone
instead of laurel reaching
heavenward in glory

if only–
so much blue music in two small words,
six letters whispered prayerfully
beneath the auditorium sky
11-1-13

Depression is a choice.

A.B. CURTISS, Depression Is a Choice

no,

it is a dark angry circle on the sun
a hole
filled with nothing
but dread
and Prozac

blackwordscrammedintoapaperbox
too flimsy to hold anything but
emptiness

a window with its blinds
shut                       tight
on a bright autumn day

                        cold
from the inside out,
a sudden winter storm of
suffocating ash-colored snow
leaving deep drifts of black guilt
against new fences
at sunrise

                        friendly fire
against an army of one
on a fictitious battlefield
more real than the chair
in which you sit reading
in judgment
your eyes loudly cheering
for the other side
10-29-13

Image  —  Posted: October 30, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

obit #19

Image  —  Posted: October 23, 2013 in Uncategorized

Souveniers

Posted: October 22, 2013 in Uncategorized

This is October, a four-

week long foreign country of

oddly-colored trees applauding drily

for the first winter’s breeze—

a land of polished gemstone day,

quick cold evening,

hoarfrost-gilded morning

 

the place where I was born,

to which I return to

celebrate the passing

 of another year, another

journey down this cathedral’s

corridor and where,

eventually,

 

I’ll lie in my own bed, the

table at my bedside littered with

a handful of souveniers, a

slim volume of poetry,

and a few dry scattered leaves.

I Think I Could Be a Poem

Posted: October 19, 2013 in Uncategorized

I think I could be a poem,
a free verse falling gracefully
down a white, white page
in an old book with fingerprint smudges
in the corners, and
labeled “discard” from
some small-town library–

I think I could be a poem,
a ramshackle tumble of words like
dishrags filled with gray dishwater
and bits of life leftover,
waiting to be wrung out on a
warm August evening when the
party has ended, and the guests
have all stumbled home–

I think I could be a poem,
waiting there in cool papery darkness
between pages, waiting
who knows how long for
your eyes to drink me in and
bring me back to life