October Velvet

Nothing satisfies the weary spirit

Such as the velvet of an October eve

Freckled by reticent sprinklings of rain

Which thicken like traffic on the ritual commute

Dull and murmuring from hours held on high

Cheeks of the sky flushed with the advances

Of a devilish chill, insistent, persuasive

Reflect on the browned mirror of the mountains

Color their dying eyes with a final surge of joy

Before the well-advanced annual condition claims the upper hand

The pearlescent opaque winter mists

Seep across nose and mouth at the peaks’ final breath

Cool the cheeks of the clouds into tones of frostbite

Remind raindrops of the cozy, homey quality

Of the final smack upon welcoming pavement

Massasoit’s charcoal figure, pensive, pipe in hand

Watches the sun sink into exhausted slumber

The furious rain slides down his nose and cloth folds

Twilight poses a challenge to sharp sightless eyes

Tacit, in memoriam he holds, as the autumn chill settles into his iron limbs

Great hulking shape

Great hulking shape
Lurking white in the reaches of darkness
Tribute and inspiration to the fixtures of Egypt
Barring the stars with the crag of your shoulders
Muzzle raised to the sky, square jaw taut
You hum a growling hymn to the absence of winter moon
And the valley tremors timorous beneath brief feet
Swathed in ignorance to the ways of your kind
Ever present, from the first break of the horizon
Enduring, to the final minute of time

Theories Obsolete

Where does your care come from?

For it may be the low gray walls of my little mind

Impeding my eager view

But I cannot make it out.

Is it labeled desperation

From a cyclical falling out of love? 

Addiction, perhaps

To that gentle tug of needing. 

Or does it taste of breath

Shared in close comfortable confines

That settles in your nose sometimes

When you go to sigh? 

Or last, and leastly plausible

Could it conceivably be

That you have seen between my lines

Heard within my mumbling

And you are truly attracted

To the texture of my soul?  

Hollows of trees echo outside themselves

Hollows of trees echo outside themselves. 

Twigs sway like beetles flipped downside up;

Premature snowflakes suspended

Glisten above the dusty curtain clouds. 

The mountains are surly, buried as they are

Up to their craggy chins in an orange woolen blanket. 

So many things sigh all at once

In a low, lowing chorus;

Grass playing host to parasitic frost

Loses its forced resolve, and yields

Beneath the soles of my firm flat feet. 

Curled carcasses, leaves laid with care upon the concrete

Like small animals unearthed from hibernation

Rustle their brown and gold shells

In semblance of life, but they are gone in a puff of winter impatience. 

The bite in the air is one with malice

One that targets the open parts of my jacket

Works its way up my neck in shivers and goosebumps

To set upon soft thoughts drifting in with the night.

Victim to curved claws and grinning canines

Once and together, they fall to their knees

Too weak to fight the farmer’s battle

With weapons of will against frost.

They drop confessions from their scarlet chapped lips

Of bits of sparkling soul, harvested thoughtless

Taken by excess of intention, not so much permission

And an overlying mist of selfishness.

In the same breath they speak

Of pieces relinquished

In tribute, in payment, in an accidental fashion,

Like trading suitcases at the baggage claim.

A misread of the internal print

Has incurred a feeling of loss at both ends.

A feeling of seeking, of sailing

Through the wet, white air

Over the broken grass and tragic leaves

Over the sleeping heads of mountains

Brushing aside the cirrus drapes

To float unencumbered between the snowflakes

That at this proximity, shine more like stars

Magpie

Magpie
Soaring on wires through stiff-jointed boughs
This is the first I've seen of you
Sharp eyes and clever beak
Fingers that grip and release without a scratch
But somehow still a trace remains
A shadow on the yellow face of the leaves
Tell me with your graveyard gaze
Are you to be my raven
And I your hopeless poet?

Paper Pieces

As I walk, I drop

From my right hand

So many paper pieces of a picture in shreds

An ellipsis of small white sugary dots

I trust that someone

Who happens to see

Will happen to be so thus intrigued

As to trail behind, bent like a willow over the water

Scraping fingertips upon the pavement

In his efforts to collect these little litterbugs

Cupped in the crease

Of a hand, between calluses

They mount in a mound

Of careful packed snowballs

Concealing in each a concrete pebble core

Of letters in a ransom note treasure map: 

I write poems

And I step out of bed on tiptoe

I have a freckle on my hip

And I try to be free with my smile

I like feeling small

I am scared of my closet

On a given warm night

I sit hours on the stairs

And more, and more

My hand is quite full

I trust that someone

Will take time, take care

To unfold each piece for each piece’s sake

All we all want is for some other soul

To form constellations from our stars

Time will tell, but just as well

You look as though you have curious fingers

To Listen

May I ask you to relate
Every piece of your life to this very minute
Every fog-minded morning, every dream-minded night
Every fear from twin bed years on
I have a bed waiting empty, and empty to stay
I will sit at your lips until the stars nod off
For the mere fleeting thought of your face
Or drop of your name
Floods my mind with the scent of your clothes
This is very important
Please, build me the man inside them

Sleepy

let me close my eyes against your heart
i will keep you warm until morning shows

Daily Habit

I catch every brief and simple moment
You toss at me with nonchalance
I polish each to perfect shine
Safekeep them in vials clear and round
These I place upon my shelf
To look at, me and no one else

Saturday One

There was a moment when
My eyes were shut
Yours were open, and
Set on my face
In that moment, you
Cupped my cheek
Slipped your fingers beneath my chin
Held my face in limbo
In that moment,
In between your lips and
Resignation to fleeting sleep
That lasted for second on second on
In that moment, that
Feeling elusive, which underlies
The space between stanzas
In all my work
Was everywhere, overwhelming
Light and deep like a single stormcloud sky
Light and strong like your two fingers
Beneath my chin for
Only a moment
Only a moment
Which will not leave my mind

Running on Sand

And then she got scared
became small
lost her mind
and she swallowed
like pills
all all at once
sound of words on page
sound of strings behind voice
she took a step in retreat
she pulled the blanket of night
back over her head

Baby Hope

Inspired by:  http://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/09/nyregion/baby-hopes-mother-is-questioned-as-investigators-proceed-with-caution.html?_r=0

You, who took this daughter as your own
Who carried her cradled for 22 years
Who sat sleepless, enmeshed in frustration and prayer
She thanks you, I know, for each moment spared
Soon she may rest in a warm, peaceful sleep
Safe in the hearts of her badge-honored friends
And the hard-resolved, soft-souled vigil you keep

Three From Fall

The sluff of shoes on the sidewalk
So human, so hopeless
Trudging, to where?
Perhaps to a place
Where there are not so many leaves
And fall has yet to topple down


Little pale girl
Who rescued stray leaves
Look who you are
And who you can be


On the steps
I am hungry
And as my stomach growls
I detect in its tone
A reprimand:
"Next time, you fool,
Remember your key."

Chickadee Calls

Little chickadees, you darlings
In your gray collared coats and velvet black caps
I know your sounds, I let loose a challenge
From the harmless pucker of my lips
And to my amusement, you sprang up stiff
The both of you, flitting about your tree
Perched on a branch and the wall above my head
Thinking, "Her?  But no," and casting off
Pipping all the while your perplexity
You, the suspicious one, you dove on your brother
Pecked his cheek, and I saw him chastise with a glance
And then you were off, both of you, all at once
To while away noontime in a tree all your own
Little chickadees, if only I was fluent enough
To call you back and assure that I mean you no harm
For now I am left with a tree I don't need
And the empty high-low of my own lonely song

Elaborate Excuse-Making

It is fall

And college

Therefore I will wear my pajamas

And my roommate's boots

And you will say nothing

About my flyaway hair

A Warm and Cheerful Wake

It is a beautiful autumn Sunday
The afternoon light is shallow and clear
Over a ways, an acorn plummets interrupted
Down through the oak leaves to thump the ground
The maple tinged yellow is jittery in a breeze
That can only be sensed by ebbing leaves
Two craggy mountain peaks peer over the rooftops
Turning tawny in the face of advancing cold
Armed with a host of giant pines waiting for winter to spring
He is coiled now, in each crook of every branch
In the gusts of the morning and calm of the night
Purring softly in the scent of burning leaves
From the autumn funeral pyres always present, never seen
The insects are gone, the birds are beginning to go
We are immobile in our stoic routines
As snowtime advances, as sunlight saps away
We will wander daily through nature's annual graveyard
And the leaves will fall, resigned to old age
And the acorns will plummet down to thump
Upon the ground with a fading orange finality

Precious Things

The shining things are precious
The golden hopes, the diamond dreams
Forming a thick cosmetic shell
For the shining things are obvious,
Glimmering in our daily footsteps
Glowing through our open eyes
It is the dark and heavy stuff
Kept covered at the bottom of the trunk
That truly are the precious ones
For once you have seen the shape of these
I swear to you that you know me

Nightly

I sleep in your arms nightly
My cheek upon your collarbone
Beached across your chest, content
Alone in my bed and the confines of my room

Pictures of Sunshine

Take pictures of sunshine while the clouds are at bay

While none but the borders of memory are gray

Take not of the warmth and the spark in the air

Take note of contentment and absence of care

For when wind disquiets and the heavens rage

We will pull out the pictures and recall better days

75 Minutes Among Scholars

Written lovingly and scathingly about my Masterpieces of World Lit class.  Even the air is pompous.

Wisdom, dear class, is not to be found
In your mass of notes, transcripted furiously
From the mouth of the horse with little hair and glasses
You, with your bragging rights metered by credits
Swinging the banner of "Honors" above your overlarge heads
Philosophers in your own minds
You are those who I feared from the start
You are puddles of corruption pooled at my feet
Here is the extent of my disturbing your shining surfaces--
You sophists, you substance of those you deplore
Lifting Plato aloft in your processions of thought
Skimming past his description of scoring points in discussion
I tell you, in that game, you are certainly winning
Debate and discuss the past as you please
But do not discount the value of your years
You have not so many, so please refrain
From posturing as thought you are every one prodigies
I assure you, in the grand scheme
You are not, not yet

14%

you kill my phone, babe
between the pictures and the words
that battery bar is sinking
beneath the weight of minutes counted
between replies, always too many
would you were here, babe
and my phone was still alive

all these faces in my gaze

all these faces in my gaze
foreign faces, foreign ways
strangers' smiles, different eyes
often laughter, frequent sighs
hearts on hearts in drumming time
crowd about this heart of mine
long before the breach of dawn
as the night goes sprawling on
words and tales in foreign spaces
peering out from behind these faces

In a Whirlwind

You move me to write
Though I have not near enough words
My pencil, apprehensive, hovers over the page
A slender bird with a heart that hums
Too quickly to be halted by
Such petty earthly forces