Tag Archives: poetry

May Fourteen

A trailside waymark –
ladybird black and red
stops at You Are Here.


My Other Half

I sleep and dream you’re with me,
Then I wake and dream you’re not;
My every dream with certainties
That prove to be their opposite.

It’s when I’m drifting in and out
I’ve often wished you’d spare me
From your familiar second thoughts
And gently shared misgivings,

Though lately when you’re lingering
It comforts me to guess
Your soul believes my sleeping dream
To be your home address.

One day I’ll dream you’re with me
And the dream won’t come to pass.


All I know is something like a bird within her sang

Where here there is snow and where here there is rain
where here we’ve heard either a bird or no bird
we may look to the snow or look to the rain
and ask, not both a bird and no bird are here?
Well, yes and no—not both a bird and no bird.

a fig tree in fruit—
not both a bird and no bird
to be heard

*Title is a reference to ‘Bird Song’ by Robert Hunter and Jerry Garcia, upon which lyrics the accompanying haibun (or some might argue not a haibun) is modelled.


Ascent of the mind

Presently I must return to my kin,
for the law has decreed it to be so
my dear feathered friend.

As it will pain me to leave you behind,
for life on the wing is no place for a shadow,
so it would plague me to bring you below:

I fear if the knowledge of you became common
our prison would run out of puppets to govern.

Ascent of the mind


trick of light

If this were a dolphin performing a trick
of light with an arctic pear chandelier,
would mirrors be vases and sunflowers rust
on re-entry or visually similar?

If that were a theatre curtain drawn back
from an ocean wave passing your window,
would safety orange do for the dolphin
or would you prefer it tangelo?

If those were ripples in milk on the wall
and the arctic pear chandelier tinkling,
would force be the window, the window the load,
or the dolphin an armchair to brace in?

I once knew a hornet’s nest intimately
as my own mother’s womb, but the honey-
comb cells held no honey and the hornets,
if that’s what they were, were no Delphic Bee.
 
 
Trick of light


If Kant was alive today

 If Kant was alive today
 to hear Guthrie Govan
 soloing on Regret #9,
 he’d say “Man!
 That’s what I mean
 by sublime!”
 


Frost crack

 early morning frost
 we need to talk about us
 a stringy gum cracks
 

frost crack

frost crack


 
* image created by databending a credit card sized number 3 and applying edge effects.