Lost in State (autowriting)

Posted on April 18, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

Lost in state,
no where to go
Everywhere to be
In you the earth
In me the sea
In us a world
Made from the melding
On a grouchy road
the seat bumbles.
A tad of money
for them a mistake
The world knocks
from anticipation.

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Birds of a Song

Posted on April 18, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

angels in the garden1

 

 

Rain paths brush clear a sky
to stark beautiful disclosure
I listen to her notes of doubt, softly
Singing through the azure

With doves ear, low, I listen on
for another who perchance is
a muse, perched atop a pendulous pen
Swaying lithely among the branches

Music written of moments when
She trusts my song, its combs of rain
sheared in harmony from soaring wing
from I, the melodious bird himself,
who’s ever to fly away again.

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Waiting for the Mulch to Arrive

Posted on April 18, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

poem1

Saturday morning, waiting
for the mulch to arrive
A particular pattern of a bird
chirps as I compose
the chantey
water striders stand still
on winter fountains parting tear
expresso, cupped
buttered oak steams
flavored expressions
a poem before
the poetry
of day.

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Seamless with Light

Posted on April 16, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com
Artist Unknown From http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m3t20xCnIl1r2nfvbo1_1280.jpg

Artist Unknown
From
http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m3t20xCnIl1r2nfvbo1_1280.jpg

Only beauty grows from this visceral ache,
like a seed pushing up through the earth of your chest

When a heart takes root into the abyss of the self, then
Multihued flowers can lift high in the welkin

The pain of the water that courses through shadows
Splits strata of rock, to find stark verdant meadows

Love for grief, like wind raises the flame
Stealing air from our lungs, ‘till we’re steady again

As each thread is woven to build a fine fabric
If one is missed, ‘tis nothing so tragic

But if after the cloth is finished, then worn
by one thread removed, into two it is torn

There’s as much hurt in fortune as wisdom in plight
Embrace both, for your darkness is seamless with light.

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Posted in Poems Beyond Their Words, poetry | 2 Comments

Sisters of Darkness

Posted on April 12, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

Her eyes are the sisters of darkness
Whom, upon their hearts, glisten
starry amulets of the night.
She speaks not, listens
For his word-sparks to ignite.

One wish for what we lack,
a prayer for what we deserve…
If he grants her wish
But ignores her prayer
Of what use does love serve.

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Morning of the Madrugada

Posted on April 11, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com
Madrugada

Photo by Diana Matisz (https://about.me/diana_matisz)

While I press my palm to hers,
I want to complete the world
our fingers folding into the fabric of skin

Aching to taste the tongue of my lover
To wash away the flavor of mango,
So that I’ll never seek a sweeter fruit again

As I close my eyes, in the blackening
I want to hear her raining
star drops into my night.

Imagining my last jar of breath taken,
Its lid twisted off, emptied into providence,
Then she filling the slack sails within me

All that I need for my humility
Is to be placed gently
in the vessel of her beauty…

then pushed softly from the dunes
into a stock-still ocean sans a single ripple
saffron petals, long leaves, moon softened

To love her in unrepeatable ways
and never miss a moment,
of our ever having done so

Her pulse, the only sound imagined
when nightingales go silent…
when winds wisps are somnolent

From the mystery of my heart as I sleep
My muse glides through the darkness
Into the morning of the madrugada.

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Men Entering Women

Posted on April 11, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

He tried to tie her to the bed with the clothing
wrangled from her writhing
But it was he who was ensnared by her flesh.
She laughed at him
as he became impotent during the battle.
It seems a man will wear himself out
trying to enter the realm of a woman
when he is unable to see the real door to her heart,
no matter how naked they get.

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Words are Rolling Stones

Posted on April 11, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

Words are rolling stones
that clatter in the stream of time.
Any of we, parched or quenched,
sip at the waters edge and listen to them
purling and purling, sublime
till their edges rounded by translation
turn rock to sand, like grape to wine.

Precise words of ancient mystics
passing over falls and out to sea
Who can ever say anything for sure
about a mystic, who himself says,
who is He

“who says words with my mouth.”  (Rumi)

Let’s never lose sight of the poetry
through the veil of a poem that’s so pronounced.

Maulana is a single breeze
Carrying a multitude of scents
Sensual words are metaphors for meaning
that are they, themselves,
metaphors for sensuality
Names within names
for a singularity.

There is only one pure text…
and each of us individually hears its truth.
It is written on the walls of the heart
In strokes of blood, there in the dark,
Its mystery, being its only proof.

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Another Morning Awoken by Night

Posted on April 11, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

I hear a first whistle of a bird
just before the dance of dawn.
And dew drips down
The cat tongued blades of
a softening sprawling lawn

Humming bread truck in the distance
makes its way toward a loading dock
behind a humble store bakery
with a donut for a wall clock

Tangent to the arc of a hesitant sun rising,
the air begins to eddy,
swirling through the porch door screen,
hissing, java ready, steady

There is a subtlety in the rising chorus
of kisses between the new spring leaves…
waking the budding flowered branches
whispering harmoniously on a breeze

Turning dreams stroke the linen…
white and twisted all about
and through it, our skin
slight shiver within
by this morning, we are bound

You stir gently, to again drift off
And I am so in love…
This suburban morning aviary,
Persistent cooing of a dove

Sunlight ripens from cerulean to rouge
And curls its streams all over you
and the morning murmurs sleepily,
as a new day rinses off the dew

Another morning’s awoken by night, which
shepherds our hearts to slumber.
This eternal reprise of celestial cycles
Love arrives to allay the night
in dawns awaiting wonder.

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Parindey

Posted on April 11, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

arial-with-bird1Only a wind whines
Here in my heart
Where ghosts once sojourned
They’ve all departed
Since you arrived
Since you stepped through

These eyes are doors
To wider shores,
So green, once blue
Now brown as yours.

Sometimes a strangers light arrives
To show itself, or you, despite
your tear choked stealth
That fruitless, tries
To run, resist, be still and hide

So fell a feather from the sky
From wing of a beloved passerby
So many hues within this plume
I thought it leaped off reposeful perch
from the cradle of a crescent moon.

A while longer, may you stay
O’ lovely pining parindey
But if you must return to sea,
I’ll sew more feathers to my wings
And join you, when you fly away.

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Posted in love poems, Poems Beyond Their Words, poetry | 3 Comments