When the Poet Sings

November 24, 2008

when the poet sings, nobody dances;
but he’s so sad!
he sings in 6/8 time and past tense
crying about things he’s never really felt
using euphemisms he’s never really meant
dreaming of the places he wishes he never went to
somehow making up his mind
that it will all come in due time
and that the ending will be just fine
so long as he can finish the line
with gentle rhythm and imperfect rhyme.


November 13, 2008

the fire was built higher still
in the hearth were the reminders.
the smoke had a fragrance,
probably from the flowers,
the letters burned a regretful green
and the clothes burned slow.
the heat was little comfort
against the coolness of thoughts
nor the orange-soft glow.
not the sort of blaze to sit around
and ponder,
neither the sort to light the pages
of literature.
this fire, this family of flames
flickers darkly and its smoke
will sting your eyes.

Fault of Vision

November 3, 2008

do we really see the world with our eyes?
and if it is true, how they fail us so.
can we truly comprehend the beauty behind a smile
or the love in a deep clear stare
only by seeing?
can eyes report back the love that is found
in the pressure of a kiss?
can vision detail the softness
of skin in a gentle embrace?
can they see the love there?
can eyes see without certain knowledge
of its presence, any love at all?

I Know Now Why I Never Ask

November 3, 2008


The Distance Is Plain

November 2, 2008

pulled apart by some cosmic force
magnetic or otherwise,
reaching, but not reaching
close can be so far;
held divided
like margins between
the gray and white
the black and the gray,
separation is fear
and the distance is plain.