Right Before My Eyes

The night is foggy and I feel the humming
of these splendid fireflies hovering in the fields
that analyze darkness and moisture's influence on the longest days
disappearing right before my eyes.

I can't help
but feel the longing of words
that might disintegrate
like sins in the confessional.

Each credible thought, each promise
disappears as if never mentioned
out loud.

All these secrets mature
and fall like a leaf
from an October branch,

forgotten and left alone
and completely silent.

The Lightest Hand

I am bargaining again
with the ambiguity
of my emotional cornerstones;

joy at waking to the gold finch
at the window feeder
is non-negotiable,
and the callous attitude
regarding the dynasty
of breath after breath;
a willing wisdom,
requires safe discernment.

Laughter will transpire
to overtake me
before despair or silent suffering
can find a foothold on the climb
out of bed.

The spirit of love
will not be deleted
or crushed into ash at my feet.
The essential nature of all kindness
is a contract written
with the lightest hand
in the ink of the heart.

Let Love Yammer On

Let love yammer on,
let that affection bloom
like a lily
out of the quagmire
of confusion and dread.

Let love tell tales of joy
and find amenable answers
to full bodied life
where laughter isn't forbidden
by the sins of a generation.

Let love cover you in the night
when you are lonely and want warmth
up close to your skin.
The heat of that contact
was once enough
to inspire poetry,
children made of souls,
and undefinable understanding of God.

Investments

Invest wisely in this gnarled world
and the engine of your heart
may find peace.

Invest wisely in the songs
that escape your mouth
and your temporary joy
may find a home with the birds.

Invest wisely in the people you call home
and you may find laughter flowing
and easy words and dancing
like every day is a glittering celebration.

Invest wisely in a lifetime
and you will find ways to terminate
the constant grinding of bone
against bone
against the stones
of granite days
that have always
managed to rain.

Jangling Truth

The rusting vestige of this body
is a gallery of so many bold mistakes.

This classic archway to nowhere
is defined by temporary bridges
and foreign phrases meant to insure
survival and little else--
bread and water for the crossing.

Bring me a coin,
some small talisman I can believe in.
Bring me a pocket full of jangling truth
that doesn't tarnish with time.
Bring a poem wrapped in securely in light
and I will believe
we are worthy
of the blue blossoms
of forgiveness.

Rivalry

This rivalry
is the uninvited guest
whose tongue waggles endlessly,

thrumming the same tired tune
like a stevedore unloading
endless thoughts

just to avoid
another death.

Why Quibble?

Why quibble over the minion of words
in a sea shanty where the pilot of the rising
and the falling of meaning
is lost in the depths so blue?

The oast house that dries the barley and hops for this strong ale
is hot and tempers are sure to flare in these nascent tunes,
roasting before the fire only to be served up to deliberate maidens
and children who will not withstand the bawdy songs
and backroom ballads.

It is lost on all of the innocents
who can't find a voice to speak,

much less sing.