She sits by the water.
The river moves by as fish take a peek now and then.
“Do they know my broken heart?” she wonders as nature’s carpet touches her feet.
A clumsy fish wiggles toward her then retreats.
A teardrop falls into the river.
The fish swims away.
Category: Poetry
The Gypsy and the Moon
a fleeting heart unable to stay still
consumed by wild nomadic desires
always chasing something elusive
called by unconventional affections
a moon gypsy looks to the night sky
calling to the moon to stay awhile,
for the moon keeps moving
so the gypsy moves too
Haiku: Complex Blues
complex blues moving
as we contemplate beauty
under the blue sky
Unspoken Words
Breathe moving in front of you as you listen to 3 am darkness.
Fingers move the holy places only two people know well.
Bodies touch throughout a thousand fever nights.
Feet and hands become alive as they curl, twirl, and shudder.
Beating hearts tell all of those secrets hidden from plain sight.
Feeling conflicting emotions as we lay unspoken words to rest.
Light and Shadow
sounds from far away,
yet nearer than first thought
come to you in shoal dreams.
swimming with sharks,
yet feeling no fear for they are not
interested in your ethereal shadows.
sirens singing from far away,
yet their befallen sorrow songs do
not sway your mind for you
are
light
and
shadow.
Lonely People
sitting together,
yet further apart than strangers
sorrow fills the air,
for they have lost so many things
some sit together
some sit apart
some stare into nothing
some sip on bitter words
some cry silent tears
still and sad;
all the lonely people in
so many relationships
Into the Fire
a silent glance
we meet
a slight smile
you fidget
a soft red flush
I stir awhile
a sharp longing
eyes meet
as
we both
fall into
the fire
of love
Birth, not life
so many shapes move
dark sets into the night
she’s no longer herself
light of those eyes dies
suffering seizes control
starlight begins to fade
she gave birth, but not life
darkness took all the light
Death in the Snow
In the snow, the seat is bare, except for you and a few tidy possessions.
You’ve been down this road before: broken and broke.
There’s nothing like poverty to make you feel like you’ve made the wrong choices. Yet, you are liberated now: free on this bench in the snow.
You think, “How beautiful the snow is as it falls. If I had a poet’s heart, and I was more familiar with words, I would articulate this scene with more purpose and beauty, but I cannot convey this; this is a photograph or a painting…“
You sit still in the snow, and you don’t notice the gun against your head until the jolt ends the falling snow for you.
Your last moments were broke and broken, beautiful and sad, as you thought of the falling snow.
What beauty in your death. Death on the bench in the snow as you sat full of a fading glow until the light turns to darkness.
Now you get the chance to do it all differently.
Blossom and Bone
Under the soil;
You lay under the soil surrounded by the sounds of insects moving and water soaking into the soil.
Under the soil, there is a wooden box.
You lay in the wooden box with roses that once blossomed and bloomed, yet now the roses lay in petrified pieces upon your chest.
Under the soil alone:
You remain perfect in your chest of what once bloomed so beautiful and bright.
Under the soil, you are blossom and bone;
You remain silent and still as the stars and the moon sing their song to you.
C & K 