More Poetry

Tones and Hues

Avocado tones of blue surround the well
swirling like a rainbow, my eyes
like myrrh and complacent.
You wind of my window pane who
shuns detection and when everything
and nothing grinds to a halt.
We stop and stand looking at one another
wrong looks more like right and then
tangerine clouds float by laughing,
laughing about yesterday.
I stutter with my pen and the words
sound all the same on the page as you
read them to yourself.
How does ordinary feel from the
ledge of the ceiling sill you planted
in the garden?
But as always yellow questions hide
your insincerity like the promises
of ghosts.
The hue of today and tones of tomorrow
take center stage and the curtain falls
right on cue.
So what is left to reminisce about?
The avocado is silent, locked away in its
black peel, and You and I, well...

That's another story.


Cellophane Hearts

Cellophane is the colour of your eyes sky
and misty mountain river flows like an
iceberg across the blue vastness, here
silence staples the mouths of the muted
and all around freedom seems to say no.

Why all this plastic paper feeling? Tell
me how to undo the already done and then
when everything seems penguin and undeclared
the water drags me down and juggling my heart
like a rainbow I need validation like a parking
ticket.

Wrapped in this day of white promises and sun
that feels black against my skin of nails, you
who procure the wind with lashes and stall
like a wave,

You who when nothing could go wrong turn everything
asunder thunderstorm rising on the horizon close
and when I throw in the towel choosing not to
argue, bait the ending you desire.

I am unforgiven and you who never forgives
justify the clouds with bantering and false
smiles.

Tell me why its cellophane?


Accounting

It has everything to do with departures
trains, planes and automobiles, about
wheels lifting off the ground and arriving
somewhere else.

Its about silent gestures and footsteps
knocking like windows,
faces that touch like hands
secretly hoping
that the dust hasn't been
disturbed.

Its about anonymity and invisible
barely traceable smudges
and pacing like an arrow down
long shadowy corridors,
about columns unnoticed
like the air all white and
puffy.

Its about empty announcements,
abandoned buildings and disappointment
that cannot be hidden by veils and,
contracts and obligations that force
the quickest settlement or stalemate.

Its about pawns and being pawned
like cheap and tawdry chattel, about
bartering with white lies and scraped
knuckles in the alley saloon chalet.

It has everything to do with the price,
value for the coupon half off sold
restaurant on the top floor tower
and the company you are presently keeping.

It WAS ABOUT BEING BOUGHT escort
villa in the Alps for the weekend
champagne breakfast strawberry
you dipped in chocolate
night cap on the balcony, remember?


The numbers don't all add up, the sheets
cheques and balancing mattress posts
and the canopy tent candlelight fund-
raising event that you forgot to attend
like a maid french merlot late afternoon
tea and some ancient Druid ceremony,
Polo match plaid skirts and eye glasses
manicured hands and Margarita's with
freshly crushed mint lips of ice and toes
on the ledge of the mantle cherry on top
martini and another night cap!

Do you remember?


Me, Myself and I

I who looks at white and sees wonder
Me who wanders the sky's hope
Myself whom knows the night
All of me who forgets to question
Not the what for or how comes
But the endgames we all play.
I look at Me in the mirror and
see I, myself staring back at me.
I am everyone and everyone is me,
all by myself and I.


Looking for Anybody in Particular?

Look in the furrow of hands
between the wrinkled molts
of things said and rust,

look in the corners of light
where the shadows fall
becoming night, a night of lines
look for me in dust and in
yearning, the yearning of fingers,
outstretched limbs touching distances,

look for me in silhouettes of addition
and, the duplicity of taking away

look for me in the confession of hours
in the things you want to account for,

look for me in translations of mouths,
in the utility of the necks nape,
in the pauses and edit of dinner conversation,
in the sidewalks of memory, in a bookstore,
and,
look for me in passing, while in transit
from one thought to the next, think of me,
and most of all see me when you look for me.


If and When I Say I Love You

And if I said that I loved you
I would feel myself begin to bleed
Haunted by words I don't want to say
And what emerges between the sheets
The way my heart would flutter
Like a puddle, spilled and spilling
And if I said that I love you
I would pale in lips, in nakedness
Exposed like nails, the sadness of stones
Bittersweet like bread sacrificing
The closing of eyes, the thighs of dawn
The breaths of lust tasting the salt
Of flesh worn smooth by beading
And when I say I love you
It is with blue contention
Self-devouring and absolute
Supple and divided by layers of formica
Sedimentary and murmuring with diction
At the threshold of touches.


Ode To Poetry

Poetry my cornea of dawn
the heart winged by crowning daylight
the unrecognizable bittersweet plantations
of night
remote and copper to the touch
defended by banners like a song
of the Heavens.

Poetry is the air tourmaline
the sands opaque smile
the fire brimstone and
ember, wrought by passions hand
the watery surfaces of grace that ink
gingerly walks upon.

Oh magnanimous spring
Oh scarlet lighthouse of summer
Oh veiled crystalline autumn
Oh ventriloquist dew of winter.

Poetry my refuge
my succinct haven
my transparent shelter
my forest of steel reserve
blue and whispering in the winds.

You are the alabaster moon
the ripened sun of grapes.

Oh poetry.


Ecology

I could quote the moon
with railways
full of opinions
and drudgery.

Recount the earth
with stars
shooting with arrows
and regret.

I could refill the oceans
full of pronouns
and juxtapositions
and fresh water.

I could fill every page
with landscapes
and the litany of ideas
and beauty.


The Chant

Touch the hand world God
of my space air moss
and when in this you become
I above the soil lake moon
touch the beat heart mine
and mind the wind sky water
touch and hold let go you
and I who watches waits
sun and then how why what
I and you two and one in
union hand skin flesh go.


Ode to Beauty

I cannot decipher whispering mouths
that try to label such delights,
it seems beyond the eyes sight,
beyond the feel of fleshy peach,
beyond the taste of pomegranate knees,
beyond the realm of words breath.

So what am I left with beside exquisite,
besides eloquent lengths of pearl ankles
and scarlett blushes that touch Heaven.

I cannot aptly portray alabaster limbed
divinity and all its grace.
All i can do is sigh smiling with stars
in my eyes