Thursday, April 09, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Yellow Caution Lights
Sun’s golden last grasp
reflecting pink strips in icy pools and black angular ruts
a world lifted up in tattered shreds dangling on wet branches.
Following the ghost who knocks on corridors
Carrying red roses, regrets and pictures of youth’s motley parade
The string of steps day after day
Horns, bells, whistles
The clanging gang of days---the year
Hordes who hammer schemes
Into concrete towers
Floating nimbly
In morning mist
Beckoning.
To cancel all of our debts in one final toss
All of the silver
all of the pride
I reach out for his boney hand
But he flees…
Only melody lingers
Only fingers fretting this guitar
A spectral song to right this wrong
The yellowed page
Signed and tossed away
A trail of silently flung petals.
Left behind in a yellow trail of caution in the smoldering dusk.
reflecting pink strips in icy pools and black angular ruts
a world lifted up in tattered shreds dangling on wet branches.
Following the ghost who knocks on corridors
Carrying red roses, regrets and pictures of youth’s motley parade
The string of steps day after day
Horns, bells, whistles
The clanging gang of days---the year
Hordes who hammer schemes
Into concrete towers
Floating nimbly
In morning mist
Beckoning.
To cancel all of our debts in one final toss
All of the silver
all of the pride
I reach out for his boney hand
But he flees…
Only melody lingers
Only fingers fretting this guitar
A spectral song to right this wrong
The yellowed page
Signed and tossed away
A trail of silently flung petals.
Left behind in a yellow trail of caution in the smoldering dusk.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Can I buy magic amulets to waken my first face?
Can dry fingers of night pat my rainy freckles
when voyagers wake the legions of dust?
Day does not give way into night
nor night to morning---only monotony
yet words take once more to wing as
spectral wraiths,
wanderers greyer than death raptapping gates of answers
past ages and walls
into the great unknown,
drowning, flooding, gushing me
in echo.
Though ash is my beginning and
dust my end
I am caught in limitless colored corridors
in which my footsteps wend amazed...
Can dry fingers of night pat my rainy freckles
when voyagers wake the legions of dust?
Day does not give way into night
nor night to morning---only monotony
yet words take once more to wing as
spectral wraiths,
wanderers greyer than death raptapping gates of answers
past ages and walls
into the great unknown,
drowning, flooding, gushing me
in echo.
Though ash is my beginning and
dust my end
I am caught in limitless colored corridors
in which my footsteps wend amazed...
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