Piercings

I told her
it's trite to say
that her heart is pierced
even if it feels
as real as a paring knife
on a peach.

But when she lifted her shirt
immodestly
and eagerly said
it won't hurt -- do it quickly --
I'll just look away --
jewels fell like those
that had colored her fingertip
when she signed
a childish lasting pact
-- with a serious look --
then mingled her life with
that of her best friend.

It was through
in an instant
followed by
a captive ring
with a crimson droplet gem
a prism
reflecting the truth
of an eternal metaphor.

And she smiled with defiance.

Copyright 2010

Unshu Mikan

Oranges under my skin
beg to be peeled
until I trickle
over your fingertips,
my pulp under your nails.

Better to juice me
than slice me in quarters,
although you already have me.

I don't mind being squeezed
until trust is sweet on your lips.

Did you know that satsuma
-- unshu mikan --
is a mutant from Japan?

It means honey citrus.
Tart and sugary, like me.

Copyright July 2010

Right here

Somewhere over the rainbow
(alto II part burned into my brain)
I sing about platinum shining
where leprechauns lurk
(those lying midget bastards)
and the pot of gold
on Wall Street
crumbled into dust
like the dying
(the ashes of whom
weeks later
dusted my shoes)
and yet I cannot
stop from singing
and the song rises
blue and gold and crimson
above a turret
above a spire
scraping the sky
like ivory
against the night
above 200 soaring voices
all knowing
that only fools
seek gold
instead of the rainbow
(yes a Ding an sich)
all the voices
are blinded by the hues
shining through clouds
and rain and hail
and blasting through
thick Gothic walls
in stained glass allegories
inflaming those who do believe
(in justice
in peace
in tolerance
in love
in ourselves
and in what we carry
in all that's spoken
all that's holy)

Copyright June 19, 2010

Time

unfurled
by urban gusts
swept away
by undercurrents
moistened
by spray moorings
loosened
salted sparkles
in the granite
in the sand
neither tide
nor time
can be told

May 21-24, 2010 Rockport and Gloucester "These things take time," he said, and gazed beyond the sea. I'm never sure what he sees.

Blind Drunk

Groping forward
her cane feeling
for the walkway
the bag she carries
rips.

Bud Ice rolls
into the street
as she cries out
in fear of a darkness
that can swallow
more than the colors
of the sun.

The bluest of skies
her backdrop
she curses,
kneels to grasp
the only savior
that she knows.

She doesn't want my help.

And anyway
I am loathe to gather up
another's poison.

It's only Bud.

Even a frothy
stein of Weissbier
sweetened by raspberry
tart with a lemon slice
isn't worth death.

Copyright 2010

Wings

Soaring on steel
I fly so close
to the sun
igniting hope
and then
singed
falling
falling

To dust and ashes

Voids unfilled
by parting
curtains
legs
or souls
shrink and vanish

Blinding rays
through bending crystal
scorch me

On bended knee
I pray

The sun sets
I'm alone
in the silky dusk
and peace floats in
on wings of gossamer

Hello, God.

Copyright 2011

Yesterday

The below poem was inspired this morning by an incredibly brave person I know.

Today, I am a father;
Yesterday, I didn't believe in one.
Today, I soar on wings of gossamer;
Yesterday, I couldn't see my angel.
Today, I awaken in sunshine;
Yesterday, The rain fell on me alone.
Today, I dance in golden fields;
Yesterday, I cried despite the roses.

Today, I am a mother;
Yesterday, I held life inside me.
But I was not born.