a writer tries valiantly
to transform his insides
into an intricate beautiful painting
and publish himself inside-out
for all the world to see
Creativity Journal
Love & Be-Loved
You divide my soul into love and
In loss still they dance!
the leaves all dance
to the same breeze —
but some flutter and some fall
some shiver and some sway —
and when a gust comes
they lose themselves —
but are no less beautiful
on the ground, where resting
they still yet dance, but free
Hoofprints
Fortune is a centaur —
half man, half luck
Pierced flight
thorns and stings
and those such things
just make stronger
our angel wings
P.S. Thank you to everyone who has written letting me know that Katya Elise Henry got a tattoo of this poem. Honestly, I didn’t know who she was and had to look it up. But that’s pretty cool, and a nice tattoo.
Symbiotic
Death is not warden of life, not thief, nor enemy — but Life’s most equal partner.
Midair
poets swing too high
until the chain kinks
and snaps
the
fall
is
poetry
Fall, fall!
Fall, temperatures, fall, fall! Let the weather mellow and the year drift into peacefulness.
Clock work
flowers don’t open to the clock
but to the sunshine spontaneous—
for modern humans that manner
of instinct is now extraneous
Essence
A poet can translate birdsong much more faithfully than the biologist ever could.
Silence in the poet
after a lifetime of doing almost nothing
but collecting words, now — here i am
finding that my life has become all about
that which cannot be expressed by words —
after a half-life of a burning desire to write
in order to find myself, suddenly i’ve found
an even more impassioned desire to write
by leaving behind that moulten shell, and
in this moment i find — silence is poetry
when the poet has nothing more to say
Stone-faced
Wailing, bearing flowers
and collapsing to her knees,
her hot tears fall upon me—
But I remain unmoved,
stone-faced, above it all—
her face etched with grief
and mine with the years,
weathered with past life—
Gently she touches my face
and presents me the flowers—
I’ve seen her cry many times
but it is in my nature to be
rough and cold, grounded
in reality I know nothing else—
Still she keeps coming back to me
and though I cannot give her love
I will always guard hers.