Sunday, August 29, 2010

Any Home.

Beyond the lights on the interstate,
Red and white on either side,
Are the windows in buildings, like tv sets,
With their light shining from inside.
Much like home,
Much like stars,
Much like the comfort of bed,
The lives being played within them
Speed at eighty through my head.

Long-drive dreams in a leather seat,
And wishing one window was mine,
Impatience grips the steering wheel,
Impatience shifts between lines.
Hotel windows
Are drive-in movies,
And I imagine the parts being played,
Of families, business men, and rooms that lay empty,
Waiting on an overnight stay.

Louisa in linens and Simon in silks,
In adjecent rooms on the fifth floor,
And Molly and Allen in a condo by the lake,
And Christopher answering his door,
Whether they go,
Whether they stay,
And what circumstance landed them there,
To see where they are, from the window of my car
Makes it seem a bit unfair.

They have a bed, and a light to turn off,
And I'd be pulled over for turning off mine,
A silly thought, I know. Almost stupid, in fact,
I know that I'll be home in time.
But after I leave,
Before I arrive,
Is an uncomfortable limbo, indeed.
Hours pass and it seems I'll be stuck here forever,
Monitoring lanes, my gas tank, my speed.

The distance between where you are and where you're bound,
Can feel too long to bear,
And home seems so far, when you look at the bright windows,
Of people who are already there,
But in time,
And over miles,
You'll find a change of scenery for your feet,
And when you arrive, you'll be glad to claim
A bed instead of a seat.

Friday, August 27, 2010

Parnassus Dwarfed.

This one is about love. Not so much from a person to person perspective, more from a person to "love itself" perspective. It sounds very religious, and not only because of it's reference to Greek mythology, but it's more about the worship of "love itself", not any sort of deity.

Parnassus Dwarfed.

Miles past shape and beyond colors,
A plateau of proportions mighty stands.
Beyond heads in clouds and earthen lovers,
And youthful declarations on brick and in sand.
Love, a glowing light, a living ghost,
An avalanche sweeping down for man,
Tugging hearts to its miraculous post,
And lifting them gently from the land.

For true heaven's boundaries our hearts to breach,
Parnassus dwarfed, and beyond its reach.

Miles past clouds and beyond form,
Love, it's warmth glides down to earth,
Stopped not by hatred, held not by storm.
Calls heard by humanity since it's birth.
The only thing that unifies,
And the only thing that's pure,
A call for all, straight from the skies,
And the only thing that's sure.

For her to call him, for him to call her,
Parnassus dwarfed, and there's no mountain taller.

With care, with might, to satisfy,
The needs we all possess,
To lift a people still petrified,
That still writhe under duress.
Through toil, through war, through appetite,
And on ground where we've been tied.
The highest peak of loving light,
Will live, constant by our side.

No muse's inspiration could compare,
Parnassus dwarfed by a force most fair.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Calling Again II.

My original idea for this poem was very different from the end result, but instead of leaving it be, I tweaked it until it became closer to what I wanted. So now, instead of it being (somewhat ambiguously) about a child dying, it's about someone's spouse dying. Happy stuff, haha.

Calling Again.

Through night's dream catcher I see planets fly,
Through the slivers of huddled trees.
And monlight shines in the corner of my mind,
On whispered silver nights like these.

I see something slender curve and wave,
And something missing speak,
Not the wave of a branch, but the wave of a hand,
Though the vision's very weak.

And in the yard,
Where the trees stand guard,
I'll think I'll see you then,
But as seasons change,
You go out of range,
But I'll hear you call again.

The road I took to work every day,
Was paved over last September.
And the restaurant where we ate a thousand times,
Will be torn down in November.

There are scaffolds high around the church,
And they're redoing the inside.
But everything here is just the same,
A rock worn by time, yes, but not the tide.

And this road of mine,
Now cobweb fine,
As I think of roads that end.
I'll live and pray,
That at the end of my day,
I'll hear you call again.

Forty raindrops on the sill,
For forty years in all,
And forty redwoods on the hill,
Still wait for forty-one, come fall.
And forty one is the number still,
Though forty-five it's been.
And four feels like ten,
Or the number when,
I'll hear you call again.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Dirty River.

In a place where water wends,
Flung out like twisting fingers on a thrust arm.
Past virgin skin and bone extend unlikely nails,
Brittle, filthy, and unsightly.
Embedded in ground oft-traveled by man.
Bent at each side,
Water flows through the fingernails like sewage.
Murky at the bottom, lined with indistinguishable debris.
Five streams without beauty,
Water no lips would allow passage,
Water to scorch the throat.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010


"I am dinner, I am dinner"
My stance or demeanor must have said.
On borrowed ground of rock and root.
I became dinner as I read.

The Accident of Birth.

This one already sounds dated. Hah.

The Accident of Birth.

Where are my seasons?
The ones I was promised,
The summers so warm and winters so cold.
Where are my trees?
The one that stood tall,
And only grew mightier as they grew old.

Where are the condors?
The black bears and the bobcats?
Defiant, majestic, and fearless they'd stand.
And where are their children?
What became of their bloodline?
And where are the ones that robbed all their land?

Where is my river?
So cool and so cleansing.
That comes from the ocean and runs through my town.
And where is my homeland?
With its warmth and it's comfort,
No robbers, rapists, or murderers around.

What am I?
Am I white? Am I black?
Will I die by some rope, or do just fine?
What world will I see?
When I open my eyes?
1491 or 2009?

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

One With One Of Two Halves.

Only moments after I took my seat,
Chosen well, and quiet too,
That I found myself surrounded.
Not only by insects and birds, the company of my choosing,
But by men. Loud. Industrious.
Working not with tranquility, like the ants,
But against it.
Just as I had chosen the rhythm given to me by the midday,
They had formed a conflicting rhythm,
Conflicting with myself and conflicting with all things.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Call Down Stratosphere.

 A... heavenly love song? Hmmm.

Call Down Stratosphere.

There are roads of dirt and stone
And walls of polished rock,
But starlight shines, whatever time
And adorns the numbers on the clock
Though walls and gates may deviate,
The paths I’ll choose to go,
With the wave of my hand, no wall could withstand
When meteor showers swing down low.

I’ll call, call, call,
And whip the wind around,
Send leaves skyward in the fall,
And bring the heavens to the ground.
And with a single sound,
I’ll call the stratosphere down.

One wish out of two, for you, has come true,
But the other is so far
To touch the sky at night as it shines so bright,
A million miles from where you are.
But when you’re with me, just look, you’ll see,
From the tree tops to the ground,
Those starry fireflies will descend from the skies,
When I call the stratosphere down.

I’ll call, call, call,
And whip the wind around,
Send leaves skyward in the fall,
And bring the heavens to the ground.
And with a single sound,
I’ll call the stratosphere down.

There are layers that divide us,
And handles just out of reach,
But the distance blurs and the lines obscure
As waves take the beach.
We’ll stop time on just one line,
And all creatures will share a single sound,
Ceiling to floor will merge with the core,
As I bring the universe down.

The seas will divide as the moon moves the tide
In ways unknown ‘til now.
When the moon flies right by your room,
And I call the stratosphere down.

I’ll call, call, call,
And whip the wind around,
Send leaves skyward in the fall,
And bring the heavens to the ground.
And with a single sound,
I’ll call the stratosphere down.