Jewels in the Sky
Glistening jewels coat
the tips of trees
which light the skies
with lofty ease.
Priceless Rubies, Topaz stones,
and Mandarin Garnets
in orange tones.
Each will be sold in silent bidding
with votes harnessed
from a passing crowd
of wide, uplifted eyes
whose currency, only fitting,
is to be pleased-
sometimes out loud!
Later these gems
whose fiery flames
burned without heat
and singed none but their stems,
these dazzling comets
will fade and fall
down to earthly feet
whose toes will curl
deep into the ground
and stoke the coals
for next years round.
A Mardarin Garnet.
Places Too Close
There are places he’d rather not go,
closets where clothes are too tight,
pants with belt buckles which still latch
to the shortest length, but now
he can’t hold his breath that long
anymore. He wants to be padded with
Pillsbury dough, something to grab
when hands are available to grope
his half century folds of skin
dessicated and pinched from too much sin.
His big heart chokes the tight collar.
He feels safer in the puppet theater, where
the extra strings keep him from floating
away from so much hot air.
Watch him standing in the sun, waiting
alone for the train north, not willing
to make eye contact for long.
Smile and lift him without saying
I wrote this after seeing the movie ‘Into the Wild’ by Sean Penn. The poem is not so much about the movie as how I related to it. It’s about frustration with social artifice and the strictures of decorum, within which one wonders how much real love and spontaneous feeling is lost. It’s about feeling limited by discomfort in that system and also about wanting to just fit in and be one’s self.
What is a Kiss?
What is a kiss if not pure bliss?
Can it be spent or saved, as a coin
dropped in a slot machine, fruit
spinning dials deciding fortunes
outcome from emotion purloined?
Can a kiss be a kiss if not missed?
Where are the dreams of passion
lost in wine soaked hours spent rubbing
the lamp, waiting, hoping genie’s
magic will quell doubtful ration?
Isn’t a kiss the door to a garden
of roses, leading up to a house
with no blinds? Where is the porch
and the light switch to guide me?
Where is the mill of my arousal?
Technorati tags- kiss, doubt, poem
Happy Winter Solstice!
OUTSIDE, Memory assumes the silent sound of night where the crystalline vacuum of dormant gardens may
witness a warm cheerful glow through the window to
the heart finds
nourishment, love, joy,
mischief under mistletoe
and other ways of gently saying
"Now shorter days can go!"
technorati tags- Christmas poems, Winter Solstice poems, Noel, Winter garden poems
Black November air
oozes across the pine board floor,
cold molasses being poured.
Shadows of craggy oak twigs
gnaw the walls for flaws.
The moon cannot escape,
so peers helplessly
from her thin blue ark.
His cries are swallowed whole
by the feather comforter
weighted on his chest.
The room is silent.
Leaden limbs remain distant thoughts.
Slumbering whirlpools of feline
warmth, curled in his arms,
are the only reminders
of life just beyond reach.
He pines against this mime
of impenetrable pause,
dreaming of release.
At last, a pop shatters
the brittle gauze.
An acorn, nudged loose
by a lurking cartoon bandit
in the tangled trellis above,
thrums a beat to crack the shell.
He shudders, hears himself moan,
surveys the familiar room,
and, with a deep sigh of relief,
turns back to sleep.