Spanish Moss

Live Oak draped
in Spanish Moss,
wilting with it
as if weeping
in the sweltering sun.

Autumn never comes here,
only peripatetic monsoons
which bring heavy, soggy freshness.
While through the rain, shivering still,
remains this mossy tree in a breeze
(like sultry girls shimmying
on bars late at night).

After the storm’s passing
the sun dies
an inexorable death, leaving a
saturnine penumbra of tropical magic.
Yet, there remains the dance of
this figure swaying to
quiet, secret music-
jape of the lives we live.

Serendipity

Should I never see you again,
Every moment I have spent with you would
Resonate in my heart.
Echoes of your kisses
Never leave my lips.
Daring to have stepped into the fire
I know I shall never return the same.
Perhaps this is exactly what
Is meant to be…
Today what seems but love’s seed may
Yet become tomorrow’s passion flower.

Tone of Mind

I couldn’t let go
of the desire to feel
something intense
anger at injustice or
anger at not doing what I should,
using that intensity as the drug,
to hang my hat on that knobby stud,
while really immobilized by fear
of being inadequate.
Stuck in the spider net
which won’t let go,
won’t let go.
But which really won’t let go?
the web or me?

I couldn’t get my
mind around
the carnal openness,
the magnetic freedom
from the known,
the rawness,
the rage,
starting there
and opening more
to the size of suns
burning the rage
to a diamond core.

We cannot live in blame.
It is false fuel.
We must change our
inflection
from the screech
of accusative addiction
to a longer melody,
a catchy strain,
a tune hummed
inside heads
while standing in line
to buy daily bread,
a smiling tune
of forgiving harmony
to carry all counterpoints
with heartfelt sundry,
a Beethoven’s Ninth
to warm us against
the cold heart of hate.

I look for a tune to soften
the tone of the mind.

Technorati tags- poem, poetry, attitude, anger, blame

Incandescent Nectar

Anybody read German? When Ralf and I lived together, he transtlated this poem of mine so we could print out cards for both our American and German friends. The photo is one i took of roses he gave me, which I thought looked stunning against the snow.

This poem was inspired by Rainer Maria Rilke’s Sonnets to Orpheus. His mystical style touched me deeply. I read a version which had the German and English side by side. So I picked up a little German, too.

The Piano

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It translates all languages
Yet, mute, it waits until hands
unlock keys to meaning.
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