Husbands
with children
are sherpa
lost in a blizzard
on slippery ice
where the air is thin
blood vessels leak
and ghosts begin to beckon
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On Everest/ in snow
White Heron
Sinuous, curving neck,
full breast,
long legs that
reach into
the harbor’s edge
Obsidian eyes
bottomless, a tunnel without end
seeking
Along a rocky shore,
the slow filling harbor
a mirror capturing grace,
clouds doubled,
scudding across a fecund sea
As you strike, down,
rippling the mirror,
your body shooting forward,
head buried in the sea and the sky,
You have caught prey
tight with your mouth,
Trapped, engulfed
their shaking body now raised,
glistening under a hot Maine sun,
consumed
consumed
consumed.
Posted in Love, Lust, Poem, poetry, Uncategorized
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Fall Into
A path
with people passing
just there, but I cannot hear, I can only
fall into us
And your eyes
are lanterns, guiding me,
beckoning, and I follow,
fall into us
Your kisses
are water moving down my heated skin,
your lips, curl, encompass, your fingers wrapping, as I moan,
fall into us
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The First
The first kiss,
and you as a conductor, your fingers pulling at mine,
onto the train and into the night,
curving over mountains, through tunnels
Steam turning electric,
currents passing through me, burning and blinding
your fingers curled in mine,
a journey without end
Posted in Love, Lovers, Uncategorized
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Yo Sindo
The dancer
and the piano,
My fingers on the keys
her legs
scissoring
across polished wooden flooring,
click clack of stabbing, rhythmic heels
reflection up her body:
the once youthful legs,
spinning skirt
blood red dress,
bare arms spread wide
supporting stony face,
dark hair pulled tight
she pivots, struts, strides
to the beat I try to pull back, but…
fingers keying, hammering
strings one by one, faster
slower
(it ain’t my beat at all, after all)
driven by the click clack,
matching the stride, note to note
at first, her heels and my fingers
explode apart, a door opens
and she tangos out, alone
(as always, and better for it)
into dark streets, her own beat
as I break skin on keys,
smear blood in some desperate sacrifice
banging harder, moaning now, lights flickering out
in this room I love
Posted in Age, Memory
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On Ragged Mountain
There’s a luxury –
a pleasure
really, it’s that more
not like the joy
of an avocado
(not to dismiss that joy,
sliding along the skin,
opening the ripe fruit
to eager hands,
fingers sliding into flesh
to scoop
and taste
and slip along the tongue)
No, not that
but the ecstasy
of the familiar,
the wind rustling the trees
and that caress…
The fecund scent
of spring about to break,
the earth beginning to swell,
already pierced
again and again,
preparing to burst…
And this moment
in the trees,
amongst the trails
in stillness
on Ragged Mountain,
the only track my snow shoe treads behind me,
the slope above me
waiting to be explored,
if never known.
And the birds, the wind, the land
waiting to sing
as they birth
in this strange spring in winter.
Posted in Nature, Poem, poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged Nature, poem, poetry, Ragged Mountain
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How I Read
When I was a reader,
spine balanced under palm,
fingers trailing along pages.
words that almost moaned and whispered aloud.
Eyes greedy,
seeking understanding
to know the body –
the work at hand,
moving from page to page,
syllable to syllable,
words that almost moaned and whispered aloud,
the whole growth and breadth of song after song,
the rising chorus,
Caroles and chants, hymns to the body,
the trembling page
underneath my roving hands, fingers, eyes….
words that almost moaned, whispered, screamed….
In joy
When I was a reader… with eyes to see
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