Brightness
Nothing is soft sometimes.
Edges and angles and that’s all.
Into no dark well do we descend
Like ruddy, unblinking pennies;
Rather it is within that sour womb
That we are begotten,
And from those dank depths
That we ascend
into searing white
light
That
concerns itself not
with
the severity of its
brightness.
Sleep
What a while she has been swimming
in the rolling waters of sleep
with a crumpled tissue surrender
clutched in her salty hand.
What a mile she has been crawling,
in the white and twisted woods
as the moon holds his eyelids open,
lighting the road with a milky stare.
What matter is a league when drowning?
A teaspoon of sleep would do the trick.
A thousand nightly journeys are embarked upon
for a sip of the sea.
Into the sea, the girl has gone
to plunder the treasure of the deep.
Into the sea, the girl has gone
to thrash, to sink, to finally sleep.
The Midnight Standoff
It closes like a gnarled fist,
the swollen purple eye of midnight;
Swoops in like a mouth sucking poison from the stars.
The dry socket,
The sunken cheeks on the face
Of Circadia,
I glare into her
Glassy, midnight eyes.
The bloodshot blinking of the clock radio
Inches us forward into black, syrupy silence,
Towards or away from perdition;
We are all made
Blind men of the morning,
Scratching at the earth around Jericho
And praying with each rise and fall
Of our chests
For daylight to rise or fall,
As well.
An April Morning
(This is a poem I wrote for some dear friends who recently had a darling baby girl named Annabelle Aria. They are quite musical, which lent itself nicely to a poem. I hope you enjoy.)
Beyond the woods where the Wood Nymphs play
Through the valleys where the Shadowlings lay
Over the hollow where the Hollyfolk stay
Bells can be heard a-tinkling away.
The Willow-waifs waltz in the melodious air
The Flutterbys flit with fanciful flair
And the Winklebees wave their wisteria hair
As they ready themselves for this festive affair.
The voyage begins with giddy delight
Dancing and singing by Candlebug light
Mayflower Maidens and Silverwing Sprites
All follow the music far into the night.
When sunlight spills over the Cloverwood Falls
And ushers them through the Heavenly Walls
The chorus resounding leaves each one enthralled
As they open the doors to the Great Music Hall.
Jubilant fanfare raises their wings!
Curlycues curtsey and Sugarbirds sing
Slipperfeet dance on violin strings
And all lend a voice when the final note rings.
The merry assembly issues a sigh
When a radiant presence captures their eyes
Standing before them in dazzling light,
The Composer, the Maestro, the Conductor of Life!
Their praises combine in a boisterous refrain,
“This music you’ve written, Father, give us its name!”
He pauses to answer, and His loving eyes swell
“This aria, children, is My Sweet Annabelle.”
