Monday, January 30, 2012

No flowers--

no flowers - by request
no viewers please
allow my soul to bury
its own dead
the corpse of all
my pride shall lie
beneath rock and stump
a private funeral
I wish to grieve in peace


Monday, January 23, 2012


I have never read The Idiot
by Dostoevsky
I speculate
what it’s about.

I imagine a heavy Russian novel
filled with psychological innuendoes,
a short story focusing on disillusion.

Am I an idiot
for living?
Are you thus labeled for
the act of death?

Is this book
     (more mysterious by the moment)
written for “the common man”?
the proletariat
the bourgeoisie?
its view
someday I will know.

Now that I am old
And know regret
I pause to think...
I have never read The Idiot
By Dostoevsky.


(I was experimenting with forms, ok? I don't remember what I had been reading, except that it wasn't Dostoevsky)

Monday, January 16, 2012

I shall lie hid--

I shall lie hid in my hair
swept in a golden glow
warmed by the breath of my mouth

There is a door in the flame
a cavern within the candle
I will pass through
the door is too far
I close my eyes

There is a door in my mind
a flaming spark behind pale eyelids
I will walk into the light
the light is too far
I weep behind my hair


Monday, January 9, 2012

Gulls flying in--

gulls flying in
over the gray-gold sea
fiery light
burnished copper feathers
create winged hope out of the night


(There are no gulls where I live in Texas. So I didn't realize they were noisy, greedy, disgusting birds.)

Monday, January 2, 2012

Everything broken--

Everything broken,
beams of light, torn by leaves
rainbow colors, light received,
strands gleam,
memories of thought,
shattered and bought,
as songs.