Saturday, March 28, 2015

39. One for Connor



A boy in a bubble,
but the bubbles are free
and you are trapped
though your soul,
unbound,
travels the wind
like a song.

You sing in our hearts
with play and laughter
and a perfection
that only imperfection
can convey.

We are in your world
but we do not know your world;
you are in our world
and it makes it
a better place.

Friday, March 27, 2015

38. Bitten by the wind


Bitten by the wind,
chewed by the years,
the wall changes expression
as time erodes.
Yet still you stand
as salt and sand
assail your pock-marked face.
And still you stand
though the builders
and the builders sons
lie in trampled graves.
And stand you will,
and stand you still,
when I have passed
and gone my way;
for you are stronger
and have still longer
to hold your vigil,
day by churning day.



Thursday, March 26, 2015

37. We write in sand



We write in sand
our lives that pass away,
times tide
stealing memory
with its hungry tongue
in our absence.

Our names go first
through the front door
as it gapes unguarded -
‘do you remember what’s-his-name’
recalled by a blemish,
a misdeed, mostly,
an accomplishment,
occasionally.

Then deeds find the fire escape
and leave
or gain new identities
passed on like a baton
to unwary pseudonyms.

We write in sand,
our names written
in an ink that fades
in the sunlight of years.
The life that we write
yellowing with age
at the turning of each page.

We write in the sand
but, when we return to the cleansing sea,
the real book is opened -
the revelation
of our name
written on the palm
of the hand
that knew our scars.

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

36. the taste




sugared nebula
a pink cloud
a rosè rose
sweetness on a stick
in the brash burlesque
the sparkled glitter
and ranting cacophony
of the fairground
and memories
of the waltzer
of youth