Unfinished forms

The turned ankle
at this angle
a jaw line, the hip
parabola evocative of
obtuse angles and petals-
or leaves could be open
to holding light in colors

the movement blends
on the page, the note
hangs on the sheet-

precarious-
ly awaiting harmony
of echoes like blur and hum
where sound escapes crashing
into narrow canals, omitting any
consonants collected in the
folded corners

melt and fade under the sun
goldenrods spearing silver weeds-
maybe shadows will go there
and settle in

to stretching the fibers
into a conversation with object
and subject
interrupted by
chime and shape
to fit in

the picture would never

what it was
only what could be.





Image by John Singer Sargent, Study of Mme Gautreau c. 1884 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

feather weather

The awkward bird
arose from her branch
puffing up her breast
and shaking her head
discovering a burning
sensation
in her throat
which carried pangs
into her tiny talons.

She tried out
a few simple notes
to crack open the stale air
before asking
the question,

was there a moment,
a degree of light or altitude
a passing gale
ideal
for realization
for comprehension of wings,
to soar, to sore to try again
and again
when did it know
to sing in truth with only vowels

Where did the poet go
in verse?

The owl chimed in
wisely
turning nocturnal
eyes
with avian alibi,
refused to name names.


Painting by Friedrich Thurau, c.1868 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Abracadabra and ABC's

The plan itself-long forgotten-
was working, as every prediction
foretold
by the last of the learned.

It had been lifetimes-
long gone,
when it was learned by the rest(ing),
the dangers of knowing
too much
for thin soles to carry
comfortably.

Human touch was not the trick,
the magician preferred to work with
shiny wheels, hats, cards, cups and wands
Invoking smiles as he deftly slices
attention, willing volunteers and words.

The spell lost in translation, a dead
language
slang-shot not toward penetration, but
babbled by barbarians-again.
This entertains, now this-now and
never remembered-

None heard the chorus
of the sheeple's song before
nor sang along anymore-

Now it sounded silly
and coincidental,
entertaining and easy
to follow along.

Now, all hands-free.
What has been taken away
by sleight of hand, was never missed
soon enough-
none will understand
a word, meaning-wise.


Painting by Thomas Gainsborough (c. 1773-1777) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Sara Nade

Here is that same night bird taking the top of the stage outside the window

Singing light purple notes alone and unashamed of his thin lilting echo

Pitched out and rolling down the quiet village lane over fences

and peeking in windows,

Disturbed 

and proud I would be

if I had feathers to wear tomorrow…

There are no reasons or songs the avian knows

by heart, I listen, still interrupted

under the occasional bassos auto rumbling past, 

the bird usually waits for the concrete to cool

back down

Before the night bird at the window

hops himself back up his perch to scale, 

topping his previous arias and picking at

new notes

The world rises in mourning ovation, 

the inevitable death of knights

or a little light disturbance,

I will get used to it. 



Photo By USFWS Mountain-Prairie [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0) or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Incantation of Sprung

The ringing had to have been

the resistance of air in being dissected

with a rugged swung scythe.

A crude way to make matters worse.

Should we speak up

so breath can chime in and tune on its own
accord to T for truths, sinews,
or sing along so we know

where we were going
when it is over?

Souls dissipate most visibly
when the sun is a mere

ten degrees above the arc at the end of All

and they blush as they come
into vulgar exposure.

The vertiginous extension of body

feels its mineral composition,

just as the mountain has long since
gathered here and crumbled there

under the broom of wind and whistling.

The wait is the same atomic gravitas

so we make music on its shoulders,

conjuring notes we hope will

carry,
raining colors in a natural spring

Forward marching over the detritus
of the Others
calcified fragments, ground in silt and 
carried by such quick sand.

To hear and to be heard over the years

something so sharply.

Watercolor by Karl Bodmer (1836) Assinboin in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Rememberance

I see myself
in the thicket-as a little girl
with a gleam in her eye
and beat in her step...

She skips along the wooden planks
deep inside the Olympic rainforest-
well ahead of the rest.

She hums
and notices her small feet-
Left...
Left...
Left-                 Right-
Left-
(and nothing but gingerbread left...)

Sing the Song, they pled,
their wise eyes smiling wide
and iron-shod feet shuffling
a long...

"'Twas in Yokohama,
I met this-black mamba-"

No, no, no-Not wrong!
use the words I taught you,
my grandfather groaned.

"'Twas in Yokohama, I met this hot mama
selling radishes, octopus, 
rice and dried squid..."

What was her name,
the other old GI Joe requested-

"Her name was Suzuki,
she was a sharp looking cookie
and she was built like
Brick Chicken House!"

The old men giggled gaily
at the little memory
of their recondite life, that day they
Left the wife
lost in translation
under tropical reverie
the next generation, skipping
a long...

"Chick-a-dee, chik-a-doo
chick-ah-ku, chikaku"



Photo By Unknown or not provided (U.S. National Archives and Records Administration) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Conifer seedling arising from charred Timberland (post clear cut) Olympic National Timberland.

Familia(r)

He wrote the same book
no ones' words he took.
She sang the same song,
with the lyrics all wrong.
They were called the same thing-
in a new context.
The same color was never used
twice, naturally-
charmed by the third time,
we finally got it
-together-
before we forget
how it all fit...
Some-thing gives...
Some-one takes a chance
risking no-thing
new a-gain.



Painting by Albert Edelfelt, At the Door (1901) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.