Baby rock

A daughter is the only true conversation
that never ends...

Domesticated means kept
for companionship
by necessity.

Friend-
ships sail easily in a passing breeze.

Love spins
the Earth,
holding us close
to the core
or heart
of matter

like all of these
intangible connections
that bind
our words to the spine.

Once upon a time
we were here
mattering to one another

collecting the loose fragments
that spin off
and calling them stars.


Artwork credited by NASA/JPL-Caltech / Public domain.

Go Fourth

The fire works
while clutching the cool stem
of rose colored glass
gleaning the glaring
moonlight into amber
crystalized tears
petrified
bead

kaleidoscope shaped pins
spin
colors that streak
high, piercing this purple sky
while the clouds bend low
to gather and take in-
side themselves whole
sound waves
to blind and echo
by distortion
and distance

like thunder,
like lightning,
like electricity,
like this short life

as in
sparks
that leave only traces
of sulfur
in a sense

bonded and bound
by this friction
as if it were
a release.


Painting by Thomas Fearnley (1802-1842), A Terrace in Moonlight' c. 1834 , in Public domain.

Fear, Walls, and Fiery Tales

I stepped up
to the mouth of the cave
my chest plated-
the flickering light
sparking
my curious compulsion
for heat.

Come to find
not some majestic dragon
as projected upon a dirt wall
but an angry ogre
whose tongue sparks
and lashes out like
new flames.

The smoke
thick and decrepit,
his heart rots within
while his rosy cheeks,
black lips and eyes a glow
at me.
Despite this
I know, I am safe.

He will never leave
his inner rage

for the stronger
light of day.
And I could feel the heat
from behind
beckoning me back
to a place without...



Artwork by Francisco Goya y Lucientes (1746-1828), 'Seated Giant' circa 1818, in Public Domain. 

Fire Rite

He lit all of my gasoline
and boasted,
This is jet fuel baby,
I burn it all.

It was reckless of me
to expose my reserve tank
within such close proximity
to predictable ignition.

Not even a triangular flag
waves a nauseous warning
over fanned flames,
choked up
only to be licked with sharp tongues.

The day burns its long wick
down to the bare wax molded
mannequin of myself
who whispers Empty

in the end,

when the fire finally consumes itself
he calls it,
Raw Power as combustion
can be counted upon
inevitably
given enough
desire
to fill the stone curb well

with ashes.



Painting by Nikolai Astrup, 'Midsummer eve bonfire' c. 1915 in Public domain.

Word Problems

The following lines are not my own, they are quotes which serve as railcars running along a track of thought...

Pain is inevitable,
Suffering is optional.
Our suffering is the problem,
the answer is waking up.
Hope is a waking dream.
I said to my soul, be still and wait without hope,
for hope would be hope for the wrong thing.
Whatever satisfies the soul is Truth.
Three things cannot be long hidden;
the sun, the moon, and the Truth.
The cause is hidden; the effect is visible to all.
When you have seen beyond yourself,
then you may find
peace of mind is waiting there.
Just keep in mind, the more we value things
outside of our control, the less control we have.
Holding on is believing there is only past;
letting go is knowing that there is a future.
Without desire there is stillness,
and the world settles by itself.

***
(Attributions in order by line:
1-4 Buddhist texts
5 Aristotle
6 & 7 T.S. Eliot
8 Walt Whitman
9 & 10 Buddhist saying
11 Ovid
12-14 George Harrison
15 & 16 Epictetus
17 & 18 Daphne Rose Kingma
19 & 20 Lao Tzu



Painting by Francesco Rustici (1610-1625), Allegory of Wisdom and Prudence' in Public domain.

Veins

Rivers run
clock-wise
gathered seconds from
Hidden Springs
one way
gaining distance in
Time and Space
accommodates
this swelling of our souls,

after so many miles
consumed and minerals made
we carry all these
these accumulations
around
the middle
counter-clockwise

where all the numbered faces
count
on the moon
to turn cheek
and the Rivers rise
with mouths
full of asteroids.



Painting by Gertrud Staats, dated before 1938 in Public domain.

branches

This is not love.
We can be certain.

These arms may connect us
or reach
away
yet-
only a knot
knows what was
once there.

And I have started to lose feeling
after clenching so long
the words or a similar
breeze to bring me closer
to you.

Instead I hang
precariously
numb.

A heartwood drains
down my
whitened clasped hand

an indistinct ring-
ing in the ears
is calling for Us
to let go of dead weight
before the wood
turns to bone

without love
there was no way to tell
how high we were
there was no way
we should be certain
to survive the fall.



Painting by Charles Reginald Aston, between 1852-1908 in Public Domain.