another city afternoon
the sound of scamps playing below
and the passing subway roar
who can ask for more
on this brooklyn afternoon
the sunshine asks
what else in store
just the shadows of curtains
and trees if you please
tempering a fading sirening
back into familiar
hums of a city that'll
never appease
as an early spring evening
settles in to say it's alright
and so long to you and
everyone, and twilight
purrs on for us and anyone
always again.
Mar 19, 2025
Mar 19, 2025 at 6:26 PM UTC
In this fixed game I love you.
A parlance we took to the islands,
a sun collapsing,
peering over mountain and
down to crystal surf,
the bright smile of a dream…
Sitting on this balcony
a storm swears itself and leaves no testimony,
nothing can save us
but our own fragile choosing.
So cross forever far the coming breech,
another day wakes and breaks its promised take…
And gain this heart with eyes flung open.
It will love you
long after…
And for every last trespass
discovered.
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 3:18 PM UTC
Tenderly they wait
on the concrete sidelines,
these sunset lit trees
sullen and faceless
they wait
for us to slough away
and for the rush of bodies
and locomotives
to quell down in mercy
they will reclaim
the lost space
springing out from
landscape reservations
as earth's peculiar
egoist tenants fade
finally into hoary remission
they wait
they wait
and will usher us along
and out as pallbearers
through a closing time
murmuring patiently
at our spent fortune and folly:
'close the door quietly behind you,
you hominid ******** your lease is nigh'
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 3:13 PM UTC
this is it here,
creaking moments at near dawn
and outside the world is quiet
except for murmurs
in my sleepy crown
everything be still
now and a life reflects
within me
warm under the covers
the past resolute
and a stranger to future
the script unfolds from
curtain to consciousness
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 3:11 PM UTC
the fleeced hour
is upon us, a shuddering
forth of what we knew,
this knowledge hewn
into the face of day
an appetite forlorn
and mourning for nothing
new
the question lingers
and stings like rock salt
did we manuever well?
and will our lives
find a safe harbor
without so much
giddy atonement
cos such things dwell
within and breathe
and so you are the tantamount,
more than monument
or park, something
inchoate and imbibed
a spell derived
from angelic alchemy
a destination meditatively
arrived
when feet desire the sea
and so there's
no country too distant
no photograph forgotten
and lost
there is only the truth here
sleeping between the leaves
and caught pages
for an age getting old
to ash back into baby skin
there is only the wait here
and the ache there
and there is finally born
you and me
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 3:11 PM UTC
i'm yours today
inchoate, in veins
and glory be
and how
our tantamount
pleasures can give,
subside, sleep listlessly
and worry
none
you've got no reason to be
but yer here, aren't you?
a soul on the beach
ducking in and out of holes
maybe, into shells,
another being with
the softness inside
and the fishermen are
readying themselves for night
around the pool we now site
it's nearly 2 am, a Ryder moon
yonder high, you tell
me of travels in Africa,
and everything is quiet now
just alcohol, bleeping frogs,
and the dark sand touched
by murmuring gulf, a silence
borne out of whittled conversation
and so a spider hugs a wall nearby
as we recollect the noon before
catching a red fish out by the reef
and the sun and swells seemed forever
patient and knowing
and the horizon hewn between us
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 3:08 PM UTC
follow death of days
pebble strewn, you always knew
the circumference of doubt
and images forgotten
if i could recollect you
i would, steadily, so,
and make venture
unto welcoming shore
as you are
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 3:06 PM UTC
the smell of freshly cut grass
is the smell of promise
in this afternoon sun, recollecting
a past time, a younger time,
always won,
but seeming lost now,
being older,
the smell of freshly cut grass,
nature's summer cologne,
something manufactured,
my own...
the whine of the lawn mower
the breeze wafting around
the smell of grass
continually known.
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 3:05 PM UTC
I recollect my first impression of death:
In an old 70s beige GM car, an overcast day
in a Winnipeg parking lot,
I was four, five or six maybe,
it seemed nebulous and strange, yet
an oncoming unseen hurdle to be feared, reckoned with
at a later date, when age itself seemed abstract -
making me feel even smaller in the back seat.
Second time on a bus ride to school,
a dew heavy Kingston morning, the traffic slowed
to molasses and the driver asked a passerby
why the commotion – a dead woman in the bush.
I glimpsed her arm, a solemn shade of brown,
reaching out into the air, making fun of the day
and embellishing mine with playtime dread.
My bus drove on to its familiar route
and I settled back down
and I thought this breaking day was her final loss…
The sun overflowing and happy,
turning everything real and unreal
and perilous without reason.
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 3:02 PM UTC
In the still river of my heart
and the avenues of Past,
enlivened memories shall sleep no longer…
Welcome now the strongest tides
and cage every hesitation…
The dowser within picks up the rod
to lay a final gambit –
the source has all but disappeared.
And though this spring is well tried
it remains fresh to my hopes,
the fountain sits in me to collect many a depth
and hold such tremulous years to light.
So let the future be kind and bring forth
all manner of rich archives…
And share this common antidote
in our tender copious fate.
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 3:02 PM UTC