Luck is my legend
it leads me down the pathways of fate
it plays havoc with my prospects
and cements a place in time
for every breath of wind
that might shorten my breath.
May luck prevail.
Mar 30, 2021
Mar 30, 2021 at 9:27 PM UTC
There is tragedy in his eyes
his soul lays barren there
one of three in our family
a not so wild pack of hounds
loud and obstreperous.
He will live until he dies.
As will I.
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 3:07 AM UTC
The beauty of the barrens
the sky a blanket of grief
and no man knows the end of it
until the end.
Nov 29, 2020
Nov 29, 2020 at 11:49 PM UTC
Seven times seven ills
arrive at our door
the streets are silent
Nothing moves
How do we merit
these days?
Did we earn so little
for our travails?
I blame God
since it is said
that he is almighty.
He could lift this plague
but does not.
So logic -
that machinery of madness -
tells me
this plague is sent by God
for reasons
mysterious.
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 8:25 PM UTC
Who were you?
A foreigner
a mere woman?
Perhaps I valued you
beyond the common measure
I think of the possibility
of lives we have lived
in some past time
some other world
I guess I am a Buddhist
after all.
Because
this fascination
this love
goes beyond my experience
What can I compare it to?
I believe in the potency of desire
that it can manifest itself
across a span of years
a span of lifetimes
I can imagine
that we were
then as now
different in appearance
from cultures widely separated
Let's say that I wanted you
that you wanted me
for so it is today
Let's say that circumstances
kept us apart
or prevented us from meeting
as equals
Let us say, finally,
that this world
in which anything seems to be permitted
was created for us
that we might meet again.
What an absurd
romantic notion!
Tonight the lights are all on.
Other beings surround me.
This world is a different world
for each one of them,
though strangely the same.
Surely this world is ours.
The lights
are brightly lit.
Thousands of insects
cover the glass
dazzled by this light.
We must be dazzled, as well.
For none of us can see.
Not a one of us
can touch the heart
of another.
So since all is permitted
let us permit ourselves this
that we can touch one another
each into each.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 10:25 PM UTC
In this life
we are sculpted down
to bone
burned to cinders
and our ash
tossed without regret
into the four winds
I wish I could live.
Be a man.
Find comfort in the sun.
But every cell in my body
revolts against time
cries out against the sun
speaks in tongues
for the sole purpose
of creating an outrage
against God.
Oh Lord!
How did you make us thus?
And why?
Above all
why?
We are made metal
and in the end
alloy with the sun.
Our breath is drawn
to fuel that fire
bring life to a boil
and
if luck prevails
to wake each morning
in comfort
and with a smile.
Perhaps the last sweet smile.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 3:19 PM UTC
One day bleeds
into the next
Leaves wounds
that won’t heal
measures our moments
into finite statements
that knit the hours
into a tapestry of tedium
Where is the joy
I was promised?
Where
the lively waltz?
I grieve before every hour
and bend before fate’s great weight
tremble incessantly
and starve in the midst of plenty
Yet I hold my head up
march on
determined to reach that far shore
where fate will take us
and luck will leave us.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 12:43 AM UTC
I’m up early
as always
swimming in the currents of
a sweet morning
in summer
in Oregon
as if for the first time
Much like the morning
years past
when I woke
with a new girl
in a cemetery in Eugene
We went there to escape the heat
slept on a blanket
naked in the night
So alive were we
and in love
Practicing, perhaps,
for the day when sleep
and death
converge.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 4:30 PM UTC
There are tricks
the eyes play on us
Tonight
when I stare into the darkness
I see rain
A summer of drought
and I see rain.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 12:36 AM UTC
First,
I strive for beauty
I wait for the bell to chime
the lightning to strike
Today, it seems,
the skies are clear
those chimes of midnight
are silenced
they boycott my breath
heap ash on the urgency of ringing
and leave me dizzy
in my decline.
But if the past
truly is prologue
it will all come round again.
Language will make its magic.
Sweetness will ooze from
the open wound
of my heart.
There will be words
in the order and rhythm
in which they were intended.
And poetry will breathe yet again.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC