kris-j
Canadian
I'm a lover of the mountains and cold wild places. I love light and shadow and how they play and argue with each other. I love the empty spaces between words, and empty places. I love language and how slippery it can be -- always ready to start little avalanches that lead to strange conclusions. / / To pay the bills : Librarian (day job). Photography, bone carving (pendants), organic farming, and a sometimes luthier (I also build jouhikkos, talharpas and hand held harps).
The leaf
Waves to me
From outside -
Silver drops
Of water sit on its
Cool green surface
In voiceless eloquence
The scent is fresh
Wild
Real
Redolent with memories and truths of early days
That evade language
And pulse on a lower level -
My unsettled heart
Resonates with this rhythm
That existed before the word
Near the beginning
Of what could have been
Before the way was lost -
Then the drops turn to
Rain and dark tears
That stain the window
I sit before
In this self-imposed prison
Of a shabby life
Ruled by social torture and
The sly manipulation of machines and
Things beyond dead -
We exist
Together in separateness
Pleasantly shackled
In this circus of celebrity, destruction and death
As senses dull
Bodies die
And
Potential decays -
Outside
Wind caresses the trees
And multitudes of leaves quiver -
The body
Knows wrong
The body
Sings strong
With senses keen and
Mind resolute on escape
Anger blooms full in my heart
That I raise and swing -
Chains break - walls burst -
And glass melts
Into the earth as
Rain wakes exhausted flesh
To the rising thunder
Of what will be
For the body knows
In the poetry
Of a leaf
Waits revolution
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
The leaf
Waves to me
From outside -
Silver drops
Of water sit on its
Cool green surface
In voiceless eloquence
The nascent scent is fresh
Wild
And real
Redolent with memories and truths of early days
That evade language
And pulse on a transcendent level
My unsettled heart knows
And easily resonates with this diurnal rhythm
That existed before the word
Near the beginning
Of what could have been
Before the way was lost -
And then the drops turn to
Rain and dark
Tears
That stain the window
I sit before
In this self imposed prison
Of a shabby life
Ruled by social torture and
The sly manipulation of machines and
Things beyond dead -
We exist
Together in separateness
Pleasantly shackled
In this irrelevant circus of celebrity, destruction and death
As senses dull
Bodies die
And
Potential decays
Outside
Wind caresses the trees
And multitudes of leaves quiver -
The body
Knows wrong and
The body
Sings strong
With senses keen and
Mind resolute on escape
Anger blooms full in my heart
That I raise and swing -
Chains break - walls burst -
And glass melts
Into the earth as
Rain wakes exhausted flesh
To the rising thunder
Of what will be
For the body knows
In the poetry
Of a leaf
Waits revolution
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 12:32 PM UTC
Language
Can be
So slippery -
Always ready to start
Little avalanches
That
Lead to
Strange
Conclusions
Dec 2, 2009
Dec 2, 2009 at 6:43 PM UTC
The Winter Feast
In the
Glass forest
Snow falls
And trees
Stand
Darkly visible
Beneath
Ancient crowns of
Snow and ice
In these creaking limbs
Nothing changes -
The slow viscosity of time
Drapes the boughs in
Delicate shards that
Swallow light
But
Over here
In dark stains
Beneath old eaves
Famined eyes slide among
Rivers of shadow
Pursuing the warm glow of life -
In an instant
They absorb the warm hapless thing
Whose bright shrieks tear
At the fabric of shadows
The beasts feed -
Their crippled little yelps
Resonate
Death through the
Forest where
Time shivers and breaks -
From dark boughs
Gleaming
Thorns of ice whisper
To earth
In the silent thunder of snow
Satisfied
The beasts leave -
A sacrifice of blood
And bone
Is made -
Crimson tears bloom
In the snow -
Time gathers the vibrant colour in its
Crystal embrace
High above
Winter winds
Caress the old boughs
That lovingly
Creak and whisper
In the
Glass forest
Dec 2, 2009
Dec 2, 2009 at 6:19 PM UTC
Reduced
To a piece of paper -
Everytime someone shreds you up -
throws you away -
it's like suffering
a tiny
death
Nov 8, 2009
Nov 8, 2009 at 9:26 PM UTC
Back at the beginning again -
An empty room, a window
The room -
Disordered
Forgotten
The window and beyond -
Reduced to a blur
Though the
Grime tinted patina
Of desperation
In this space
Simple gestures
Of light and shadow
Suspend the
Ghosts of memory
Yet even the light is jealous of their permanence -
See how it
Caresses them
With such a lovely way
Of violence?
Nov 8, 2009
Nov 8, 2009 at 9:23 PM UTC
Those evening ghosts
That come our way
Take us to a better place -
Or so they say...
Nov 8, 2009
Nov 8, 2009 at 8:42 PM UTC
Your eyes -
They
Caress me
With
Such a lovely way of violence.
Nov 8, 2009
Nov 8, 2009 at 8:33 PM UTC
At times
I glimpse you in the crowds
Vanishing as a ghost -
I feel you whispering night to me.
I taste you in secret places
While waking into dreams that are not dreams -
And then
Spectral screams
Cut short
Locked away
In the crumpled silences of paper.
Nov 8, 2009
Nov 8, 2009 at 8:23 PM UTC
Reach behind
To a place
Where you can
Touch
The heart of a word
Before it ever was
You
Take me into
You
And now I gently pulse
Against the flesh
Of your language
Nov 8, 2009
Nov 8, 2009 at 8:05 PM UTC