#marshes
Not land or water
Sacred to our ancestors
Gateway between worlds
Sep 21, 2020
Sep 21, 2020 at 10:00 AM UTC
(sonnet)
We stalked and ran with endless time,
Knee deep in rains of muck, grew lost
In tails of the always new, overreached
By trammeled spots, dotting, red wings
From black birds, knobby toads, garter
Snakes that shocked, marigold swamp
And we bolted above ruddy moccasins,
As ever wet, holey, dying for new days,
Gleaming in the swelters of the horse-
Fly sun, in the giants' grasses, we were
Heroes by the falls of light, glow, dusky
Bold, joys travail and dewy eyes echoed
With sprite flashes by the flies that fired.
And all our conquests— writ in the wind.
.
Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 1:59 PM UTC
Generally, whatever's said outside
some shack, some interim man's
dwelling/s- like his words
(are) just uttered in vain, not
cacophony, but smooth
round phrases, splayed with
well-rounded intentions.
Whether it's sonic reach
falls behind his sneeze
or his anger clouds the trees,
his shack- a mess of foul timber
shakes and struggles to hold
these words, an outflow of
his welled-up memories ( seared
through his longings)
haunted by willows, painful mist
and crumbling dwelling/s
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 4:03 PM UTC
I will go where the swallows go,
following orange sunsets and
amber wings.
I will search for bottled letters,
written in the dawn of future,
for something more than bottomless worry.
I will go where the swallows go,
sleeping in the marshes' hollow,
I only hope for tomorrow.
My lungs may burst as I cover my nose and mouth,
I give my strength to the waters now.
With its will; I could too, learn to fly.
I will go where the swallows go,
because where they lead, I do not
know, but it's something better than here;
a being to cease my
fear--
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 11:54 PM UTC
.
We stalked and ran with endless time,
Knee deep in rains of muck, grew lost
In tails of the always new, overreached
By trammeled spots, dotting, red wings
From black birds, knobby toads, garter
Snakes that shocked, marigold swamp
And we bolted above ruddy moccasins,
As ever wet, holey, dying for new days,
Gleaming in the swelters of the horse-
Fly sun, in the giants' grasses, we were
Heroes by the falls of light, glow, dusky
Bold, joys travail and dewy eyes echoed
With sprite flashes by the flies that fired.
And all our conquests— writ in the wind.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC