"virga" poems
You broke the umbilical cord attached to this earth . With the south by southwest winds you rode a baleful streak . Like Poncho your life was left untold . Like a desert prayer that's just a whisper in the cold evening air .
Where they laid your body to rest , no one said . Now it's too late .
The virga falls never to quench the thirsty sands . The sorrow is planted as corn in rows of fertile futility . And dust is harvested , dust and tumbleweeds .
Reasons are the excuses we need to answer all the questions why . There is no reason in the south by southwest wind . And the tumbleweeds bend to the sympathy of an incessant desire .
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
A second sun
peaks and flutters
in the color-dust
of virga
refracting light
of false idols
shading skies to
new horizons.
See ya later
with a question (x2).
I forgot how
to say goodbye,
A second sun
peaks and flutters
in the color-dust
of virga
as thunder rolls
down a stale sky
into the fray
of a twilight.
See ya later
with a question. (x2)
I forgot how
to say goodbye.
A second sun
peaks and flutters
in the color-dust
of virga
refracting light
of false idols
shading skies to
new horizons.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 9:32 PM UTC
You are ...sleeping.
And I am awake.
Smoking cigarettes on porch
and the curb
and underneath the leaves of this foreign place as familiar as our bed.
(Our bed ?
Perhaps. )
As you sleep,
Breathing heavily, soundly,
contorted into dissociation
Blankets wound around your body
-That I don't dare touch;
I breathe so slowly, so so
S
L
O
W
L
Y
[ S
T
A
R
I
N
G
at the wall ]
And speak to myself in the voice no one will ever hear
with the intensity of red
and the pace of INDIGO
INDIGO of the wall outside your flat
INDIGO of the sloshing acid of my stomach
INDIGO of the synapses pulsing electricity past my neurons to the unreceptive brain matter that lies beneath your skull
Indigo indigo indigo
Ind(i•go)
(In)•digo
I•{ndigo}
(Witching hour approaches)
And I approach nothing
Nothing nothing nothing
Approaches me
Invades me
And I ask. {Please}
But my eyes evade me, speaking distance
Across the span of OUR bed
¿Ours?
With the dawn virga of
pink light in the window,
The heat of your hands tenderly apologizes
And in the morning
You kiss me
Exhaling dreary carbon dioxide into my mouth
Stale alcohol meandering past our teeth,
Settling in the air between our tongues.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
Beware!
Your love boat feasts
May smash upon the jagged reefs
Lurking among you,
Within your ranks,
Fearless, they lie,
Brooding and biding,
Content to feed on you
As you love everyone
In innocence.
Waterless virga,
These empty clouds
Promise and pretend
To be more than wind.
They are dry.
Thickets and groves
Promising fruit,
Their leaves will soon fall,
No nourishing yield
At all.
They are wild waves,
Unpredictable,
Huge and swelling,
Frothing with folly.
Stars, these wanderers,
Hurtling in their burning light,
Hell-bent toward
Oblivion.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 7:17 PM UTC
Fiery Sun virga o'er flaxen cover
The wishful phoneme of rain-
has come over without a sound
Crusted , fragmented farm shares ,
storm ditches turned to stone
The choking dust of August collects ,
covering homesteads in barren misery-
and stunted harvest
Hopes for the chilled rain of November
in the Dog Days of Summer have long
since gone
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC
Deep and dark now
whalebone and winter rain.
Thin plates to enlarge the circle,
a hand to the sky.
Unafraid, a black bird
watches me approach.
Trees shift, and gulls turn the day
no other words come.
Silent friends meeting,
the sound of chairs being moved ,in and out.
Tears in silver foil litter the ground
and white wind eyes darken the mood.
I look at the rain shadow and distant virga,
razored through and losing its name.
And yet, a fleeting symbol of life
a returning sea, seducing the summer sun.
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 9:25 AM UTC
We could have been.
We could be the most beautiful collision.
But we are stars from different galaxies.
We don't collide.
We are flowers.
Wild and beautiful.
We are virga rain.
But some flowers are not meant to bloom.
And some rain are not meant to fall.
Our infinities are limited.
And some love are unrequited.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 8:19 PM UTC
Bryce impressed me with its "hoodoos,"
And we stood on a trail in the heated air,
Wondering how far
To venture into the depths below.
Zion's slotted canyon walls towered over us,
Cooled us in their shade,
Marveled us with seeping rocks,
Clinging lichens, plants in flower,
Tendrils hanging on the wet stone.
We left before a storm.
"Grand" is too quiet, too sparse, too short.
I stood on the precipice,
Miles and miles and miles in view,
Reds and tans and whites,
Clouds hanging virga.
My tears signaled gasping awe.
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 8:13 AM UTC