Possession Denied or Reimagining John Henry Fuseli’s Nightmare
Family
They were verdant
with unapologetic life
a gabble of petals
tossing in an exuberance
of being, a whirlwind of growing
-of grass stains and skinned knees,
ironed dresses and morning messes
fireflies and mudpies-
Endlessly clamorously vining, trailing, flourishing and burgeoning
Until they went silent,
leaving behind
-empty rooms fragrant
with once mowed grass and overgrown memories.
a tangled treasure of lives and limbs
forever vining and intertwining-
me.
Urban Perambulation
sidewalks stretch between Teslas and fir trees
where paved-over roots expand and erupt,
rippling moss-stippled cement into
uneven hills and valleys
tiny earthquakes carve gnomish mountains
out of pocked pavement
they wild the cityscape
where wee fissures appear,
slender as elf ears,
beneath stumbling feet
and unset the concrete mind
along crayoned faultlines
to release rivulets, spritely streams, of spring-fed dreams
Gone
You belong to memory like
tongues belong to peaches-
-rosy skin of ripened sun
distilling laughter
through baubles of juice
that drip to glaze your fingers
-saplings still-
refracting your ripening light
into glittering fragments cold and blinding diamonds.
Finding Sanctuary in the British Standard Colour Chart
I hoard color names
-thimblefuls in sheen of Goblin green and Candyfloss,
basketsful -Zephyr pale and straining,
Goosewing tins, teeming,
and thickets of sticky Cobweb sacks-
each bottomless as a she-dragon’s greed
to jewel my soul’s cradle.
they form necklace cliffs and
bracelet streams
of shimmer
to please my Eddystone eye
and soften the gloom of sky
marbling my Tundra mood with ribbons of Daybreak.
In the Gloaming
Life and death kiss each other
a fibrous intimacy
stitched in our marrow
a bass vibrato serenading
the flora and fauna
of us.
So we love fiercely
briefly
scattering our scent recklessly
fireflies lighting the path to one another.
Compass
Lost between daylight and doom
I wander the crow-cleaved skies
their ink winging
rifts along my sightlines
from inhale to exhale
I map the contours of their cacophony,
follow the blade of each wing
that splices the air
a depthless shimmer
teasing my eye
a featherlike glimmer
of the breadth between prey and prayer
Solo Flight
Aloft, alone
with engine roar measuring my pulse,
syncopating the whistle of wind to my breath.
Wide sky aerates my eye
and my worries are mapped below -
a calligraphy of river wend
glittering through the propeller’s arc
I pilot this curve of shadow and dapple
Between valleys and creases of
checkpoints plotted,
parentheses inking rivers and roads.
I trace distances, plot minutes between before and after -
my prop parting the approaching clouds,
my rudder dragging the dust of runways long gone
and I breathe, pendulous, light-headed, beneath canvas wings
my compass swinging fore and aft, unsteady, uncertain.
Alone, held aloft by simple faith.
On the Wonder of Reaching 70
Old age
Tastes of memory,
-of snowflakes
and Guiness -
frosty syrup softening
December gray of hair
and dreams
Warming waning bones.
Wrapped,
Tinseled,
Beribboned and bestrewn
In cloves and wistfulness
Wrinkling sated tongue with
dusk’s sweet grief
A gleam on papery skin
-So thin-
that blood and breath
mingle in a singular sigh
So brief replete.
Winter song
Tiny Leaves, flit and flitter
spangling the sky with
iridescent applause,
frost tinselling their jazz-hands.
A dainty calligraphy
of delight,
despite
winter’s piccolo glissade
where high-c gales
drift, like sifting leaves,
sliding down in measured cadence
until
bass notes muffle
leaf-strewn ground
And icicles of light
Lift and lilt
in falsetto key,
clinging and singing
between branches of
shredding trees
wind chimes of winter.
The Wrens of Regret
they come to us every day,
flitting and flapping, singing and winging
in constant endless streams of commotion
their numbers growing each morning
vexingly exponentially like the warning of
the algebraic certainty of the federal debt
they never rest
their exclamation-point tails signaling
squirrels, crows, hovering lovers
and a single rose blooming on a distant asteroid.
So here we stay
our what-ifs piling around our ears
with the insistent incessant persistent coming of the wrens of regret
Childhood Monster
My brother warned me
It - The Blob -
-shiny gloppy sticky jelly monster-
lived and breathed and oozed
behind my sofa,
just a second’s slime
away from my tiny bed.
Night after night
I cowered under cotton covers
and waited
-chest tight, eyes wide, breath slight-
for the moment I knew with
every quivering inch of my skinny spindly self
would come,
and slime would ooze out and consume me,
limb by 5-year-old limb
in excruciating slow motion.
Now I laugh fondly at my little girl gullibility
But
When a slash of moon disturbs my dreams I carefully avoid the sofa.
That Girl
Fussy curls,
Sleek silky bob,
Petite, statuesque,
Brunette, blonde,
She was everywhere,
That girl my mother glorified
Why can’t you be more like her?
Church-bred girls beguiled her -
-smiling Doris Day and Donna Reed
dolls gliding in uncomplicated shoes
with starched manners
and puffed sleeved voices.
She never noticed the soiled lips,
the crumpled tissues stuffing the bras,
or worse, the girl behind the script.
Anna's Hummingbird
No bigger than a wish,
He is neither jewel nor light
nor gleaming sun.
He is nothing but silent flight.
His dainty wings
span no more than an elfing’s hand.
Yet their fairy size
cannot keep your
soul from finding flight
whenever he alights.
His silent breath has no flute,
he sings without lilt or tune.
He will not rouse you from your bed
unless your eye spies the sun-bred
shine of his breast - not black, nor brown,
nor sleeping blue, just pink - no other hue.
Love Fiercely and Well.
Succumb. Love will fill the fissure between
your bones and soul - beneath this wish and need
to drink it deeply, swimming veins with bright
impossible fish that tickle toes, and
nibble fears and tears, now swept clean away
beneath the weedy currents of mistrust and lust
that doused and drowned a simple longing
for belonging. So, succumb. Set yourself
ablaze with phosphorescent waves of heart,
Or better yet, breathe a volcanic spume
of flame, red and bold as coursing blood.
Embrace the hot chaos, powerful and true.
Now hush. Love, invited outlasts a storm.
Breathe glow and gleam of embers, ever warm.
A Partial (not impartial) List of My Attributes at Age 69
Wispy fading thinning hair
(I’ll dye it purple, I don’t care)
A sloppy nose like an overblown rose
(but it’s still prettier than my toes)
Frayed linen skin - all thin and baggy-
(do I sound just a wee bit haggy?)
creaking knees that sing off-key
(I actually enjoy their harmony)
My shoulders slump, my tummy’s round
(blithely festooned and colorfully crowned)
Yet I’m quite fond of my gnomish cast I am happily truly myself at last
Wilding song
Music blooms beside and between us
A surround of sound, a constant refrain -
the river’s gurgle, the brook’s blue burble
the slipping dripping splish of rain,
and black basso hush only mountains sustain.
French verbs lilting, Hawaiian lips sighing,
German nouns quilting, Shona crying.
Crows speak angst in raucous chorus, winging
to sweeten the tweets of robin’s decrying.
Be still, just listen - the hush, the sibilance, the ringing embrace - a wild heart’s singing,
Creek Song
I
The creek hums
with the sun’s tongue
singing to me, entranced on its banks,
by the lazily lapping,
licking and splashing trills
of light atop the bubbles and burbles.
Treble notes that never permeate
the shadowy depths.
II
Betsy’s wand of a tail wags in rhythm -
A metronome lashing and flashing
to and for, conducting,
as she places her paws in delicate pauses
between the rippling pebble notes.
Dipping and sipping
and snapping at twinkles of minnows
III
Jan brings bread and glinting string.
Crooning and lilting in my ear,
“Shhh, if we’re very still,
We just might catch an electric eel.”
IV
We hush, the three of us.
Slipping and swaying,
Listing and listening
to the glisten and gurgle,
Till suddenly we are awash in giggles
Watching the string dance and wiggle.
V
Betsy leaps, splashes into my lap,
Slapping her tail, spraying sprinkles
in a tuneful croon of light.
We hoot and we warble, singing and
Ringing out to Mary and Doug,
To Leslie and Jae. to join us,
this sunny day, in merry boisterous chorus.