Is It

I’m sensing a stereotype developing

Warriors haunted with PTSD

Strike fear into their charges’ hearts,

As though the shepherds would devour

Their own lambs

I’m driven to ask

If there is not a soldier

Holed up within himself

Now, now that the champagne is quiet

And the confetti lies dead,

Unwilling to crawl out of his skull to so much

As kill a fly,

Staring out of his cells,

Thinking that to unlearn

The war in his hands

And take up gentleness again

Is not an effort more worthy

Than a quick and quiet self-violence

That might come easier than

Flaring out at an oblivious psychological trigger.

I Laid Me Down {draft 3}

to sleep and did not know the wolf to fear.

I lay me down, and sleep comes no more, for

The light that glares within the wolf’s eye is

Too near and never will sleep.

I lay me down and sleep, for nearer still

The shepherd sees me this night and he sees

The wolf, who never will understand nor

Can ever overwhelm this other light

And will come not a step closer.

It was in vain to wake, rise early and

In vain to stay the wolf with darting, watching eyes,

In vain to eat my daily bread in snatches and fear.

I have laid me down

because He gave me, beloved, sleep.

{inspired by Psalm 4:8; 23; 91:5-6; 121:4; 127:2; John 1:5; 10:1-18; and personal experience}

Reel Around the Sun {wee seedling}

“So cold a winter it’s been, friend, and I’ve

Not seen the sun so many dreary months.”

“Away w’ me, good friend! Away, away

For wild a reel around the sun!

We’ll need no drop to drink nor crumb to eat:

The stars are feast enough! A fine good ship

Of ebony made, sails of dragon’s wings

Sewn, helm of trusty-tempered steel. Off, off!

Off we fly, friend, for wild a reel around the sun!”

{inspired by Reel Around the Sun by Bill Whalen. Three very good versions I love are by Twelve Girls Band, The Gardyne Chamber Ensemble, and the original song on the Riverdance album.}

Binding Tides

I feared the sea’s mercurial pull, stayed

Onshore, when I was small. But now

 I find

With some dismay the ocean is in me.

Moons pull and shove me, but beyond the dark

Blue moods I see a Star for me. So, go,

Rage, waves. See if you can blot out that high,

Eternal north star.

Your consolation

Prize? This. A faulty compass, cast aside.

Miranda by John William Waterhouse

 

Untitled [draft 1]

My thoughts sparkle today

I don’t know if I shall show them to you

just yet.

they want polishing

a trim or so

here

and there.

But—possess your soul with patience!

You shall see them soon.

I’ll dance them in the sun before your eyes

While we haggle over significance,

Weight,

Worth.

You shall take it with you when all’s said and done,

And I’m as richer and more as before.

You’re taking it shan’t take a smidgeon from me.

I—I draw my wonders from a bag

cut from the same cloth

as Peter Schlemiel's wondrous bag of gold—

Only, I, fortunate favorite 

or not so fortunate,

Did not sell my shadow

for the sack,

As did poor Peter—

The shadows gave me mine for free.

All

All 

A sparrow’s crumb—

Because a crumb to a sparrow

is a feast

but a sparrow’s crumb

is hardly

mentioning.

I closed my eyes and leaped

A few days ago, for the first time, I voluntarily submitted three poems (Edifice, The Southern Thing, and Sestina for my Charlotte) to a literary journal--Crazyhorse--for publication. Crazyhorse has published a few works by Billy Collins, a major influence on my own writing. I decided to take a chance with this publication because if his poetry found a niche there, perhaps mine could.

My submission was the 34,411^st.

Prayers.

A Return to Blue

A Return to Blue

My parents wore blue so much.

I preferred reds and purples

They wore it all the time

But I would not like

Things for others’ liking.

I did not notice until today,

Further away from home than

I’ve ever been,

How much blue

Nests in my jewelry box

And roosts in my closet.

Gentle man

Gentle man

Learned well in the ways of his Father

Dependable man

Intruding into my despair

Yet can take “no” for an answer—

Frightening thought.

He walked ahead of his beloved,

Gave her a rose—

Thorns gone: he himself had taken them off.

Generously open and red.   

And opened the door for her.

Very rough draft--suggestions wanted badly

I Laid Me Down

I laid me down to sleep,

Not knowing that the wolf walked near.

I laid me down and sleep

Came no more. Hellfire in the wolf’s

eye is too bright and sleeps

not and forbids me sleep.

I laid me down and slept—

One Shepherd sees through night and

He sees the wolf who does not

And will not understand this light and will not—

Cannot draw one step closer.

It was in vain for me to wake, to

Rise early and run, empty to try staying

The wolf with darting wakeful eye,

To eat my bread in snatching fear.

I lay me down

Because He gave

His beloved sleep.

My Origin

Origins, Listed

I’m from a tobacco barn,

from a long line of March lilies

and cockle-burrs. I hail from

the oak and maple trees and

the wrong side of the law.

From that box filled with tapes

of Beethoven and Chopin,

from battlements of Legos, a wall of mud graffiti.

I’m from that flit of Zorro’s cape,

the tightrope of railroad ties,

Prince Edward Island,

And behind the back

of a northern wind

From at least two acres of chamomile,

half a shelf of Philips commentaries,

and a collection of teacups—

there beside the pink one

my brother gave me.

I came from the snap and crack

of a thunderstorm,

a rivulet of rose quartz

veining through the heart of a black hill,

and a safe-hold for

the treasures of the snow.