Waking Up in Buffalo

Miles of open road,
Freshly buckled by
Bearded men in reflective vests
And orange hardhats
Finally I stretch
Over starched sheets
Twisted and crumpled
My view, the slice of
Light peaking through
Thick, rug-like curtains
Waking up in Buffalo
Was not planned
Back on the road
Only a short distance
Finally I breathe,
Noticing the fragrant blossoms
Black-eyed Susans,
Blackberries,
Wild strawberries
My senses delighted, caressed
Here I meet the lion
Smooth boulders for resting,
Pure waters roaring
Earth’s artery exposed
Untamed by destiny
Nourishment for the likes of
Me, the seeking soul
It’s peaceful in the mouth
Of this growling giant
Taking gentle steps along
The curve of its cheek bone
If it had a face, embracing
Each moment
Each mist-filled gust
Drenching me through
To the bone.

© October 2009

Temperate Tossed

Sweet, Autumn woman.
made of ginger and spice,
and you imagine how
her hands will feel
before they map
the hard line of
your chin - you
sense the warmth
of her lips before
they touch each
eyelid, and somehow
her tongue tastes of
sunshine and black
licorice. she's got
your daydreams
sequentially on repeat,
replaying every syrupy
moan and each
soft breath, thick like
maple trailing your neck.
what will you do with
this woman you cannot
touch, but with your
kindness? what will you
do with this woman,
your garnet eyes cannot
see, but with your imagination?

© October 2009

Autobiographical

Look up and delight on me
The radiant bits in night's sky
The winds of life stroking my cheek
Romance pregnant with flirtations

Eyes captured in that instants’ breath
Passions and feverish summer tempest
Pedals grazing across softest lips
Love embraces love’s reflection

Shadows in the path of death
The doubt of everything unknown
The allure of the bloom not the flower
The flurry the hummingbird’s wings

The triumph of a sky dive
The perfect gem as a token
The authentic is more than what is expected
It drifts on the spice of the evening breeze

© July 2009

Darkest Light

In a dark empty black box I sit reciting lines
Mouthing the poetry of Elizabethan times
My thoughts racing in various other directions
Horrified by images; news feeding confections
In honesty wishing my mind and my eyes were apart
Echoing pit in my stomach cease swallowing my heart
Creases and cracks deepen into once thickest skin
Unsettled, shaken and more insecure than I’d ever been
Recede past centuries Love and Soul meant everything
This day their meaning blunted by Human Conditioning
Drape the final curtain around my bleeding heart
My time is now the dance of building a life apart
Twirling and leaping between past and present
Flesh chilled in the shadow of the moon’s crescent
Tightening the tunicate pulsing and bleeding through
Salty streams crest my cheeks knowing I have lost you

© August 2009

Liberate Me

I could wish every curse onto
The beings that wounded me
That their egoism would come back
Upon them in threefold consequence

I could recite every misdeed
Evoke every hurt
Reiterate every tale of malevolence

Instead, I choose to forgive
The beings that wounded me

To remove their poisonous darts
Imbedded within my heart
And return that venom with love

I shed their cruelty like a coat of skin
And step into the sunlight
Choosing the path of peace instead of revulsion
Embracing grace and liberating me…

© July 2009

Spirit of the Son

On your passage
Song of truth
Spirit of sweetness
Sighing cedars
Calling down this
Melancholy moon
Your presence strong
Voiced in loving chapters

There is a God
Your life told me so with
adoration carved
in Petoskey stone
We all will join you
Silver spun and drunk undone
We crumble as we breathe
But always, ever after, we remain.
Perfect imperfections

In a world made out of dreams.
Shall we run away
Shall we walk whispers
As others stumble over words
In stillness there is a message
An open ended invitation
Always available
Forever inscribed
His unconditional love of family
Scored with the red ink of love
Parted with truest blue blood
Reserved for a Prince;
a Son; a sweet, sweet spirit
Embracing his journey with God.

© June 27, 2009 In Loving Memory of Frank Ethan Ball IV

Insight

I could feel the poem coming,
forming somewhere like the tornado
that once blew over me in a dream

As we talked and my mind spilled all those details
all those moments where I couldn't see any clarity

At least I couldn't see what I didn't want to see

I always know what decision to make,
even when I don't make the correct one;
the direction taken is one I choose

and I know nothing means much when unexplained
I can't make you understand

Because I don't understand

and I still contemplate over the line outside my door
of people willing to be there
people wanting to hold my hand

isn't that all that matters?
to finish my story

I am much more than before

But the story doesn't end,
you see, and I rarely know why
I continue to be the navigator

The aviator without her wings
but somehow I manage to land

on my feet.


© July 2009