Posts Tagged ‘night’

Starless

Posted: April 28, 2011 in My Poetry
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Stars pin
the night sky in place,
give lovers
something to wish on.

Dark sky without stars
would always be rainy.
The moon crying
all night,
every night,
inconsolable; lonely.

Humans would blunder
through the dark,
looking for some
kind of guidance.

Even on cloudy nights,
we know that stars
wait behind the curtains.

No milky way,
no twinkling treasure,
no signposts
for sailors lost at sea.

Nothing to reach for.

This should be the time
of deepening thought.
But the northern wind
wanted to join in and sent up a blur
of brain-dust obscuring distant
noise, as if dimming a light.

It is time for shining light
in forgotten places. That celebrated time
when foggy, distant
thoughts
race to mind…only to be blurred
by icy wind.

Friendly fire in the form of wind;
cold, from northern lights.
All those colors shifting and blurring,
confound even timely,
mature thoughts;
keep them at a distance

Often the distance
is so far away, wind
hitches a ride on thought
and only the speed of light –
surpasses the time
of arrival which, by then itself, is blurred.

With time and tears, all things blur;
become strangers in the distance,
where there are no reasons or seasons. No time
for goodbyes and the cold, gritty wind
erases all that is good and light
like a whiteboard full of thoughts.

A nightmare of thoughts
smeared, emotion-blurred
hard to find the light
in the vast distance
between two ears where whistling wind
makes its home most of the time.

Time confounds. Clear thoughts
should reign but wind up more blurred
and distant than foggy city starlight.

Fallen Star

Posted: December 25, 2010 in My Poetry
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One star
vaults
over mountains –
lands
face up
on the lawn.

Burns frost
from grass
in widening circles;
pebble
in a pond.

Steam rises;
makes it hard
to see
despite
that hard, white light.

Approach
The Fallen slowly:
a piece of
Heaven’s heart –

where it fell,
still shining.

Fear
doesn’t know
its name.

I didn’t notice
the sky,
like I usually do.

Too many other
things – Sensory
overload.

Police cars
parked haphazardly
lights still on, stained
the snow with color
like some bizarre
Christmas display.

If there was
an emergency,
it was far too late
for you.

Echoing static silence,
so loud it hurt my ears –
The sound of
a bottomless pit
called grief;
a tiny word
for such devouring
emotion.

I knew,
as soon as I opened the door
on that bursting scream
of silence,
that no heroics
would bring you back.

Reduced
to one, tight,
blue-lipped syllable:
“Dead”.

Icy wind & crusted snow,
were witness
to your tears.

Pale stars coldly
oversaw your last
movements;
making sure
you tied the noose
with militant precision.

You stepped off
the antique church bench,
painted cheerful red
and printed so appropriately:
“The best journeys always
lead us home.”

And you went home
to meet your Father,
tears still on your cheeks;
blue eyes open to your future –
dressed in your best clothes.

You are a True Believer.
There was no doubt
in your mind
that you were going home.

Away from the burdens
of this world.
Into the arms
of a loving Father
who understands all
and forgives it –

a brother
who loves you enough
to die, already, for your sins.
We lost you
but gained an angel.

Missing you is like a knife,
cutting deeper every day.

It never goes away.

Audio Reading

Tracks

Posted: October 13, 2010 in My Poetry
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NIght Train

Why
does the whistle
of a train
sound so lonely
late at night?

Around 3 AM,
it rounds the curve,
less than a mile
from my house.
Rattling cars pass by,
whistling mournfully;
Each a graffiti
work of art:
a traveling exhibit.

Thunder rolls in
as train clatter
fades out;
and a downpour
ensues.

Wet rail,
cars blur
through the night;
colors smeared
by rain
and infrequent flashes
of lightening.

The engine’s
headlights
pierce the torrent,
narrow
as the probing beam
of a rifle scope.
Both intent
on rocketing through
to their final destination.

Rain

Posted: August 22, 2010 in My Poetry
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Wet asphalt’s
watercolor
spreads out,
smearing
broad swaths
of yellow,
green or red
beneath
the traffic lights;

edging
to a bitter glow
at the outside curve
of the road.

Streets reflect light
like a rainbow
but streetlights
are murky,
as if under water,
as I make my way,
like a swimmer,
through an improbable
neon sea.

Under a stunted
tree, shaped by wind,
water slapped the shore.

The moon
both swam and sailed
as stars reeled
up above.

You knotted my hair
in your fist
and dragged me
from the car.

Such a beautiful setting
for love.
Such a beautiful setting
for crime.

Nature
doesn’t distinguish,
judge or blame;
just watches
with its thousand stars
and that solitary moon.

Toads burp into darkness;
natural sounds, broken
only by your ragged breath.

My tears are silent.
They don’t mean
anything.

Audio Reading

You’ll do as well as any other shoe;
worn at the heels,
pigeon-toed and dusty –
but who am I to judge?

To quote the whore, Aldonza,
“One pair of arms is like another.”
And for one night,
just to feel a human touch,
I can overlook the crime of you:
saggy, balding, badly dressed.

I’ll tell you anything you need to hear –
Make myself believable
so that, for one night,
this night,
you’ll feel like someone cares.

You’re so enthralled by the attention
that I almost turn away
but, like any vampire,
I find it necessary to feed
no matter how repulsive the actual act.

The flattery, false words
you’ve been dying your whole life to hear,
slide in, seamlessly, with other topics –
All centered around you.
How fascinating your life must be,
to create such a fine specimen.

By then you, my victim, are glowing,
almost beautiful, lit from within,
as trust defies all logic
and hope rears its ugly head.

I’ll leave before you wake up;
call my number to see where I went,
realize it’s not mine at all
and I, like a shadow or a bad dream,
disappeared with the night,
leaving your hopes shattered
like a snow globe,
false scene inside, destroyed.

And I, my terrible hunger slaked,
can rest, sometimes months;
then I must hunt again.

Under the Stars

Posted: June 13, 2010 in My Poetry
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When camping
and the tent moves,
rustles in the wind
don’t be afraid.
The boogeyman only likes
small children.

It is quiet
at night in a tent
when the people
in the next campground space
finally hush their baby,
and the occasional bark
of the dog down the way
peters out to silence.

It feels like the whole
world is pausing –
holding its breath,
as it listens for
footsteps,
same as you.

As though the world
is frightened,
and every rustle or step
has sinister meaning.

But crickets chirp
into that hush –
like a hand over a mouth –
They sing unafraid.
So should you.

Sleeping Out

Posted: April 24, 2010 in My Poetry
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The dark light
is vast silence,
filled with stars.

I feel wind on my neck.
It lifts the tiny hairs,
with its cool breath.

Above bluish black grass.
trees stir restlessly;
whisper “You’re so small”.
A gasp in a lifetime,
or a mouse’s heart in winter.

Night moves gently,
aware that I’m here,
but allowing
my intrusion.