poems and writing creatiVeLy
paint has always been a poetry to mein this there is our great defining
Don’t take something unless you know the place for it
The world speaks in degrees of appropriateness
The string of my eye plumbs from its center
And I lashed as if spinning twixt unequal orbs
Am flung in spirals amongst spirals
And spirals within spirals
I’ve seen a man think
To engender love
With enthusiastic adulation
And gone either way
In my heart
In a litmus test for genuinenes
a social contract
Anger is a poverty of breath
sucking is not to suckle
the air on our bodies
swells with our heart’s tide
. . .
hang it up to cure
I forgot how old I was last week
and then I was reminded
a year older than I thought
. . .
I’ve rung in the Easter bells of Notre Dame
And sloughed by damsel wings in the gold of a pond
Some marks are made by knives, some by lights
The façade was impossibly ornate
Senseless contrast with the dust and debris of the road
He entered in spite of it
Definitions do the work of being for us.
So many pains are wrapped upon
the beautiful origami
and we stand ready
with shears in hand
to test ourselves for right
is the frame that gives a view its picture
The magic of romance
is to make us feel the world is real
...
Imperatives are followers from
Going or not is the doing
Speaking is always almost meaning.
The book of clouds and shadows
Asking asks
In the shape of knowing
Saying; unknown! unbecome yourself!
And consumes to hide from itself
Because we aren’t accustomed to tasting with our eyes
Or nourish from the scents of the world
