Sunday, June 29, 2014

Woven

will has woven blades of grass
and white aloft in astral fields
what surrender has puddled
from shattered slicing notions

the woven lines once
stood in distant island groves
where within boyhood ponders
lurked among the misty morns

yet rises sol in solar planes
and morns weep for death of night
in dewy tears that ascend
to white aloft in astral fields

those standing lines bowed
for surrender of soul to scythe
the cutting blade releasing
time stored in youthful fears

and rooted lines laid low
to gather for life's bundled shock
in rootless pursuits of the
now fruitless distant island groves

woven what will has tailored to
pooling surrender from a vein or few
the past portions gobbled up from view
what could have been ensues




Sunday, June 22, 2014

In earth

what makes the earth
what earth has built and sown
and fed and named its own

for feeding threads
who have weaved the past
atop their grandfathers' fields
who have weaved the past
what their history yields

and wields the earth
a scythe and gnashing teeth
to reap and eat the old
in chasms deep beneath

so floats the former
in effervescent seltzer seas
where gummy worms meld
in bird-built grassy bowls
congeals the felled

in stone and trunks
that wandered green grass hills
the dead put them in their place
when an empty grave fills

thus earth is made
when sacrificed are the things
that succumb to their dreams