The three "Rs"

still the knocking
remains
the slight thud
on a wooden door
in inexhaustible
persistence
faint, the taps
at first
mere figments
dancing in the ears
easily tossed into
a box of explanations
yet it was the repetition
which served as the key
to a gate leading
to its own hell
and how it cast
its devious spell
a light, almost gentle
but most haunting
resounding tap
echoing in the
mental corridors
the way children's
laughter carried
through the halls
of the ancient family estate
a once lively sight
reduced to the foreboding
facade that now remains
drained of both children
and laughter and light
and life
the wet gray stones
don't even hold moss
or lichens, just bareness
as a woman would weep
at the news
so the tapping pours
like tears from that devastation
a constant reminder
that what was locked away
in one of the many attic chambers
remains and remembers
and is relentless

Weather women

the four weather women
always fight over
whose time it is
the hems of their dresses
impede on each other
as they gather
in an endless circle
they chatter and bicker
to coerce the sun dial
to shine on them
they shove each other
in their disheveled silks and threads
as their hair flows like the tides
tangles, knots and releases
one cries... one burns...
one leaves... one is still
all take and all give
yet in their own times
they all shine
as the stars that
hold their fate

Gray day

the gray is a spell
summoned by
winter herself
it is the blanket
being spread out
for the time of rest
and as children fight
their parents when
they're told it's bedtime
the trees rebel
with defiant colors
but they too will soon
spread their own blanket
upon nodding rose and fern
succumbing to
the frozen wonder
of frost's first kiss

The burden of socks

the dryer signals
the clothes are done
she opens the door
to unload and
hundreds of socks
pour out on the floor

she hasn't a basket
it was left upstairs
she hasn't a shirt
she wasn't born with one

she burdens her arms
with the task of socks
that have walked
all over her

she holds the mass
while attempting to
shut the dryer door
as she needn't anymore
and only finds herself
stooping over to
pick up the next
sock that won't stay
within her arms

Of dust

twisted tangled serpents
of the dark pierce
the broken facade
penetrating deeply
into the solid abyss
reaching for the earthly
hearth from where
mountains give birth
pouring fourth the
ageless glaze
a burning crust destined
to crack and wear
to dust
from where forests rise
and prairies graze on
the remains of that
ageless glaze
for death and worms
and countless turns of the globe
give birth to earth
the womb that nature pays
to seed with remnants
of that ageless glaze
for more twisted tangled
serpents of the dark
to pierce the broken facade

The you pool

you were saturated
in its baptism of your body
and it dissolved your soul
into the hearts that still
drip with the loss of you

now you rest in its depths
riding each tide that brings
you so close and carries
you away so far

its trickles are your
hands cupping the cheeks
of those you touched

its drips your lips
kissing away the pain

its showers your giant
embrace still warm
amidst the numbing cold
and empty silence

you are now the pool
so many bathe in
in remembering you

Celestial dragon

first cry ignition
the spark that set
the ember aflame
to awaken what
had grown cold and
shattered into
gleaming dust eons ago
now sparkles within
the pupil
what burns is only
what is lost
as the fire
from the celestial dragon
is within all
it dances within all
connects all
cloud to ground
planet to orbit
lover to lover
child to mother
its heat melts
away all insignificance
until we remain

Thair

you carved me with
time and persistence
being brutal and gentle
in bestowing me with
both strength and humility
you're slapped me
across the face
with stinging grains
of sand and beads of rain
exhausted me in
ravenous zephyrs of hellfire
and frozen me to my core
with screaming arctic gales
you've tickle me with
April breezes in
the warm May sun
and entertained me
with autumn dervishes
of dancing hues of leaves
you've give me breath
and have taken it away
and though I've never seen you
you are thair

His waltz

he bleeds black in
moon light full
his heart emptied
his veins spill
his soul into
the dark sea of night
he forsakes his voice
and makes his choice
to dance with those
demons he had fought
those he often had sought
never being able to choose
of his favorites
slots or sluts or booze
how could he choose
and had had his fill
until tonight
when his veins spill
his soul into the night
he grabs the shoulder
of Beelzebub to
balance his stance
for he's not quite
ready to fall
though he can
barely resist the flies
persistent call
and the dark grows
darker as the abyss
blooms before him
his step, one, two, three
one waltz too many

Heart words

it's always on the tip
of my tongue
I can almost
recall it all
and blurt it out
in an empty theater
for the audience
had dinners to
attend before I
could remember...
remember...
the lines ran
down the ditch
power-line shadows
that ebbed and
flowed with the
bus driver's foot
on the accelerator
running quietly
and swiftly along
the morning...
morning...
rays of sun
were what blinded
me and caused
me to cross the road
unknowing of the traffic
and the woman behind
the wheel behind the
hood that I landed
on and the windshield
I shattered and the
asphalt road I was
flung upon to
escape for just
a little while so I
could peek at my script
and remember...
remember...
that I take 24 to
81 to 92 to 29
to 41st to 35th
to Marion to find you
but I couldn't
and was only a
street away from
where I had left you
in the dark and cold
where my heart wanted
to say more but I
had forgotten its words
they are there though
right on the tip
of my tongue