His hands are my hands...

Origends

the warm moist soil
lures the little leaves

to emerge from the softened shell

blinding themselves
in the first light

as the roots grow deep

herbaceous stem evolves
to armored wood

and a multitude of arms

those arms take in the orphans
offering shelter to
slither, creep, and flutter

whose arms have we known

whose arms swayed and bayed us

and encased us
as we laid the play

with our elders
and the little leaves

in the warm, moist soil

Sides of the story

 It's true...

 hope and fear entwine,

faces of the same coin,

a payment to the prostitute
who brought you into this world,


It's true...

pain and pleasure are twins,

eternally joined at the hips,

a sacraficial altar for this life,


It is the truth...

lost is the shattered bottle

and found is the granite end...


truth is the belief
in knowing what isn't a lie

Capt. Captive

in sailing through the ocean of moments....

the body of memories we call
life's pasts,

the ship's voyage found smooth
sailing and rough waters alike

away from familiar terms
did this vessel flow

into foreign seas,
unknown and afar

passing islands made
of stark desires

all the time in search
of one consisting of

sweet, sweet alleviation

this vessel will never
take on the liquid that
encompasses and alienates it

for it does not understand,
cannot comprehend

the mixture of moisture
with a mineral
which parches the soul

this oxymoronic journey
has forever been

the dream of a man
dressed in a straight jacket

Java stars

Lay witness to an ultimate view...

of the way things are for me and you

Though we may be
these tiny fleas

in a canine's tangled
fur of celestial lights

and busy we may be
gnashing at dog meat

wanting for blood and nourishment...

that we are blind to stop,

to stop and look,

to look and see...

on our coffee breaks
and amidst the smoke

to see the tinier
than we

swirling galaxies

in our own warm cups
of thick black space

Snow

interlaced crystals
delicately balanced
grasping on to more

interlaced crystals
swirl around
and dance with more

interlaced crystals
so small in size
and grow with more

interlaced crystals
thrown about
colliding into more

interlaced crystals
thick as fog
frozen tapestry of more

interlaced crystals
piling up
to simply and eventually melt away

Phillippy's gift

upon the table it sits
with weight of aged cities...

briefly upon glass it sits

although fluttering wings
shall sweep it away in a glance...

it sits in eternal peace

the body bellows out to
its wide open mouth

colored in envy and ash
to persuade passers by
from their journeys in similar vessels
to pause...

to peer over the edge...

to succumb to the curiosity
of the brim's luring seduction

the glazing, the crazing
the raku-fired splattering of hues

one could fall inside
and find oblivion, perhaps...

or perhaps not
after all it's just a pot

Non-existent days

there's reason why
either you or I
hold to ourselves our own age

for neither can
hold in their hand
from the book of time a page

and bolder yet
I dare to set
the reason for dreamy haze

Linger do we
either you or me
in sought after, non-existent days

whence we came
all are the same
from pool, stars, or master's hand

yet we fight
scream, scratch, and bite
over what's above and below land

true it's said
we lost our head
as it rolled down the forgotten lane

truer yet
it rolls I bet
to rid itself of us and pain

here we sit
in woe and fit
unknowing of wisdom and its ways

worry not
time we had bought
in our search for non-existent days

Sioux Falls today

The Timeless Twirl

sunlit serpents trace
    the edges of a falling leaf,
         which floats to the forest floor...

...inflamed and blushing red,

    the descending leaf slowly turns       

           this way and that, exposing both views               

just as the frail thing almost lands,
        the slight, yet brisk breeze arises
            and carries the leaf further along its way...

...the dance is abrupt and smooth

      the faint wind spins the sanguine petiole,       

              twirling partner's unfurled arm and wrist                

though unseen, the breeze is garbed
        in the delicate patterns it imprints upon
                standing water and breaths captured on glass...

 

...further, it cannot resist to bestow

        its essence upon the whirling leaf        

                  and seals white ice upon the flushed flesh               

completing the kiss of chill,
         the boyish breeze gently relinquishes
                    and lays the leaf upon soil locked in frost