September 2014

Oftentimes I may find myself gazing at black swans as they glide in and out of the twilight hours of an inlet's low hanging mist.
At my desk too, I grow attentive to the memories of things that I have seen, heard, smelled, tasted and touched as they again seem to become enfleshed. 
Once more the smell from the steaming afterbirth of a newborn calf, the sight at dusk when, with the sound of an eyelid's blink, a blackbird parts the shadows to settle upon a branch within a tree's silence.
I feel just as truly the rough-tongued clasp of a sea anemone around my finger-touch to its heart. I taste once more the austere sacredness of my first communion host and the sound of my breathing as I enter the stillness where I become at one with my absence.
As my body slows down, almost fully engorged from the lust of the senses for the world it dwells in, I listen to the music of my mind interpreting the nuances of meaning, the subtleties of connections.
ancient pond—
the everywhichway
of words

oh wow!
the M-theory
of it all
birth cry —
a moment's coming to be
of what wasn't
star gazing —
am I in my body
or not?
such a path
unfolding within
a tree's warmth
twilight chorus —
the song carrying through
to silence
light too brief —
the opening of words
to their source
at rest
light and darkness
beneath the all 
in all
ingasp —
holding the light
no longer
nothing . . .
all over in less
than a second
the hour glass
of her words
in between
day in — day out
dawnsong —
dark matter
with a voice
just being
also itself:
a lily
nine eleven . . .
time unravels the heart
of our darkness
rumours of war . . .
the shadow of my breath
darkens a dead sea
awake with the birds
I distill the who I am
from the edge of light
the all
that's missing
the words
earth rot . . .
such mystery scenting
sweet nothings
headlong spring — 
what words to part meaning
from the song?
an apple
here in hiding
nothing more
noonday demon
my longings define
their form
light enters
the delirium
of the now
the fog
of the familiar
trips my lips
spring trickles
through the hieroglyphs
of belonging
losing heart
a loss of words
fills the air
fire curl —
a poem's orgasm
of pain
now and then
death with a life
of its own
soundless by starlight —
the poet sipping darkness
from a mirror's eyes
old man pine —
fire comes into
its own
spring pathos —
a poem strains against
its string of words
dewspring light
awake once more
to a once world
long white cloud . . .
how much more lonely
must we become?
with nothing
in reach, a stick insect
holds fire
drunken wind . . .
a willow flails
at nothingness
keeping watch
sky travellers redress
the balance
five eyes . . .
I avoid winking
at the moon
keystone cop —
impeach blossoms
litter my path
an albatross
drowns in the absence
of a before
after death
her absence fogs over
under words
a morepork
until it loses itself
calls its name
a cloud ascends
into infinity
footfall . . .
the dull thud
of waking
a spring rain
agitates the clarity
of its pooling
first light
the fall from it
all around
spring storm
my future slows down
for my shadow
theta waves
splash the plimsoll line
of my words
a haiku
without trying to be

sharpening an end to end all war

with the birds
the words to voice
such silence
sun shower
a rain drop turns
into wine
death bed vigil . . .
his mind fingers through
beads of sweat
mist . . .
from tree to tree
an afterthought
iambic throb —
the slow black trochee
of life-blood
scented night —
a moth enters the hush
between stars
midnight stroll
beyond the back-chatter
of the universe
the milky way
stretches out its wingspan
of indifference
inland sea . . .
the sound of a siren
turns my head
mid night
all the stars out there 
mid way from the past
under a cloud
a beekeeper checks
each peony
graveyard shift —
the past in spectres picking
through haibones
on reflection
moonset's paucity
of words

queueless the fine line here

second language
just one second after
a big bang
desert spring . . .
some words from my mouth
no man's land —
haiku mind-seeding
by moonlight
from the dark
from the space it leaves
a  tree begins
moonlit lake —
the doppler effect
of black swans
crescent moon
separating facts
from fiction
crescent moon
another thumbnail sketch
of sad stories
crescent moon
light crests over
a snail

a part across from a godwit’s carbon footprint