poets somewhere ~

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of words I have read
and lifetimes relearning –
as sixty-six books
more than one
I confess –
a truth that endears me
to all I have known –
twas began with a promise
my worth to attest

as a heart
made to feel –
eyes to see more than sight
without want for a reason
to stay (will you stay)
but of life –
I can tell you
I can show you (somehow)
where the light
meets with heaven
and the stars fall away

as the spirits
of fathers –
of sinners and saints
become poets
for moments somewhere
revealing the answers
to the questions of why –
of the ways
they were come (every soul)
entered there

as a place
so familiar –
did I witness before
ancient moons
many lives from the sun –
and days (not so many)
as to count them again
I recall now another
when the two
became one

held to the corners
reminders of grace
as angels (unnoticed)
were promised to us
e’er we pass beyond faith
on our way to the light
burning sun –
gifted others our love

evermore stilled ~

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was ever I dreamed
and wandered away –
from the quiet retreat
of sixty-three geese
sheets held by flannel
and curses

just past the dusk
a fluttering sound
was evermore stilled
by wings
to the ground

or slumber take more
than one life
could repay
in the quiet become
of tomorrow

did the night
fail to see
I was destined to roam
when you woke
to the light –
without memory
of me

gathered in me ~

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Was not the first
I’d come again…
reeking of woodsmoke
folded near inside my shirt…
names that should be new;
the taste of somewhere else
triggered in the calling.

Silence (clinging) feels the same
a sweet familiar love –
remembered all the reasons
why I left…
to come again
pulling at pieces
truth exposed –
another piece of cloth,
clothes that fit me (still…)
I’ve walked the house once we built –
shaded by the orchard —
Planted small,
and grew into the barn…

Now both
are gone, and I (unaware)
possess the only picture
of how it was…
the broken yard and crooked gate,
cattle nursed by a patch of
weed (and will…)
a swing of mismatched
boards…slouched below
outstretched arms
an oak —
your father planted
(your mother cursed)…

Was there
we loved…
(as no one ever had),
feather mattress
stuffed and stitched (new)
for us, and wrapped
in sacks of blue…
We spoke in hushed whispers
(secrets tumbling)
to the flicker of a flame
burnt the mantle black —
shadows melted (moments)
long ago
(but not so) far…

finished
before the start became
an end was writ…
I never understood…

in the quiet still
before I find you (first)
I breathe,
The world
that I remember…
is again…
a feather swept
(across) my soul;
words uttered to silence;

this –
memory of yet to be
and the smell
of burning pine…

the way to becoming ~

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of the places
we passed –
on our way to becoming
there were times
taken back
for a while to reflect
as sunlight burned holes
in the feet of our longing
and eyes searched the shadows
for nights barely done –

poems laid out
in uneven patterns
lessons forgiving
each name said aloud
mysteries turned by our faith in forever
in moments unspoken
given voice
by the clouds

red clay horizons
and blue opal brushes
twilight and words without shame
cactus grew wild
at the edges of memory
as somewhere
the skies painted
pictures of us –

in ribbons of
bluebird and flame

deliberate pause ~

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Walking beneath stars at dusk,
doves coo (quietly) to one another,
songs only they (of dove wisdom) can understand…

and I wonder at their (selfless) lament…
What (can they whisper that) I do not know?

What invisible mysteries
do the waves instill — crashing against the cliffs…
(who can tell me)
what secrets the rain confesses to the violet dawn,
is its suffering (made) lesser
by the crimson sunset?
Is there a place (we’ve yet to find)
that waits under evergreen canopies of silence…
atuned to (the cry of) rainbows…
or is that for the poet (alone) to know….

Ten thousand paper birds
(without the heritage to) become feathers…
but still they drfit…tangled not (by expectations)
no tears for tiny fingers
(that pried) their inanimate bones…

they’ve yet to understand
they cannot soar…
and (so) they do…

Can the only secret (worth discovery) be
that a simple morning song…
bellowed atop (a twist of) cooper line
is more (precious) than a symphony of perfectly managed notes…

and that love needs no reason (to be)
(undone by questions — why not)
beyond a moment’s (deliberate) pause…..

traces ~

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in the midst
of going crazy –
are words I strain to hear
sometimes I sit the night
and wait the want
to disappear

reminded of the places
still I keep
when day is gone
lest I forget when moments
came for me –
before the dawn

as one I knew
the same as love –
and times for days
the pages read –
when told of ways you walked
and miles to carry

pen and ink
were given life
a refuge from surrender
to shadows dark –
for there your light
was known

reminding me
of certain hope
much more than you
could utter –
whispers of belonging
touched by more
than rule and rhyme

word and still
forget me never
held between the lines –
no matter now
the distance passed –
as spirit folds around

revealing truth
we’ve yet to know –
in wandering to find
the paths we cleared
another day
are never left behind

for in my heart
and here – my soul –
as traces you remain
written by the trust
you swore
to give –

ageless
as were letters
carved into the bark –
are pages sent
to save me
tethered by your heart

tell ~

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of the stories I could tell
would you believe them every one
or worry for my senses –
direction in the dark

of things I’ve known
would love be lost –
to places I remember
as shadows worn by wings
an early moon

silence bids
a kingdom come
of ancient oak and cypress –
whistling of rivers
tipping softly out the sea

as fiddles played
of crickets cradled
safe against the morning
born to love
each new refrain –
will dance away with me

as more than one
to sorrows sworn
broken souls forsaken –
as roses blooming
neath the steps
were essence to ascend

til quiet now
these ages pass
moments of forever
was no one left to wonder
who would keep
the lantern lit

lullabies
without a sound
stream when nights grow longer
would e’er these truths
be written down –
beyond this veil of sight

have you love
for knowing –
worlds fulfilled by grace –
mysteries unfolding
sometimes I barely sleep

waters rise
above the bank
glories mate with starling –
destinies revealing us
as light to autumn skies

beyond the reasons
I could tell –
another prophet listens
as each divine remembrance
awakes anew within

musing ~

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take of these
my all
my every
thing I was before
no less
than who I was
when once you wrote me
word for word
to pages pressed

echoes breathed
together
easy –
who can say
which came as first
the choice to be
as fate was drawing
lazy circles
in the dirt

back this way
as forward falling –
dare me reach
to catch the truth
what was meant
of passing whispers
sighs were secrets
poets proved

lacey lace
and midnight wonder
round the round –
and tied with string
verses vain
as morning musing
rhyme returned
but not a thing

ages past and yet
another –
one more time
beneath the fall
stillness as a siren
singing –
through the night
one spirit call

get me back
or take me never –
more and more
the same and not –
where was I
when first you found me
lifetimes since
the pen forgot

stories almost read ~

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had I one more
grace to give
and not much more
worth keeping –
than roads I’ve come
to bring you love –
kneeling now in prayer

forgotten
every sorrow fell
grief beyond my season –
another dawn
is waiting me
lest I wander there

violet shades
of winter ash –
and canyons lit by longing
days to walk
and warmth we willed
to stay

as colors of the
sweetest songs –
winds the same as ever
shall free the lowly spirit
from the silence
of the grave

stir to voice
these fragile words
and give them place
to matter
save for me the mystery
of stories almost read –

stay the night
another life
that I might find your
wishes –
hanging by a prayer
beside my bed

passing through ~

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more than breath
this passing through
becoming as I am –
the last I was
the first to know
of ways to understand

as grace revealed
by sweet design
no different than the one
as sacred to impression
as winds and sea –
of sun

as morning
rolls against the tide –
recalled the scent of rain
remembered me
as songs another sang
before I came

as holy as a verse
to write –
prophets sworn to find
as here alone –
when all was still
a silence so divine

as soul to soul
within without –
and closer than can be
wherever there
the name of love –
shall speak the same
of me