CHECK OUT MY POETRY DOWN BELOW
CLOUDS STARE
Clouds stare like canopies waiting to be seen. Sending roily scents to tree skeletons, water vapor lips pluck at bitter limbs. Limbs curl into miniature snails unfurling like thoughts; waters plunge a moat into the grass – slithering, a scrawny surface weeping. No, the rain has not yet decayed.
I TOLD MORNING NOT TO BREATHE
I told morning not to breathe, let night water me in a jetty seascape, the raven welkin. I told morning not to etch a sun on my skin coffee grounds in my hair, nylons for Sunday noon. I told morning not to bring me a daffodil’s touch, drowning me in her sunlit corset. I told morning not to offer early birds, golden braids, breakfast and books. I told morning not to weep when I summon dusk, writing love notes to heaven, stuffing them in my shoes.
LULLABY TO THE SEA
THOUGHTS ON INSPIRATION
Who steps into the sea of dolphin-hued ripples? In calmness there’s a story, a setting of yesteryear. Where the embers of my rise fall, an incarnation will be born, the heaven-lit nostalgia of ivory turf. Who steps into the sea of dolphin-hued ripples? Waters tell a story, recite a familiar day. When the sea freezes over, I will be the sun in its hands, a warm atmospheric breeze combing its womb.
Inspiration is an inner child running in a field of bamboo trees and Shinto shrines, wondering how to align her chakras with the singing of the spheres. Inspiration is a broken psyche scattered on the sidewalk as worn-out leaves, trying to stop itself from becoming a self-avowed nihilist, before the sun blows up. Inspiration is nature painting the afternoon a navy blue as daylight curls into a ball on spacetime's couch, waking up yin and yang in the dendrites of the trees. Inspiration is neither here nor there, but rather a state of being within and of itself, enriching the lives of those who seek solace in creation, bearing the wonders of its fruit.
STARSEED BREATH
In a forgotten past surrounded by the blood of the ancients, our eyes met with a gleeful submission – poetry strung between our breaths full of unsaid words. We met again in this life, the familiarity of your mysticism burning bright, the entirety of the universe spanning each other’s tethered spirits.
NATURE DANCE
I find my heart amid vineyard furrows, skin salted in the stems of hyssop at my feet. I string consciousness to a garden of love, an ideation buried in nature’s soul. I ask the flowers to dance, for we are one, entanglement winging under a curly white horizon. Through this dance, we’d be a sunset living a prolonged life or the tea that mother makes in the spring. We are the duvet sheets forming at our toes, a crescent moon buried in soft-spoken sighs. But we will need to still this breezy fall soon. Take me, winter, into your arms – spring will pop into my head again.