Between the Lines

What’s missed are

deeper meanings,

sounds pass teeth & lips,

signifiers mutilated,

transformed by space

between; what’s shaped

you has not shaped me.

Usages change, same language,

same words, same

phrases, varied

interpretations, unique

viewpoints, different readings;

all yearning, all feelings

blurred & re-figured by time

spent living between the lines.

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On Winter

Part III

Crows on carrion carry on cawing,

carving out a living on dead things,

flapping black flags on the roadside,

undertakers of the animal kingdom,

leaving white bone and fur bits by

winter highways, ravens on dark wings

weaving shadows over wintered fields.

Corvus corax, common raven,

dark intelligence, inquisitive

sentinels against a snow white world.

Part II & Part I

On NaNoWriMo with a full-time job and overtime hours this month…

I am in over my head. I’m fixing up an academic paper to send in with my graduate school applications. I’m trying to keep up with this blog. I’m neck deep in rewrites for NaNoWriMo. This is probably our busiest month at work this year. And i want to write more short stories and poetry.

I need to get organized if I hope to accomplish even a fraction of this list. In the interest of preserving my sanity, my posts this month will be of the poetic variety. I have stuff to do, and precious little time. This idea–a serial poem in parts– has been pinging around in my brain for nearly a year. It’s time to eject it.

Part I is posted.

The rest are on the way.

On Winter

 

Part I

I cannot remember a gentler December

With so many blue sky days

And grass so green, and birds and all,

Choosing this year to stay

A little bit longer than when winter’s stronger

Before they all fly away,

And now so deep in February’s thrall

With earth and sky matched gray

I long for the joyous chirping and chorus

Of little birds having their say

Flitting here and perching there

Enjoying the sun’s bright rays.

 

 

Sky Meets Earth

Landing is the part that gets me,

Gravity exercising final control.

We must always come back down.

My brain abandons all logic on final approach,

Dredging up all the images of Icarus,

Wings spread, hands up, head back,

Dropping like a chiseled stone from the sun drenched skies above

Mediterranean waters. Daedalus, often forgotten

In the picture, off canvas, watching horrified,

His son, saved from the minotaur to be eaten by sharks.

Hearing the sick slap of flesh on unyielding waves,

Bones snapping, skin bruising black from the force,

Consciousness switched off—a mercy—as the young man,

Wax wings, disfigured from flight and folly and fall, breaking and spreading,

Sinks under the serene summer blue of the sea.

 

I have no problem with heights.

Takeoff. Flight. Physics is a solid comfort,

Predictable, law abiding. Landing follows suit,

But variables are all I consider.

It’s a silly fear. I had carefree days when I truly believed

A blanket cape made me Superman. But even he started out

Only leaping buildings. Drop him from the edge of space

I bet he’d have a bad time, too. Likely it would be a broken wrist.

What happened to Billy?

Oh, he jumped off the roof with a blanket around his neck.

He’s lucky he only needed one bone set.

What happened, Clark?

Skydiving accident. Needed a cast.

Sure, sure, I still expect those articles on my desk tomorrow.

 

Falling is the problem here. The joke is that the instant deceleration,

That’s what kills you. I’ve fallen from a few heights.

I still climb; the view is often worth it. Trees, slides, trees, again.

Hitting land is no problem, sometimes survivable, always some evidence.

And I have falling nightmares, and drowning nightmares, sometimes sequentially.

Maybe I fear Icarus’s fate.

I fear falling from too great a height to be lost in the unplumbed depths.

Unrecoverable. Lost. Forgotten.

Touch and Go

It’s been awhile since I last posted. I’m nearly done with my first novel so I have no apology. Here we go:

We touch and turn
round, under, through
other bodies rotating.
I dip, he leads,
I think he smells
like a good place to be
for the next three minutes
before we part and repeat.
Different song,
different beat, strangers
meet together on the floor,
while the music lasts
becoming
something more
at least for three minutes
before they part and repeat.