Poems

Monster's Ball

            For Davy Kellow

 

When I first met you

the grass was golden   the sun

a vast loom weaving rays

of light   Kindness unloosed your heart

and it rocketed skyward

followed by so many words

only the wind could tell

I knew you from a famous painting

even your smile   Days became weeks

love drove me through unabashed streets

Open windows let in the birds

and their wild sweet racket

Their emerald feathers lined the hallway

with poetry   so many songs left unsung!

I wanted the melody   the words

still in their boxes

I have too many secrets

and you were frightened

I thought a monster lived in me

who ate human bones and livers

Then you held my hand

and the beast was quiet again

though still alive and well

You didn't yell in terror

but spoke softly like a cloud

The sun stopped weaving

and night rain dropped by the way.

 

 

 

The Gift Bringer

 

He brings you gifts from afar

lovingly   he's so kind the angels

know his every step   Even in winter

in hail   his faith doesn't fail

You're untouchable   your pedestal

glowing with poison   He won't come closer

than the front door   primitive and pure

You're used to it   cold as winter

but still breathing   his giving

feeds you oranges   emeralds   gold coins

Only the moon is safe in the hands of the gods

You are not safe

You could easily fall onto the pavement

below and shatter   your skin unpeels

like fruit   soft and alive   your illness

the unbearable pain of the world.

 

 

 

Cherry Picking

 

If I understood you   love would rise

on its brittle stalk   shedding its ripe light

like peaches.   In Poland they grow cherries

little red moons that flower in your mouth

then are swallowed and forgotten

your mouth open for the next and the next

like love   spitting out the pip

Your lips are ruby red   precious stones

melting into your skin   and the flesh

the darkness of red   You are grateful

for this love   this windfall

grateful for every shade   each nuance

Meaning crosses your mind like a bridge

over an empty river    In the dead river

are dead bodies   left over from the war

You crossed the bridge to reach the cherries

Any other way would have been impossible.

poet's biography ->