Tuesday, July 29, 2014

I was always told the passive voice
should be avoided, since it does not result
in drama. Still, my rebel soul's been captivated
by peace. Things have been said and done, and these
must not be allowed to continue on unnamed.
There are words which must be spoken with unrelenting
quietude, with love that leaves nothing forgotten, but keeps
no record of wrongs. Things have been said and done.
I have done my share of them; this much
I must confess. As for the rest, the telling
may be the task of another, but for me,
to speak will always be passive, and the words of blame
must all give way to deeds of restoration.
Things have been done, and much remains to do.

Saturday, July 5, 2014

Love
is
neither
the fullness
nor the poverty.
Do not be distracted by such
incidentals. Love is the endless economy,
the current and the currency
that flows in between
the endless
motion
of
peace.

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Tears are somewhat elegant in the abstract.
Diamonds of dew rest on velvety rose-petal cheeks.
It's awkward, though, when your nose blossoms red,
billowing out to twice its normal width.

Beneath translucent skin, your glowing veins
form a lacy network, hot with pulsing blood.
Mathematically beautiful, but I flinch because I know
how one's stomach clenches up with every sob,
bile rising sharp and diamond-bright.

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

They milled around the cooler in awkward silence,
bobbing between the ice cubes while enormous
infant fingers splashed in the cold water,
searching, hungry with anticipation.

The party is over. Crawfish carcasses
stare from the table, dull-eyed and sunburn red.
The cat sniffs inquiringly, but their flesh
has mostly been picked over. The sky unfurls
pure as a morning glory. Birds preen,
bustle about their various errands, and chatter
lightly. I pace the yard in silence, gather
up the paper plates and empty cans,
boil water for the coffee, and feed the cat.

Friday, June 13, 2014

Summer Rain in Houston

Joy, like the polka-dots
splashing in the parking lot
with the crepe-myrtle blossoms
floating on the rain

drenches me warm to the bone
while the shopping cart
frolics with the wind.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

The Spring 2014 issue of Californios features some of my work, including the one poem that is probably closer to my heart than any other. Writing is always a profoundly odd experience, but this sonnet in particular transformed me at the volta. Go check it out, and enjoy all the other good suff there, too. Jesse Cone's poem on the annunciation is simply wonderful.

I'm a passionate believer in blogging, in throwing my best words out onto the wind and letting them fall where they may. Still, it's true that words need breathing space, and I think that my fibonacci poetry, in particular, is best experienced interspersed with other work. So I'm excited about this little set-that's-not-a-set, these little "wanderers" about my wanderings in California, wandering through other California poetry, short stories, photography, and essays.

The title 'Wanderers' refers to the Greek origins of the word 'planet.' All the 'wandering stars' were considered planetai. Originally, the sun and moon were considered part of this set, since they too 'wander' through the zodiac, but of course we see things very differently now...

Eventually, I would like to write a little star-shaped poem for each of the planetai. I have a rough draft for Mars, and just the vaguest of ideas for Jove and Saturn, but however the set eventually turns out, it will probably end with something like this little reflection on Sol:


Yet
still,
she moves,
satellites spinning
around her in epicycles
of her grand ellipse.
The milk-bright
way speeds
her
on.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Knowledge passes in and out of dreams,
a mirror dim, and frequently inverted.
Its objects are usually closer than they appear.
Love is the only absolute, and all
that's sure is only made sure by its power,
seen through the faith and hope that it inspires.
All of it passes away except for love.

Perhaps you are dreaming. What of it? Love is love
regardless of the state in which it finds you.
Though God is love, the senses still decieve,
but those who dream in love, He will surely wake,
and to those who wake in love He will give true dreams.