Poetry

[makingpoetea]

Springwater

A gaggle of geese stand with silent eyes Fixed together along the riverbank On swollen clouds blazing colors In the setting sunlight With their mutual ability To sense the gist  Of simple beingness That we have forgotten

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The Solitary Mobster

Perched on a street wire An urban crow sits defeated Shedding swollen drops Of viscid winter rains A lone Sentry of rooftops  Tarred and sodden Tires splaying puddles below In a reoccurring clamorous forte Distressed, the bird voices complaints With harsh screaks that tumble clumsily From a throat intended for shrieking Instead of rhythmic soliloquy 

[makingpoetea]

Excavation

The planet discharges prematurely Knees of giants buckling Pinned Atlas beneath engineering Unsettling the modus operandi 

Still the dawn is throwing explosions Though winter seeds are static Torpid and silent

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The Isle

Blue algae sea swept flaxen sail Plunging from solid deck, I leapt Marooned oceanic knoll here kept A peeking shoulder, broad and pale

Droplets shimmer to splash untasted shore Press cheek to sand like powdered silk This sun-beaten isle seemed amiable ilk A sweeping wonder, an urge to explore

Dread dwindles, but broad smiles flood reprieve Against stormwind icy or frightening  Ungainly boots ailing, sudden clarity heightening To discover drenched red eyes that murmur, “Please, never leave.”

So I, with driven chirrup, ascend rough vertebrae Then watch my homeland sail away

[makingpoetea]

Oh, tiny pine tree Lovingly ornamented  Sunsets make you big

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Write Poetry Drunk or Faded

That’s what they tell me But they always leave The empirical reason Out on the curb For dumping But I think I’ve tapped it Perhaps merely because I am a little drunk And faded

There is a voice of self doubt That keeps my tapless fingers From making tangible The voices rising From somewhere Making beautiful words And eliciting meaning From the chaos I call myself

Well, the self doubt  The filter Or the condom Of societal norms Must be drowned Or smoked out In order for the natural rhythm Of effortless language To squirt on a thigh-propped keyboard Onto a piece of technology That, as far as I’m concerned Is goddamn magic

Yet I apologize This poem is not about you Directly

Yet

That is only because you  Are part of my intrinsicness For almost five goddamn years You’ve been an intrigue In my perception

I’ve been trying to catch you In that unabashed smile You glean so thoughtlessly And I consider myself lucky To accompany you  On this boisturous Rambunctious journey

You are the best friend I have ever had

[makingpoetea]

Jubilance

Each dawn is different The sun is sleeping in To find me in winter hiding Dragged coyly to the floor To trip the light fantastic

You, exalted sailor With my coffee cup Broke sleep playfully Laughing and pushing In a language I understand

We are of the same species From a single phenomenon United with black pupils locked Above a pair of smiling mouths

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Limerick

There once was a boy from Bonners Ferry With a fond embrace of sanctuary He has a mouth full of song To hum days along And I call him my Yellow Canary

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The Skies are Clearing

A break in the cloud cover reveals Translucent blue skies The swaying landscape of sedated waters Headwind abating Unwavering is our compass

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Reasons to Dance

A dreamlike smoke of airborne moisture Enshrouds buildings wholly It’s hanging in the streets Shed like kids in a disordered system Wearing dirt like varnish

The city is drunk, completely besotted And the beaming lamps Born from headlights and tall poles Scatter, chaotically, into a fan A globe With a bright, piercing centers And drops of it hang around like ectoplasm Staining the inside of my nostrils like paper mache

The bar is a deluge of occupied noise So I climb narrow stairs Careful with my drink Where copper busts of men Topped with lampshades Cast their attention on couches Covered in fur Stringed lights hanging all year

There I cast ankle atop a coffee table Everything exactly as it should be Just myself And shitty poetry

And isn’t it odd, though That sanctuary sits At an eagle’s eye view Untouched by chaos Beautiful comfort Both glowing and fantastical Yet somehow invisible I am perplexed completely The way I feel overhearing People complain About all this fucking fog

[makingpoetea]

Smile, Sailor

Against the hull-side A realization crashing It’s been months at sea And your lookout was faulty

With ever-bare feet Slapping the warm deck Of a swaying vessel Sea legs buckle, sometimes And nausea overtakes you

It’s hard to recalibrate When a storm is brewing Crewmates on tiptoes With eyes glued to the railing Those empathetic sleeves Dragging brows to glaring A confusion of chaos Wholly overwhelming

Just remember the photons Beating cloudtops overhead Only perspective can snarl So tempestuously

Pull back your focus To see currents of air Setting shadows on surfaces Fluttering balloons Or making windchimes sing But only play a minor role If you let them

Shine of you alone, sailor Skies clear and cloudless Fogs lifted like elevators As your starship notion Breaks the atmosphere

The horizon line shall turn Without pressing you Or dragging you along Keep focused Each moment is new Then it is gone Palpate your experience Each surface is tactile Absorb each flavor With mouth and lungs

The rest is a forgotten dream

[makingpoetea]

Let it Alone

A private misdemeanor Spreading mental rumors Like a messy game of telephone

When you look too closely You lose perspective Until the topography is forgotten A stream becomes a universe But the ocean is disregarded

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Something is Different Today

It may be just the little things An advent calendar Filled with forgotten presents Like the bobbling head Of a marooned bottle Seventy miles from shore Or a garish heart-shaped box Shoved in a closet Filled with moldy chocolates

It may be the reactive way Your eyes stretch and widen Like camera lenses Yet your body is inflexible Plastic and rigid Mannequins in a dark window All dark tiled hallways With locked metal gratings And the scampering naked tails Of bewildered mallrats

A rolling tornado Churning in my stomach Snags up large intestines To haphazardly scatter them Where they stick to the walls Of my skin casing Like sea barnacles

And a throbbing fist Curled around an old radio Burbles nonsense From a fallout shelter With frantic ears Combing through white noise For an all-clear

It's baffling chaos Trying to pilot this vessel When storms behind your stare Hide the starmap They still twinkle there, somewhere But are somehow invisible A clandestine secret With a cliffside for a shoreline And me in a lonely skiff

[makingpoetea]

An Eboliphany

On a hill next to the ocean, stood I I was alone but for my feet Words tumbling  Like smooth magnets Poetry that slides and spins  Twisting from my fingers Sticking and rejecting Catching a glimpse of the infinite Blue thunder through soundless leaves Trees so firm and mute With no wind to surrate gossip Hangs a fog of ghostly mist Tasting of somber silences Or awe-struck splendor (Transcribed from my notebook, penned during a lovely lone adventure. A hike over Tillamook Head on the Oregon Coast, through shin-deep mud)

[makingpoetea]

Day 8- Intergalatic Haikus

I want a starship Equipped with a sweet warp drive And you by my side You're the neutral zone From interstellar conflict My Dilithium I would invite you To have a lovely picnic On the holodeck Exploit each loophole So Rules of Aquisition Are upheld, always Lower your shields, love Show Cardassian passion Don't act so Vulcan Dat alpha quadrant Medical officer, help! My heart stopped beating Replicate candles Leave the Demiliterized zo- Ugh, just forget it These damn Star Trek terms Have too many syllables It's impossible

[makingpoetea]

Day 7

For the Substantiation of Heat

Two compacted mittens Bouncing toward a pot of tea You got a grip on my padded glove To press against the chill Of a snowy morning

You were gentle and softhearted When you awoke me The night before last Where I’d been dozing on the chair So tenderly and invitingly

As we settled within blankets That stole heat from our bodies Spooning ourselves together A tangle of limbs and hard-back pages Lips for kisses Pressed against shoulders Beneath luminous petals

I faded away To the holodeck of my mind Loading the dream of a trainride Beneath an abandoned overpass In the chilly sunlight To meet an unfamiliar friend

With a kind laugh Strong jaw and brown hair Standing, surveying my typical whimsey From afar As I splashed in stagnant puddles He called me, “Delightful”

We ducked inside a cozy building Hands held, against the cold With noses pink as chapping lips I removed my yellow scarf To let myself Become warm with soup And tumbling laughter

With one hand on the check He reached for his wallet At the casual buffet Yet I waved my hand Shaking my head Thankful for his kindness But no thanks

And suddenly awaken Returning from forgotten travels Finding myself In bed once again Next to ave amarillo All soft-skinned shoulders And a soft, “I love you”

Burrowing beneath blankets tangled From a night of puddle jumping The head next to mine Is topped with mussy disarray Of soft yellow feathers Gripping nuzzling fingers Spooning ourselves together Tightly Against the snowy morning

[makingpoetea]

Day 6

Sometimes I feel like I'm holding my palm open Poised for a high-five In front of someone who stops looking Distracted, beguiled isolation I am a windchime on the back porch On a breezeless day in October Left hanging The inside of a mind looks cozy Filtering out the white noise a lively party Where wine and laughs flow freely Retreat to warmth of your familiar fireplace My swinging goes unnoticed Besides, I play a tune you've heard before Strung by the strings of nurtured nature Like a marionette I like to sit quietly Singing to myself, mostly Until a gust of wind knocks me Into desperate clambering Powered by ferocious storm winds Half chaos, half pleading I'm noticed then, only For the awful ruckus I'm making 'Sometimes' make me restless More like a goldfish Than a tree When everything changes so quickly As it always will I can only will myself to surrender Hoping to perk up your ears On a quiet afternoon, perhaps Chiming softly on the back porch You'll slap my palm with yours