#sassreblogs

[scribblesonbrokenglass]

we are approaching that time

unconscionable and stiffening

where the morning is darkened

and the birds too wake with us

[reblogsonbrokenglass]

Album

Heat and glow,

blush and bite,

ache and drive:

they are forever.

But time's acid

wears away,

melting looks

into monochrome

and into photos:

no need now

for much more

than just talk.

Your flame flickers

back and forth —

a conversation,

neverending,

a dialogue

for two.

an audience

of one.

and the fuel?

that's the grief.

a deep well

of oil to burn.

[poetlegit]

Still sad

I don’t want to be a poet today I could not be the kind of poet I am.  My compassionate side won’t allow me my usual style.

I’d rather be a critic today and  praise the works of others who can find the words, who can  find the heart.

It’s a time of prayer, it’s a  time of compassion.  It’s a time that will prove us all.

Together, 1.5m apart, we can stop the spread and flatten the curve.

Just you know that I can’t wait to hug you, I can’t wait to kiss you like I should

and I love you as always.

[scribblesonbrokenglass]

Kids

it used to be so simple

hit the ground and roll

stand up and walk away

just a superficial scratch

when soft flesh struck dirt

piled earth beneath us

didn’t seem to push back

but rather respected our youth

rainy days spent under covers

seemed to be equal in number

to the breathlessly sunshiny,

uninfected by shape or routine

those were long days

stretching far into the distance

month, year unfathomable

beyond some quaint futurism

their jamboree of pigment

royal blue and blood red

made the heart and mind race

melting inertia into soft serve

somewhere, this world is new.

some wide-eyed, soft features

will today find grandeur in it

asking why everything is so bright

we should not say, as so many have

that some day those colours

will soften into unremarkable silence

we should say, paint with them

[scribblesonbrokenglass]

Eclipse

plunged into charcoal singular,

spread across onlooking faces:

the quilted patchwork of knowing

a force of magnitude is at work.

our feeble eyes unable to bear it —

some rebel orbiter shaking up day

into night, in blue moon performance,

in feral wonder and humble fear.

to grasp cold knuckles and squeeze,

as solar night comes in chill wind,

just for a moment quiets the world

and we become stars, passing by.

[scribblesonbrokenglass]

Boats Out

Wild knives of winter winding

Across some antique stretch —

The breeze mutters its regrets.

But this air is honing-rod clean

And the jetty is quite still:

No spite could busy these people.

Rivers are struck in metal contortion

Winding around the land’s neck

And challenging it to dam or drown.

The old shale shore is mute, of course.

Save for its crashing, bay-wide smile,

Daring the old sea to whittle it away.

[scribblesonbrokenglass]

For a Faithful Friend

I held him in my arms

for what felt like forever

and I thought about light:

its waves flow to ends,

waning and gaining

in momentum and time

banking and bending

warping and weaving —

weft into each other.

there comes a day

when our tapestries

take forms of their own:

we recall impressions –

those stitches in time,

a mollified separation

and on that fateful day

no more gentle a love

can be found anywhere.

[scribblesonbrokenglass]

Here We Are

I heard a note:

it was an octave in your key

played sharp, played staccato

jolting me from twenty-something

rising-day, setting-sun slumber

with chords in my throat —

each hammer spoke,

hitting a metal thread tied

to something greater than itself.