Thursday, March 21, 2013

The Quietest Thing

After all of the words;
the verbal victories and defeat,
the examinations, ruminations
dissections and assasinations.

The Taking Down
and Tearing Apart
inspection, introspection
justification, reiteration
retaliation, annihilation.

After all of the the weeping
and wailing
thrashing, gnashing,
lashing and bashing
lying, crying, sighing
and dying.

After all is said done, signed, sealed
delivered, dumped and disposed of,
the only thing left standing
residual or real,
timeless and tangible
stiff with substance
silent and solid
judgmental, intuitive
unmovable, immobile, rooted.

Is the persistently quiet of Knowing
with invisible eyes closed,
hiding behind the veil
of delusion and doubt.

Waiting for the freefall
of faith and courage
into the abyss of truth.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Rules are for the orderly

two four
then six eight two
as if my muse would sit
for me to lock her up with rules

We are writing cinequains over at, and as usual, I am having trouble with Rules. Also known as Form.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Mirror Poem ...Synaptic Gaps

Murky recollections
a tainted memory
delicious slipping
once wide open spaces
slowly sealing over
with the spackling of age
expectations fall away
neurons blink cerebral
synaptic gaps once shackled
now free to glide the halcyon days.

Now free to glide the halcyon days
synaptic gaps once shackled
neurons blink cerebral
expectations fall away
with the spackling of age
slowly sealing over
once wide open spaces
delicious slipping
a tainted memory
murky recollections.

its open link night at dverse poets...

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Blood nets

Roots to reservation, same old pain.
Ghosts were there, fishing every day;
adjustments began we grew hungry
standing in line gathering
white flour for white bread
baking in a white woman's oven.

Lonely red daddy beating down
a dying fish with a sack of rice.
Blood ties broken with his heart
Straitjackets cradled the ghosts-
daddy's gone crazy and mother is dead.

Brother Bear cut off his hair,
joined the government
to be safely in danger.
And I fear I'm learning to weave nets.

Brian Miller is tending bar @ dVerse Poet’s Pub

and told us that this Friday, March 8, is International Women’s Day.

A small verse to celebrate woman.

OpenLinkNight ~ Week 86