Concerning the Poet

Here's a bit of self-reflective poetry for your enjoyment. Though not humorous, there is certainly nothing heavy or serious about it. The pattern and cadence of the words is meant to evoke the rolling, unpredictable path that would lead through the thoughts of a poet, leaving one feeling refreshed and maybe just a little bit happier.


Concerning the Poet

The poet’s heart is not so different
from the poet’s mind,
for both desire truth and tumble
ever on to find,
through paths erratic, beauty, be it
hid in common clay,
and so proclaim their wonders found
in most beautiful way.

The Remains of the Years

I'll try to distance myself from the infectious depression of a rainy winter, and focus on some lighter poetry. To start out, here's a short and sweet look at the slow death that is old age (I know, that doesn't sound terribly light-hearted, but give it a chance).


The Remains of the Years

Legs by the bedside
and hair on a hook,
eyes carefully placed
on top of a book,
teeth in a water glass,
ears on the shelf;
what, in old age,
have I done with myself?

Found

I feel as if I should write something clever here, but I can't, so I'm substituting with mildly deprecating self-reflection. Anyways, this is temptation; nothing more, nothing less.


Found

Through the glass,
through the mist,
gilded gaze
in a kiss.
Ivory,
supple bliss,
breaching
the wall.

Grasping now,
grasping near;
want and wish
crystal clear,
all enclosed
in a tear.
Finding,
we fall.

The Thaw

A new year and a new poem. Perhaps a late post is not the best foot to start out on, but holiday obligations will prevail. And so a poem for my little audience, in anticipation of warmer days and melting snow.


The Thaw

Bashful sun, bear me up
under your glow.
Tell me plain, through the rain,
all that you know.

Waking days, lilac sprays,
verde on the vine.
Gentle glow, soft and low,
in the rose wine.

Aimless breeze, through the trees,
wandering by.
Tell me all from your hall,
deep in the sky.