Monday, May 22, 2017

Love After Death

It's odd that you are loved when you are dead--
The body rots, is cold and decomposing
While you are loving me. The dirt's enclosing
All but the memory of me--unwed
Without divorce--the soul inside my head
Lives on in yours, in paper fragments prosing
And poeming my soul, refined, exposing
My self that in this world I would embed.

The unity of me is freed in death
And I am left in fragments, memories
In others' heads that may not match, in rhyme
And rhythm, supple sounds that caught my breath
In marks that freeze my soul and, freezing, frees
Me to eternal life and endless time.

Monday, May 15, 2017

Shifting to the Guilty

The man they sacrificed transformed the wood
That grew around the town to structures great
And beautiful, transforming each man's fate.

And yet, the plague still spread its deathly hood
Despite the efforts of the growing state
That grew around the town to structures great
And beautiful, transforming each man's fate.

But when they learned that evil can't be good,
They sacrificed their king without debate,
Lamenting that their folly would create
The man they sacrificed, transformed the wood
That grew around the town to structures great
And beautiful, transforming each man's fate.

Monday, May 8, 2017

Poetic Existence

This poem is a figment of my mind--
It doesn't exist--dogs can't eat it, birds
Can't perch on it--these mere mark-sounds unwind
In music notes and rhythms and in words.

And when I die, and if and when these marks
Will disappear, will they have made a place
In all this cosmos any more than larks
Who sing upon the line with sonic grace?

Or will these patterns, more complex than you
And me because the poem requires we
To be, and all mere facts less than the true
This poem is, and more complex, more free,

Be much more real than anything that came
Before and light the cosmos with its flame?

Monday, May 1, 2017

Mornings With You

The Earth is turning, moving me to morning
Where the light is lifting, pinks and blue adorning
The atmosphere, horizon. It is poor
Compared to you, the beauty I adore
Where light is lifting, moving me to morning.
The Earth is turning, pinks and blues adorning.