Barren Desert Cliffs

Go swing, swallows--sudden arcs up in the sky,

Away, cliffs with nests they hid from wind--They fly,

They dip, fly up, eating insects in the dry,

Barren desert cliffs.

Yes, once people lived here on these cliffs-they dwell

Among ancient ruins still. The stones that fell

From hand-fashioned places decorating well

Barren desert cliffs.

They graze barren land, the desert bighorn sheep--

They're cliff-canyon fleet, and knowingly they leap

Along ledges--desert residents, they keep

Barren desert cliffs.

When great Nebuchadnezzar's beautiful wife

Began feeling homesick, he made come to life

A great garden that transformed out of the strife

Barren desert cliffs.

Returned, condors soar above the desert places

They once winged above--they fly in ancient spaces

They once vanished from--now each dark shadow graces

Barren desert cliffs.

Now, man built his own high cliffs, and he assembles

In them numbers such that earth herself now trembles.

Transformed land is raised, and now our home resembles

Barren desert cliffs. 

Reaching Essence

The sage scholar that intimidates (or so

I've been told) so many I have met with all

I know--art and science and philosophy.

I've carved out this mask.

A small part of me, I reckon's still up in

The green hills--Kentucky where I'm still laid back,

Where jokes jump more freely, friendly from my tongue.

The South made this mask.

Can you not see I am right? I argue with

And quick-question people who I know and meet--

This love lives in me, unpleasant though it seems.

My least pleasant mask.

My brain's wired autistically--do not expect

A good memory to shop or for a name--

I can't feel the same as you--the world's intense.

My gene/brain-made mask.

My art aims for beauty--All my poetry,

And plays, novels--I transform to beauty words

Through sounds, rhythms, symbols, and in images.

Descent gave this mask. 

A dark hermit here in my library-cave.

I read, study, write, and think--alone. I make

In home-quiet spaces, decompress from life.

A need-daily mask.

I love, think of, love to spoil the ones I love--

My wife, children--I make them feel all the love

I feel--more than anyone could ever love.

Why not see this mask?

On Partly-Cloudy Days

The clouds clear out to an azure opal sky,

The blue patches white and gray we've seen for days--

The sun sits unseen behind the thick, slate remnant clouds,

But warm, felt at last.

I sit, sullen, in the shadows now--at least

There's sun shadows I can sit in, separate

The well-lit and shadows all the same, the dusty

Dull shade-colors same.

The clouds move above, the light expands, contracts

In life-pulses slow upon the gray-green ground,

And yet, every slow expansion of the light

Shines life-life to me.

I know clouds will soon depart, the opal sky

Transform, spread above in even shades of blue,

Give free reign to sun and sunlight--and yet I

Will miss clouds of gray.

The Baobab Tree

In the cavern we carved in the baobab tree

We awoke to the life we had created

In the openness cut out between the thick

Wood walls and branches.

In this space we can find a small place of peace,

A small place where we can separate ourselves

From the wildness we find outside these walls--

Out where leopards lurk.

The unpleasant heat of the sun stays outside,

All of the smells are replaced by just the one,

The cool, soft, heady, pleasant smell of the wood

Penetrates us both.

In here each of us can make a home of each

Other, the dark hollow of the baobab 

Is a place where our closeness can finally

Be felt most fully. 

Sorrow's Haunts

The cypress and the willow weep the pond full--

The sorrows of all they have seen slowly drip

Off their long, light, green branches and leaves.

Sadness fills the pond.

Dusk calls the loons to fill the sky with their calls--

Such sad calls from water's mirror surface spread

Through the woods and echo off the mountainsides. 

Sadness haunts the woods.

The evening's mourning doves give way to gray owls,

Whose deep, full, sorrowful songs cause cool shivers

To spread through everything small, creeping, and warm.

Fear fills the dark woods.

As morning breaks, I wander. beside the pond--

My skin is clammy in the dew. The crickets

Chirp their last, and I find that I still miss her.

Fear haunts my sadness.

The Blemish

Beside you I lie and lean on my right arm--

My left hand massages the bare skin, so warm,

Of your back, until I notice a small charm

Of dark color there.

Did you know a mole is on your back, my dear?

It sits right where tail-bone meets the back, right here

Where you feel my finger--one place that's not clear,

So small, dark, and rare.

"What does it look like? Is it wrinkled and strange?

I can't see it--I'm afraid it's out of range

Of my field of sight. Will it grow? Will it change?

Does it have a hair?

"I'm glad you can't see it--that makes it all mine.

A small part of you alone--I'm sure it's benign--

That you can't see, but through me--a point, a line

To your everywhere.

"Rub my back some more and leave my moles alone.

And while usually I do not dare condone

My parts claimed, I'll let you have the mole I own,

To keep us a pair.

Beside you I like and lean on my left arm--

My right hand massages the the smooth skin, so warm,

Of your back, enjoying the sight of your charm

Of dark color there. 

Suppression

The rocks crunch beneath my soles as cruel black heat
Ascends, sharp against my calves--it won't defeat
My dull drive to wander--to my feet repeat
Their blue-black soul beat.

A thought tempts, but obligations gain the ground--
My walk waits, perhaps forever--life will bound
And bring back ambitions to harmonic sound
Which swell songs around.

To go slow and gather all I see and hear--
That goal grips me, trips me--down the road I fear
I will wander, will not dare to go nor steer
That far future near.

A breeze, balmy, blowing through my thinning hair--
A grim grackle calling from the ground, its stare
Demands more from me--the dandelions wear
My down, dancing fair.

Is this truly what I want, a homeless life--
The earth's girth my home, to live without the strife
Of hard human expectations?" That's the knife
To rend reeds a fife.

White Bird of Paradise

A blue boat with white sails taking turns to rise
Beside sailors indigo in dress that sail
Among massive fans of green banana leaves--
In sharp shade he grieves.

The tree twists into the sky and butterflies
In brown breathe a baby's breath into the blue
And strong-streaked canoe that's destined not to flee
The cool canopy.

The swift sunbird, iridescent scarlet, tastes
The sweet syrup cargo of the ship, is paid
In gold given to this thirsty messenger
Whose wise words recur.

The blue boat will boldly lift its sails of white
So swift sunbirds, butterflies can bring the words
The tree twists into a song the wind will fail
To sing strong to gale.

The Desert Lion

The lean lion prowls around the desert plain
And lures leopard out upon the desert plain --
The grass greens the stain.

The mane mangled by past battles hangs in ropes
That drag, dangling hair upon the desert plain --
The grass greens the stain.

He feasts, flesh ripped from the carcass that he made,
A vain vulture dead upon the desert plain --
The grass greens the stain.

The weak water trickles to his tongue. He tastes
The cool copper coat his tongue and desert plain --
The grass greens the stain.

The lame lion lurks along the filling lake
The rain wrought out of the ravaged desert plain
The grass greens, the stain.

The cat crawls along the muddy bank and drops.
He can't keep alive -- not where the desert plain
The grass greens -- the stain.

The bright bones are clean -- the lion licks his fur
In short shade -- a spot upon the desert plain
The grass greens, the stain.

For Sappho, My Muse

The Muses have been banished from the city --
So I revolt and call on them to return
And bring the music back so we can rise up
And begin to dance.

Amaterasu, the sun, hides in her cave
And puts the world in a most deadly darkness
Until Ame-no-uzume comes to her
And beings to dance.

Even poor Persephone in her mourning
Was brought back to life and made to smile at last
When Baubo came forward with such sexy moves
And began to dance.

I have been brought back to life and the bright sun
Shines again upon my face now that I see
My art and prose and poetry have music
And begin to dance.

Too You, Too Me, Too Us

The doors slam and I am screaming at you "slut."
The chairs topple as I threaten, screaming, but
I'm too you to go.

Your breasts crush into my chest -- you turn to sand
In my tight encircling arms. I love you and
I'm too you to stay.

You throw plates against the floor -- you run to get
Your black jacket and your keys. You're certain, yet
You're too me to go.

You kiss hard, smear lipstick in your passion, lust.
Your thin fingers cut into my flesh -- I trust
You're too me to stay.

Our bright passion-dance will burn us, make us glow
With dark love devouring us so we know
We're too us, so stay.

Antichaos (Sapphic Verse)

The beautiful chaos of river flowing
As time you step out of, into, the living
Unchanging emergence of antichaos
Breaking on mud banks --

Is this the world, bright in the light of sunshine
That brings a remarkable living chaos
And deadly order to the continental
Flow as an earthquake?

The winds are drying and are bringing moisture
To lands the sun parched, and the atmosphere is
Unchanged and changed, bringing a breeze, a gentle
Breath, and then lightning.

The white hurricane on the seas are ordered,
An ocean, atmosphere together, swirling
In chaotic flows on the seas and landing
Hard on the dry land.

And living things, rivers of earth and sea crawl
Across the land, swim in the seas a chaos
That swirls into timeful emergent rivers
Crawling on mud banks