The Vision Grand

A single cycle of seasons.

The Vision Grand

The pattern floating cloudlike on moments of sharp focus
For ever permeating dreamily throughout moods and climates
With every port or pier abandoned still distant vistas ever-viewing
As hope ignores the pattern in its desperate whirlings

So Spring brings its illusions, Summer its sultry pleasures momentary,
Autumn its chill foreshadowing, and Winter its destruction of all before it
It is appointed unto All one single cycle of seasons
Indifferent, inexorable, in progress even now speaking

The dream gives power to longing, longing to the dream
As human blood begins its journey anew, lovers joining constant
Into birth, into false hope, into future joinings, blind and striving
For this world presents no dilemmas except to those
Crazed by hope

arylide

arylide yellow.

chemical imbalance brushing
nails done in arylide

yellow on the margins of the
fringe of the outside

wrapped around a coffee cup of
fiji kava kava —

poured into a throat converting
water into lava

steam approaching maximum and
streaming ever higher

yellow on the margins of the
fringe of desire

Thrift Village

Pine cleaner and mildew in an endless battle always smelling,
Fluorescent lights glaring, steel shelves’ bright abundance of overstock;

Wide aisles of sometimes blockage, large displays,
Concerns of new managers and old vendors there daily stopping;

Living always in bargains for that which others
Have passed in affluence;

Thrift village then aging into infirmity, death overlooking —
Knowing only the cracks of light seeping through imprisoning boards

murray river basin

the earth is thirsty

the earth is thirsty so am i
out past where we all come to die
alone and without celebrant
a wastrel bard irrelevant
the half-cocked eye the shaking lip
fair captain of a foundered ship
the desert plain of fated need
to thirst to ache
to drop

to bleed

A Gypsy Dream

My friend, the gypsy, shared a dream
Of how she’d found a carnival,
A type of old tradition where
The best of their technology
Was brought to bear to try to make
A wonderland of lights and sorcery.

Where lovers could walk hand-in-hand
And feel excitement from the crowd,
As she did; with some unknown he
Whose face was handsome, though unseen.
But still the glow of love was there,
Among the scents of summer on the pier.

But love, she said, is not her way:
At least, the way that many think
That love should be: just one for good –
A night, a day, a month, a year,
That’s fine, but even in a dream,
She knew the carnival must have
An end – a letting go – a final turn.

She stared away, in shadows, then
She said, “I’m built for wandering.
The hands I hold are many, as
I make my way across this life.
I’m sure that dream was just my truth
As written on my neurons in the night.”

I watched her kiss the sunset, and
The gleaming colors in her eyes
As she arose to meet the night,
And leave me in a cafe seat
To ponder what a gypsy thing
That lives and hearts are in the very end,

That lives and hearts are in the very end.

We Held The Sun

Only kids.

We held the sun, we two, and only kids;
On dampened stairs, we saw our brightest days –
With strawberries and blond, your hair would shine;
And I would breathe, not knowing of the air

In innocence we gazed at purity;
‘Togetherness’ meant only, we were two —
We looked and touched and felt for the first time,
As children have and will, so did we do

And where the warmth was felt beneath our skin,
The glow infected, cauterized our eyes;
We strangled back the yearnings of the years
A life too big for two so child-sized

The joining force,
Together, there, as one:
Upon a lonely stair
We held the sun