Foreboding morning
Hand to harvest, my breath dust
How can I ever get my hands to plow?
Sorrow and splendor
You’re beauty and rage
My neck craned and eyes burned
All worlds reflect my sight
Stare to heaven
Gold streams
Tag Archives: poem
a fine evening
a nice place to sit at the table
with tired hands to break bread
and good people to share communion
with good wine to drink
and a warm room to enjoy
with a chair to lean into and recline
and topics of interest to discuss
with the night closing through whiskey
and a blessing for all
last impressions
this game with people
two or more
impression made
notions that set hearts toward mountain summit
bring feet into quagmire
Inn
people shoot the breeze at the bar
locals walk through its doors to take their place
men with thick beards discuss preference in women
women
listen
bemused
one man speaks of another town
Dick-head Dennis who lives up there
they are not friends
others talk of footy
a group of girls confer about partners
anecdotes and gossip
while I write notes
we all like this small bar
Old Words
My father once said
you were always a reader
I did not recall
PEOPLE
right and left people turn
by your side
no
goodbye
Forever I Must Be Wherever You Are
living on the riverside
I’ll lay down in the overrun water
knowing I’ll never again own the shore
the warmth of home gone forever more
hold me dear and I’ll take a breath
the fear in me laid to rest
I’ve packed my bags so I’ll be gone
I’ll take with me just one song
it speaks of your love
and it speaks of your grace
forever it will be heard
wherever I roam
without it I’ll be gone
vanished without a trace
because this journey calls for courage
the election we’ve made is long
A Haiku
Forever should be
Places that you feel at home
In seasons and song
when traveling alone
and drinking alone
I am my own
chasing ghosts
and fighting most
road long and sun low
tree fixed forever lurched back
unnatural position
screaming at the falling sky
vineyards coloured golden
lonesome traveler
The Noiseless Deaths
Wail Out, Vociferate! “It’s Not My Fault”
There Are No Tombs To Hold Them
The Womb Withheld From Them
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