POETRY FROM MY BACK PAGES (1985 - 1998)

September 1998

The distance separating the home of the mother the father her own
is the storms rocking the north Atlantic.
She is their offering to the new gods of home not native land
as their symbol of endurance
as her mother whispers her dreams
as her fathers dream of freedom
as she blinks from care worn face to care, one side to the other.

The gap circles beyond their bridge
(old planks leading to some inevitable ancestry)
The chasm runs invisible beneath her surface
is dried smile gape waiting for some better history.
As she leans over the edge as a human sacrifice
held by her own language she steps out reaches
first toe then heel then weight on path of rich earth rising
earth will breathe her, sighing into the red dark hume.

She is herself
with the mother the father
and the storm is laughter
and the rocking gentle.

January 1990 

On air
your language makes me shudder
(strange cry to hug me to you)
through dessert dreams dim lit vestibules
shaky glimmers
energy urged towards each other

 In love
I give life's symmetry
(unexplainable mental imagery)
pungent cookery rough shapes fitting
and lasting lounging presence
as air lifting itself.

July 1988

I heard heroism
battle hung breast plates strung across her girth
leaping on my path wielding sward and staff in mouth wide cries
'For Wealth and Glory”
'Wealth for power, wealth for mercy, death to traitors.'
and wondered, when we accomplish our deepest wishes
undo our fervent desires
leave our scattered collecting plates for wishes,
when we are moved to un-complicate our fate
without moving no movement
without sound no sound
pure sound in music
sound delivered in one moment
one thought strewn across until
meeting gods out there
crossing boundaries there
greeting gorgeousness
view our potential there
will we gaze and turn away?
Or will love guide us to ourselves and gentle hold us in her arms and gentle lead us
to the depth of sound pushing against time
rhythmic echoing from depth
the depth of our longing
a continuum of purpose
our ocean?
Still, the world is peaceful.

October 1985

Belief in the rose is time
beyond and all through surging
in essense.
I believe,
and nature urges,
to witness beyond this time
is passionate reason.

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