pantoum 2

I glided gold across a cloud of gloom

and skated silver on an icy pond

imagining the fish below entombed

like pictures in a dream, making no sound.

I skated silver on an icy pond

of memories, the life I knew before.

Like pictures in a dream, making no sound,

they dodged my reach, vanished into the air.

To memories, the life I knew before,

I do not cling, but rather float above.

They dodged my reach, vanished into the air

‘Til my hands were empty, ready to hold love.

I do not cling, but rather float above,

Imagining the fish below entombed.

‘Til my hands were empty, ready to hold love,

I glided gold across a cloud of gloom.

perseverance

You are the author, the author of me-
so on the subject, you must be the prime authority.

You are my creator, the potter who molds the clay.
So tell me who I am, Lord. Teach me my frame.

The author of my faith, you created faith in me.
To be your servant is the only way I can be free.

Let me run with perseverance whatever race you've marked for me.
Let me fix my eyes upon your Son, my gaze on Calvary.

cinderella

When the clock strikes midnight
in the castle of despair,
she is a Cinderella
running promptly down the stairs.

She speeds back home to safety-
never leaves behind a shoe.
No dark prince can follow where she goes,
far from the halls of gloom.

Far from the ballroom's lofty music,
she now hums a simple tune-
sheds her costume, feeds the mice,
bends to pick up a broom.

elsie

Elsie is a quiet dragon
aching to explode,
a poet in the corner
striking fear into her foes.

She speaks so softly
all the class leans forward, listens close,
but neither hears her silent screams
nor detects the scent of smoke.

What hides inside that muted mind?
I work to crack the code.
I sense a little light of mine
beneath bushels of woe.

A strong voice snuffed and smothered
by some burning in the throat.
Dear Elsie, I am listening.
Read me the riddle of your soul.

ascension

Can a poem sprout in a dark room-
doors locked,
curtains closed
to every golden drop of sunshine?

Can a poem alone,
from the meager warmth of words,
summon up enough strength
to pull itself from the earth?

No.
The cannibal poem cannot grow.
Open the curtains- place it close to a window
where it can swim an endless sunny lane,
from stagnant circles
to sparkling pilgrim chain.

Better yet,
plant the poem careful in the ground.
Watch it burst into flower
and quickly ascend-
See it link the unlikely,
the foreign befriend.

Let it spread its roots deep
in a world that is wide.
Feel with it small
and never satisfied.

campfire

Autumn calls and sends a lovely chill
down my sleepy spine, against the waves of will.
An orange campfire wakes under my skin,

and when you’re near it glows with oxygen.

Come, gather round with marshmallows and sticks!

I am warm and wonderful and full of tricks-

could walk a tightrope stretched across the town,

or toast you to an expert golden brown.

But sadly, you escape my trembling hands

and shoot up like a spark into the wind.

You carve a quick orange trail into the sky,
a trail I cannot walk, nor can I fly.

So I let the marshmallows burn to total ash.

and learn the taste of fire, reckless, rash.
I sing familiar campfire songs under the stars,
and welcome the inevitable winter with my inevitable guitar.

waiting

I remember lying in the grass,
waiting for rain to come-
for ideas to flow
like droplets from the sky
or grass up from the ground
into my skull.

I remember lying
with my back in the snow
and my face to the white sky,
soaking in the blank,
waiting to fall asleep
and wake up frozen
in a snow bank.

I remember walking
down the sidewalk
and in aimless circles
around the cul-de-sac,
waiting for someone
to suddenly appear
and save the day
or listen to me talk.

I remember sitting
silent on a rock,
listening to the trees'
roaring applause.
The wind had given them
a sensational show.
I could not see a single act,
although I felt him bow.

I turned into a little leaf
scooped up by a gust
and carried to your feet.
You were there in the rain
and the grass and the snow
all that time I waited blind,
oblivious to the show.