Sunday, October 31, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
that is how easy the days have become
we like drinking and writing
and moving through brain-funnels
opening our heart-tunnels
until light creatures
or splash with the paddle edge
amongst the lunatic birds
that shriek intruder
even the coffee and breakfast at noon in twin peaks
cannot sharpen an edge
that wouldn't lay in the grass
listening to the birds
in the cacophony of spring
And even if the words do
bounce on a rope weaving in the wind
over a meaningless chasm
what would be freedom
if not a fearless walker
surrendering his life to the day
with nothing but trees, and grass and sky
mirrors unlike screens
without canned lightning and couch candy
but the time of trees
and the ferocity of nesting birds
and the honesty of dirt
we write like horses
set free in the field
snorting the bright air
hooves kicking hard
as dust coats our words
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Like an invisible but shimmering god of air and water
I take steps over the forest hills, slow and plodding,
covering great distances.
Beneath, I drive my car down a rural 2 lane highway
lined consistently with tall trees, on my way to work.
Here and there, in privacy, as I listen to my tunes,
I am stepped on by my own spirit
(which rarely looks down).
Often when the symptoms of dysomnia react
With the stress of caring for patients
Rain falls around the car and my heart
hydroplanes, drifts as if on a puddle,splashes to stop.
My soul clambers upon inanimate heroes, scrambles for their light. Wrings coffee with kidneys and bowels just to get along. The weather snaps into a shocking cold after a hot summer and the first rain pours. Thoughts turn inward, the eyes receive less sun and coffee now is the meanest hero.
It wakes me up to work me up the mountain. An arbutus, overlooking the harbor and the surrounding islands, meets me impassive in it’s glory. Like I’d like to sip coffee sometimes on my deck, overlooking the yard.
The arbutus could not be happier to bake in the mellow, hot autumn sun. Mist clears, revealing its glee at an expansive ocean view, prime real estate. Dew evaporates quickly, the tree basks and so slowly, sheds its papery bark. My lower moods are envious. But, You’ve made it here with me, it says, we both breathe, we’re both lucky in sun. We meet at an important healthy intersection, you with your lungs and your sweating, me with a more relaxed, more tortured growing.
It’s roots are like steel cables spidering over the rocks.
Back inside, I place my hand on the table, it has the shakes from its coffee buzz. I think, I try to think amongst the coffee anxiety, the ancient questions, the simple ones. Where do I come from? A steady hand, fingers outstretched, high strung. I squeeze a stone. Why do we live and die? I need some carbs, need chopsticks first. In easy reach, these doughty saviors of the drawer glow with a nostalgia from 2 years ago. A kind of pain.
Thin, dextrous bridge of basic engineering between panic and nourishment, need and chewing. The distance between hand and food divided by two equals manners. I crash from the coffee, the sugar, the hike, in an urgent crescendo. I scratch the wood clean before beginning noodles.
As I eat, noodles swim in the soup of my brain, silly noodle thoughts sliming through my days. Starchy beginnings for quickly heated ideas. Minute noodles, minute poems. Fast food philosophy. The coffee, the arbutus, the chopsticks, the noodles, all these heroes stand me up face to face with the day. I teeter over the future.