Wednesday, December 28, 2005

an attempt at haiku?

That there are limits
to the time we can savor
allows me freedom

that when I'm with you
I want drink you in as
deeply as I can

And left, then, apart
this longing brings forth the muse
singing so sweetly

She stretches within
She draws from me this beauty
These flowers of ink

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Let me introduce

a fellow poet. Here is a piece by James Lee Jobe, posted at Putah Creek. (See links) Check out his blog. He shares his work and that of other poets and news of readings in his local area.


WHAT YOU COULD BECOME


You can become many things in just one life; a lover

with breath on fire, touching like flame a sensual meaning;

a hammer for bent, spent nails; a yellow-eyed goat

chewing the grass behind the fencepost; a cloud;

tomorrow itself with time not passing.

You change by the lone dance of your will, and you own

only what you can carry inside the invisible pouch,

as change is your end and your means, what you become

is that which you already are, you silly dreamer,

you fool of poems and hopes uncounted.

A killer, cold and distant; the dog that didn't whimper;

the place where motion and light caress each other.

It is hard to say what you could become.


James Lee Jobe


My response to an inquiry from him follows -
More thoughts on mermaids...
Mermaids represent the sensual, the mysterious, a sense of curiosity, openness, a certain type of naivete (not to be confused with benevolence or goodness or sweetness as mermaids don't make these type of human distinctions.) A mermaid is drawn to others but pleased enough to be of herself in beautiful surroundings, a mermaid values beauty above almost everything else.

He replied, "sounds like a poet..."
(Thanks Jim)

Thursday, December 01, 2005

An Evening Mermaid

I remember that evening still,
when a moment of night stars stopped time,
when music filled the air
and a mermaid shadowed the cabin door.


How the room became a tandem sigh,
Breathiness and deep whispers
to the steady rhythm of pure passion,
until the faint streak of morning sun approached
and suddenly gone.


An evening to remember
I sit quietly beside myself
asking in a muted voice,
will the night return in ever such a way?
I remember that evening still.

sr