the hinges of the hidden door
groaned slowly with time’s passing.
then the room, the open window’s
breath of wind faint upon my skin.
the soft yellow morning light
magnified the grey layer of dust
astonished by the memory of years.
Month: July 2017
Disappearing
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I followed my ghost
for hours last night,
wandering from year
to year, event to event,
watching the haunting
progression of someone
who will never be again.
prophet
we find religion in currency
then make currency religion.
pass the plate around
or put it on plastic –
onward christian soldiers
replaced with charging
for the kingdom, jets and all,
politics be damned –
bow down to the dollar
and you will be blessed.
prosperity for the preachers,
mega mortgages for the masses.
present
the tires on the borrowed car
cannot grasp the ice beneath
we slide spin turn accelerate
then the dull thud as the lincoln
crashes against a bank of snow
caroms unharmed across the lot
we laugh scream wild with life
until another drift launches us
somewhere we cannot imagine
* From Awaiting the Images
perfect loss
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into the fire
out seared
beaten
battered
immersed in water
the afterglow surges
steams
spatters
enters again
unyielding
prayer
you are the looming gray cloud
overhead everywhere ominous
a reminder of rain too long absent
pour yourself onto this field
where cracks and lines trace
the years of scorching loss
i stand in your shade
a respite from an unyielding sun
waiting for your rushing flood
Reflections by R.S. Thomas
If you aren’t familiar with R.S. Thomas, then I invite you to read some of his work. I discovered his poetry in 1997 in a 20th Century British Poetry class in college, and I was immediately hooked.
Reflections – R.S. Thomas
The furies are at home
in the mirror; it is their address.
Even the clearest water,
if deep enough can drown.
Never think to surprise them.
Your face approaching ever
so friendly is the white flag
they ignore. There is no truce
with the furies. A mirror’s temperature
is always at zero. It is ice
in the veins. Its camera
is an X—ray. It is a chalice
held out to you in
silent communion, where gaspingly
you partake of a shifting
identity never your own.
shadow
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I watch through the window
as we race down the runway,
and our plane’s shadow stays
coupled until the wheels
disengage. We ascend
and I see the full shadow
skim across a small lake,
fade over a field, and vanish.
I wonder if I’ll ever elude
the shadow following me.
midnight
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elements of loss
scatter throughout
the evening sky,
yet fading stars
pervade our sight.
something shattered
now refurbished
by waves and beams
from another time,
illuminating
our dismal dark.
Struggle
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He is stuck again
between the spaces
of past and future,
moving along invisible
lines, bound to now
until it ends. How grim
an existence if not for dark
and light places revealing
the colors of grace sparkling
like the sun upon a dancing sea.
*From Awaiting the Images
Awaiting the Images 