queen of clover with eyes that pierce
clouds, smile, and soak up life at a dead run;
feet splashed with purple marks, purple violets hidden
in white hollows of adventurous ankles -
you are royally alive & i think
you have a secret name for each ray of sun that hits the water,
you have many secret & very green songs
that you sing, sometimes softly,
in praise to the dandelion-craftsman King.
when from afar i watched you wander the further field
spinning harmony with a winsome wind,
i thought "this is april, queen of clover"
and you are,
though april days will soon be over.
4/28/2009
4/14/2009
The Dark-Named Sword
Ashel named his sword, haft and all,
and it answered to his hand with a silver song.
Blade and blood, death and darkness, brotherhood & beer, Ashel's sword could sing!
battle after battle, the song went on --Ashel's fame spread, and he was invited to feasting halls of great kings. He was given arm rings with jeweled snake eyes,
and his spear often brought down the Devil's boar or the Queen's hart.
And it seemed a sort of peace was in Ashel's hands,
so long as the haft of his dear-named sword was too.
yet peace is not love, and a sword blade is poor company on the cold nights when the rushes shiver on the floor and loneliness leaks through the thatch. Ashel took a wife,
golden-haired and thrush-browed, quick and strong, the daughter of a fighting man. Auri was a woman proud of her husband's silver-song, proud of the sword and swift with the oil. Ashel loved her fiercely and gently;
he lay awake beside her low breathing, pondering the two sides of the world. For Auri, she was fire and ice to him, the sun and the shade, the wine and the thirst. Somehow she was kin to his secret-named sword. There was life & death in both of them, one in his hand and the other in his heart.
battle after battle, the song went on --but among its silver notes crept a warmer tone, the gold of a girl's hair and the warm-orange tint of a hearth fire. Ashel's hand still knew the haft of the true-named sword, but now his eyes saw the blood leaking from men's bodies, and it seemed a steep price for the skald's glory-making.
Ashel lay awake many nights, pondering the two sides of the world. He saw the moon crest the northern hills, and heard the first mewling cries of his son's birth hour. Ashel felt his heart beat with bruising force; an intense longing for the silver days of his clear-named sword came over him, and Ashel reached for the weight of it to hold it once more. But instead the midwife placed Magne in his arms, the warrior-son Auri had hoped for. Ashel looked down at his small red son, and the silver-song was forgotten, and his heart bruised his chest with pride. There was life, life & life in the song now, and his sword hung quietly.
it was battle after battle that Magne asked for, story after story, and Asher growled and grinned his way through many hours, the silver-sword song a dim quiet thing in his mind. the days went on, and Ashel's was not the only gold-haired woman who swelled with child. The whole Skird Valley became settled, and peace grazed with the oxen in the new-fenced fields.
And yet the long-named sword did not forget the song, nor did the skalds lose their heart-hunger for a new tale.
Magne grew older, Auri wiser, and Ashel pondered the two sides of the world less and less, for were they not sitting beside him? His wife & her moon-ways and his son & his boyish wonder - the halves made a whole, and his long-named sword hung quietly.
winter came again, and after it a crow's rumor, barely winging over the muddy plains: tight-faces raiders, barbarians with strange eyes & swift horses. And soon the fences were broken,
Auri's heart was broken,
for Magne fought and fell. Ashel wept apart, and his heart was divided into the two sides of the world. Let the skalds sing his dead son's name -let the glory of his wolf-death glimmer on their lips, but for Ashel, there was a different song.
Both hands remember the feel of it - now he holds his dark-named sword, haft and all.
Blade and blood, death and darkness, pain and parting
it could still sing!
Ashel smiled - it answered to his hand with a silver-song.
battle after battle there was not, but there was one,
and of that
the skald's still sing - it is a long song and true,
woven through with golden-tints and deep ponderings
of Ashel
and his dark-named sword.
and it answered to his hand with a silver song.
Blade and blood, death and darkness, brotherhood & beer, Ashel's sword could sing!
battle after battle, the song went on --Ashel's fame spread, and he was invited to feasting halls of great kings. He was given arm rings with jeweled snake eyes,
and his spear often brought down the Devil's boar or the Queen's hart.
And it seemed a sort of peace was in Ashel's hands,
so long as the haft of his dear-named sword was too.
yet peace is not love, and a sword blade is poor company on the cold nights when the rushes shiver on the floor and loneliness leaks through the thatch. Ashel took a wife,
golden-haired and thrush-browed, quick and strong, the daughter of a fighting man. Auri was a woman proud of her husband's silver-song, proud of the sword and swift with the oil. Ashel loved her fiercely and gently;
he lay awake beside her low breathing, pondering the two sides of the world. For Auri, she was fire and ice to him, the sun and the shade, the wine and the thirst. Somehow she was kin to his secret-named sword. There was life & death in both of them, one in his hand and the other in his heart.
battle after battle, the song went on --but among its silver notes crept a warmer tone, the gold of a girl's hair and the warm-orange tint of a hearth fire. Ashel's hand still knew the haft of the true-named sword, but now his eyes saw the blood leaking from men's bodies, and it seemed a steep price for the skald's glory-making.
Ashel lay awake many nights, pondering the two sides of the world. He saw the moon crest the northern hills, and heard the first mewling cries of his son's birth hour. Ashel felt his heart beat with bruising force; an intense longing for the silver days of his clear-named sword came over him, and Ashel reached for the weight of it to hold it once more. But instead the midwife placed Magne in his arms, the warrior-son Auri had hoped for. Ashel looked down at his small red son, and the silver-song was forgotten, and his heart bruised his chest with pride. There was life, life & life in the song now, and his sword hung quietly.
it was battle after battle that Magne asked for, story after story, and Asher growled and grinned his way through many hours, the silver-sword song a dim quiet thing in his mind. the days went on, and Ashel's was not the only gold-haired woman who swelled with child. The whole Skird Valley became settled, and peace grazed with the oxen in the new-fenced fields.
And yet the long-named sword did not forget the song, nor did the skalds lose their heart-hunger for a new tale.
Magne grew older, Auri wiser, and Ashel pondered the two sides of the world less and less, for were they not sitting beside him? His wife & her moon-ways and his son & his boyish wonder - the halves made a whole, and his long-named sword hung quietly.
winter came again, and after it a crow's rumor, barely winging over the muddy plains: tight-faces raiders, barbarians with strange eyes & swift horses. And soon the fences were broken,
Auri's heart was broken,
for Magne fought and fell. Ashel wept apart, and his heart was divided into the two sides of the world. Let the skalds sing his dead son's name -let the glory of his wolf-death glimmer on their lips, but for Ashel, there was a different song.
Both hands remember the feel of it - now he holds his dark-named sword, haft and all.
Blade and blood, death and darkness, pain and parting
it could still sing!
Ashel smiled - it answered to his hand with a silver-song.
battle after battle there was not, but there was one,
and of that
the skald's still sing - it is a long song and true,
woven through with golden-tints and deep ponderings
of Ashel
and his dark-named sword.
pyre
when i found out i wasn't long for this world
i grew bitter
at the stars and trees
and the copper money in my hand -
they would all outlast me
and have a place in the world
long
long after i was murmuring in the earth.
so i caught the stars and melted them down, one by one, and strung them on my daddy's old shoelaces, and hung them on the cat.
and i cut down the trees, one by one, and built a beautifull ship and put it at the edge of the deepest lake i know of.
then i climbed over the railing of my boat and called over the cat. The stars sparked against the dried bark, and my pyre smoothly burned & sank, and i drifted, murmuring, to the soft earth.
what of the money? well, it wouldn't melt and it wouldn't float and the cat didn't want it, so i'd just dropped it, let it slide right from my hand onto the packed-down dirt.
because science may die, and beauty may perish, but greed will outlast us all.
i grew bitter
at the stars and trees
and the copper money in my hand -
they would all outlast me
and have a place in the world
long
long after i was murmuring in the earth.
so i caught the stars and melted them down, one by one, and strung them on my daddy's old shoelaces, and hung them on the cat.
and i cut down the trees, one by one, and built a beautifull ship and put it at the edge of the deepest lake i know of.
then i climbed over the railing of my boat and called over the cat. The stars sparked against the dried bark, and my pyre smoothly burned & sank, and i drifted, murmuring, to the soft earth.
what of the money? well, it wouldn't melt and it wouldn't float and the cat didn't want it, so i'd just dropped it, let it slide right from my hand onto the packed-down dirt.
because science may die, and beauty may perish, but greed will outlast us all.
"teach us how to pray"
Jack Grevvner had been walking along in the black dark, humming and watching the flare at the end of his cigarrette. No moon. But it wasn't the dark that Jack found bothersome,it was his complete and total apathy to it. A dog howled on chain to his left, but there was no shooting jolt of surprise to set his heart pounding.
the lack of fear can be a fearful thing.
the lack of fear can be a fearful thing.
Promise (rev 21)
for in that place there will be sleep
willingly given
without sweat or tears or terror.
in that place there will be wellness & comfort;
neither stars nor moon needfull in
the vast glory of the lord christ.
for the trinity will dwell triunely
in the hearts of all flesh that believes
father
son
holy spirit.
for in that place there will be unity
of spirit
mind
body.
there, wars will cease.
there, tears will cease.
there, fears will cease,
and sleep will be a gift of soft grace or dire need,
but we will not have to weep for it.
willingly given
without sweat or tears or terror.
in that place there will be wellness & comfort;
neither stars nor moon needfull in
the vast glory of the lord christ.
for the trinity will dwell triunely
in the hearts of all flesh that believes
father
son
holy spirit.
for in that place there will be unity
of spirit
mind
body.
there, wars will cease.
there, tears will cease.
there, fears will cease,
and sleep will be a gift of soft grace or dire need,
but we will not have to weep for it.
4/13/2009
Cancer?
ick ick ick ick ick ick ick
warm green gel ALL over everywhere
and i was gently spreading it out
when she looked me right in the eye
and said,
"It's made of baby aliens, isn't it?"
and laughed loudly,
a good healthy sound
that somehow made me proud
to be
a
radiologist.
warm green gel ALL over everywhere
and i was gently spreading it out
when she looked me right in the eye
and said,
"It's made of baby aliens, isn't it?"
and laughed loudly,
a good healthy sound
that somehow made me proud
to be
a
radiologist.
4/08/2009
TO my ROOMIE!
On a cold winter day when the snow and stone
somberly sat in the cold all alone
and the wind in the trees
was a whispering breeze
murmuring low in sad cemetaries
I ventured abroad
over the sod;
I was mad
and tad
bit angry at God.
"Why not more snow? Why this dusting disgusting?
If you're really divine, then the sky should be busting!"
And sullen I wandered this way and that,
thwacking thick slabs with my un-needed hat
and thinking dark thoughts about sunshine and school
and forgetting completely the number one rule-
Don't walk through a graveyard reading off names
when you're angry at God. The mind likes to play games
it's the best worst sort of king
you might just find a name with too familiar a ring.
Thus did it pass, while enrapt in my self,
I stumbled and fell. And there on a shelf
of ice and of stone, graven clear and unworn
was the name "Rachel Reiley." I swear and I've sworn
many times since that day
that I saw what I saw and that's still what I'll say.
I saw her fair name cut quite horribly sharp
and beneath it a picture of a child-sized harp.
"Rest now, Beloved, rest and be warm.
Hawaii will miss your grace and your charm."
Frozen I stood, tears froze as they fell.
My roomate? My Rachel? Now like a door-nail?
I fled past the trees, sombre and stil,
I fled past the tombstones as I ran up the hill.
I fled and I fled just as hard as I could,
but it didn't matter, it did me no good.
For no sooner than breathless at home did I get,
then I found Reiley dead. Quite dead.
That was it.
And no matter the days that lie in between
that ‘then’ and this ‘now’, I’m sure what I’ve seen.
People may whisper and preachers may rant,
but this really happened and conceal it I can't.
I know what I know and I saw what I saw.
(yet I think Rachel died because she ate sushi, raw).
somberly sat in the cold all alone
and the wind in the trees
was a whispering breeze
murmuring low in sad cemetaries
I ventured abroad
over the sod;
I was mad
and tad
bit angry at God.
"Why not more snow? Why this dusting disgusting?
If you're really divine, then the sky should be busting!"
And sullen I wandered this way and that,
thwacking thick slabs with my un-needed hat
and thinking dark thoughts about sunshine and school
and forgetting completely the number one rule-
Don't walk through a graveyard reading off names
when you're angry at God. The mind likes to play games
it's the best worst sort of king
you might just find a name with too familiar a ring.
Thus did it pass, while enrapt in my self,
I stumbled and fell. And there on a shelf
of ice and of stone, graven clear and unworn
was the name "Rachel Reiley." I swear and I've sworn
many times since that day
that I saw what I saw and that's still what I'll say.
I saw her fair name cut quite horribly sharp
and beneath it a picture of a child-sized harp.
"Rest now, Beloved, rest and be warm.
Hawaii will miss your grace and your charm."
Frozen I stood, tears froze as they fell.
My roomate? My Rachel? Now like a door-nail?
I fled past the trees, sombre and stil,
I fled past the tombstones as I ran up the hill.
I fled and I fled just as hard as I could,
but it didn't matter, it did me no good.
For no sooner than breathless at home did I get,
then I found Reiley dead. Quite dead.
That was it.
And no matter the days that lie in between
that ‘then’ and this ‘now’, I’m sure what I’ve seen.
People may whisper and preachers may rant,
but this really happened and conceal it I can't.
I know what I know and I saw what I saw.
(yet I think Rachel died because she ate sushi, raw).
pet me, please
she came in and jerked the thermostat over to 80. She didn't look at today's mail or reach for the WSJ, but just sat on the couch by the radiator. She looked so small and cold that I was moved with pity. It would be awhile before the room warmed up. In a leap, I was on her lap. Humans have such inefficient systems - no fur! However, she did not begin absently stroking me. She just stared at the wall.
I began to purr, partly in panic. what was wrong with my human?
I began to purr, partly in panic. what was wrong with my human?
4/07/2009
Lee’s Mary Anna
______________________________
I buried my heart southeast of desire
far from streams or cities
under a spring green sky.
I could have laughed or wept
but I just hollowed out a little place
and walked away.
There is only one man I would follow blindfold
and his grey-head rests gently
under a spring green sky.
I buried him northwest of sorrow.
I buried my heart southeast of desire
far from streams or cities
under a spring green sky.
I could have laughed or wept
but I just hollowed out a little place
and walked away.
There is only one man I would follow blindfold
and his grey-head rests gently
under a spring green sky.
I buried him northwest of sorrow.
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