BIG BOYS
The deep sadness
The red anger space
The hang on tight we
Might end up in the next county passion
All hidden behind the great wall of control
That terrible land where I locked
the little boy who could cry
And if I open the door to one of these
will they come bursting out
And with what years
of build up force behind them
I know big boys don’t cry
I don’t remember why
would they die
DRAGONS
Beyond the maps of the ancient world
“There, be dragons”
Beyond the ways of parents and of peers
“There, be dragons”
Beyond the days of preachers and
of teachers
“There, be dragons”
Beyond where you know or
have dared to go
“There, be dragons”
A toe tip, a step, and a stride
Heart, arm and sword,
steeled by the fiery breath
How sweet the dragon’s meat,
and the maiden’s
Another mark on another map
“Here, be dead dragons”
PICTURE TAKING
The simple people of the earth
do not like to have their pictures taken
They say it captures them
and takes away their souls
If you’ve been with those you love
who still can see you only as you were
And for their own good reasons
need to keep you there
While your every urge of
every breath says grow
Then you’ll know
what the simple people know
ERIK BLOMBERG
“That one might be translated into light and song”
– Erik Blomberg
And yet the fear, the fear
always the fear that we
may loose something
in the translation
CATCHING UP
Deep silences, deep forests,
and deep friends
help me to stop and to see
That while I sometimes pursue my bliss
it is always pursuing me
GRACE
All is grace that falls upon us
The opening lotus
holds more
of the holy water
REQUIEM
“There is nothing sad about an empty shell.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupery The Little Prince
My
poetry
is the shell
I leave you now.
It’s spiralled substance
all I’ve known of life and love.
See how it winds, and ever opens
stained with all the colors of my growth
and every gift and every touch of all of you and more
Hold it to your ear
you may hear the ocean
SHIRLEY
Remind me to write you a poem someday
There are lots of things that I’d like to say
Your opening up has been to me
A beautiful beautiful thing to see
I haven’t the words to express it today
But remind me to write you a poem someday
GOOD OLD BOYS
For years you’ve been cleaning up your act
But now the good old boys are coming back
And the guy they’re coming back to see
Is the good old boy that you used to be
You broke some broncs and drank some
beers
And played tough football in those
years
Cruised to front and back seat double
features
And took big guns to kill small timid
creatures
Since then you’ve passed through many a
door
But can’t say to them. I’m not that person
anymore
Of course they may have changed too
But how oh how could they tell … You