Persephone’s Rose

March 15, 2015 § Leave a comment

Not yours, my love.
Nobody’s, really, except for 
my own hopes and expectations.
A little string of incidences 
that slowly dropped my heart.
That’s what I get for resting my heart
on a little string.
A knot here, a tear there.
The road to desire and affection 
is a bumpy and capricious ride.
I pull that string back to me, 
a fisherman retreating his line 
from the deep.
The tattered end a lost tassel
from some fleeing belly dancer 
that dropped her shoe 
rushing out the door.
The catch was lost 
along with the bait 
and she stuffs her beautiful dress 
in the cedar chest 
at the back of the closet
Perhaps to never see 
the light of day again
Solitude, with a splash of bitterness 
best served on a long, pouty stem.
I will fill my days 
with chickadees & driftwood…
I will take myself to the show,
perhaps wearing those 
dapper new pants 
and a drop of rose perfume
behind my ears.
Hope is Persephone’s Rose.


I’m an artist, Jim, not a physicist

March 15, 2015 § 1 Comment


March 13, 2015 § Leave a comment

I leave the window open at night
These nights are cold enough
That I still feed the woodstove.
I sit outside, listening to the frogs
Then come in, grateful for this dry warmth
But, when I crawl into bed
I leave the window open
So I can stick my toes out
And feel the night breeze
What luxury, tucked under & snuggled up 
in the warmth of dreams
Carried by my toes bathed 
In the breath of moonlight
This soft down of air
Sweeter than any goose breast
Curls around my feet
And teases my imagination
What kiss might be carried
By this gentle breeze?
What sweetheart might wish me good sleep
And pleasant dreams?


March 10, 2015 § Leave a comment

Today I went to the water with you.
I could not follow where you went
I did not have the shoes to walk 
across the sticky clam bed
I watched you grow small against the lowtide
Your journey goes on without me.
So many times, I have watched you walk.
I will tuck a fishbone behind my ear
And lay in the sun
There are so many songs that we have sung together
And so many more for us to sing
Many of them I don’t even know the melody yet
Little brother, little sister
My friend, my lover
Your hands reach big for the sky
I will grow small and wait
As your heart soars
As your feet journey
And I will join you when your song echoes in the trees
I do not know your journey
I cannot possibly know
The places you have been
The places you will go
I know my own quiet steps
Here, closer to the shoreline
I will walk along the driftwood
And I know that your footprints 
Will eventually come back to me.

The woman I am becoming

March 6, 2015 § Leave a comment

The woman I am becoming

Is here, whether I am ready or not.
Like a tree,
These things continue to grow
Whether we are present to witness, or not.
Here, now, I can see where this limb has grown
Unchecked and wild.
And this other, here, no longer bears fruit
But in spite of the boring worms and blackened bark
Continues to live.
The woman that I am becoming is here.
She sneaks a scarf of blue sky
Around my neck on the way out the door.
A sprig of Cedar somehow made its way
Into my hair
The song of wrens adorns my ears
And suddenly I want to wear
My red dress
For no reason at all.
The woman I am becoming is here
I stretch back my shoulders
And find an ache
From where she has been trying
To open my ribs.
She put eggs in my bed
So that I unwittingly
Warm the plans
That she is hatching
She reads the unopened books
That sit on my bedside table
She makes note
Of the new spring nettles
That would feed my blood
My afternoon, slotted for work,
Is suddenly taken up
with repotting all my plants
In the sunshine.
The woman I am becoming
Took me out into the meadow
To stare at the moon.
I didn’t even notice
That my feet had gotten soaking wet

Your heart

March 6, 2015 § Leave a comment

Don’t hand me your heart.
Don’t turn over to me all of your hopes, all of your fears…
Don’t give to me that most beautiful, precious thing that only belongs to you.
I will tell you now, I did that once. I never got all of it back.
By all means, show me…
Give me that one, tiny glimpse.
There are things made on this earth
That are created to withstand
the sun, the spray of ocean water…
There are things that grow
With the dew and the frost
There are things that can scramble
Through the gritty earth and pebbles
And moss and bark
But there are some things
That are so tender
That stay wrapped 
in the layers of years
Tend to this quiet garden
It is only your breath
That can raise
This tender shoot
My own lumbers through the forest
Her wrappings are tattered
Her feet have become like claws
The shit of birds litters her hair…
And she sings the squirrels to sleep.

Where Am I?

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