All the stars that crowd the ether—
Unremarkable, compliant—
Travel routes which are reliant
On the plan prescribed by nature.
Men’s desires have deceived her
As she dwindles, meek and pliant,
Though I bid her stay defiant.
Once the pivot passed beneath her
Never could she make a detour.
Do you see it? That red glow,
low and clinging to the horizon,
unnerving in its ambiguity.
Even the stars recoil.
Oil and water, earth and sky—
I cannot reconcile them,
Embattled as they are—
Ardent and unmanned.
And so my children learn their place:
asymmetrical, the scales of power.
Were you about to argue?
You, with your injured pride?
I’d hold my tongue, if I were you.
You have nothing to fear.
In which I attempt an echo poem, which is harder than it seems. This one may have run off the rails a bit…
My lover leaves her name outside my door
when evening gives us leisure to explore
the sounds between the silences, the stark
divide, the interplay of light and dark,
each night more daring than the night before.
And when I cannot tally anymore
the whispered count, the reckoning of scores,
I catalogue each kiss and every mark
my lover leaves.
At last she fetches wine and bids me pour;
she offers me her cup: one sip, no more.
And having kindled flame from love’s last spark
before the jaded warning of the lark,
my sheets like moonlight cast upon the floor,
my lover leaves.
I’m catching up on unfinished projects. This is a rondeau, which was the subject of yeah write’s May 2016 poetry slam.
Between this stolen ship and home
a promise made (a broken vow)
was written in the rolling foam.
Between this stolen ship and home
a breach too wide to cross has grown.
I toss a ring across the bow
between this stolen ship and home:
a promise, made a broken vow.
High in the mountains
a lake reflects a white peak,
the heart of the sky.
She yearns for the summit but
A river runs but one way.
