Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

One Green Step (The Maids)

lonely hearts club maids
with ears
pinned against the walls
listen for the sounds
know will follow
the footsteps down the hall

she returned with that look,
and that walk, that way.
the gardener hid behind the tree
her eyes gave orders
through lightning's trance
her thoughts were now on he

he of whom they spoke of
in whispers from the dark
he despised, he adored
he who surely
will embark

on a journey
through the rooms
on stairways winding high
to the end, to the more,
at last the very last locked door
hiding pleasures so sublime

She's waiting there for him
in her Victorian attire
preparing flames of pleasure
on imaginations fury
knowing he will
feel the fire

The maids will
shush and giggle
as the bodice does it's work
and later tell the kitchen staff
the gardener and the clerk

his moans
cannot be silent
nor her pleasure held within.
their nosy envy
strains to hear
the thunder from the din

they'll dine tonight
to candle light
the maids will bow and give place
but later, locked in rooms alone
they'll touch themselves
remembering his face


Monday, January 19, 2009

Bearer of Water, Hewer of Wood

Bearer of Water, Hewer of Wood

The church bell clangs
reverberating throughout
steps pause
to lift an eye
to the others squint

It rings space and hope
and opportunity
watches are synced
smiles exchanged hats tipped

An anvil is a church bell
in a black hole
it clunks and thuds
passers grimace and close their ears
iron on iron in ugly nothing

Bearer of water, hewer of wood

See her there
on 5Th Ave?
feet that fly
hair that follows
like magical mice holding up the train

Those heels don’t land
they skip they graze, they fly
and don’t even wear

crowds part
-as if she'd notice

See him there
on dust and mud
somehow both
Tevye with his cart

The crowd looks down and away
ashamed of his shame
and his trail of tears

He plods Marley style
the tired feet
land like trees falling
the chains hide the wear

When he throws his head
the hair falls in his eyes

Bearer of water, hewer of wood

Jackman on the ledge
Depp on the bow
Swords raised
Hair flying
A glint a glitter
Teeth and eyes

Sparkle and pierce
in hero's glory

Damsels hang from the waist
He owns her terror
Clouds part
Soldiers flee
Horses bow

Ah, he’s won again
Credits roll

I stand on the cliff
all Wuthering Heights
waves crash below
threatening my impudence

I shake my fist to the sky
where is my ship?
where are my damsels?
my soldiers, horses and glory

Have I not bled
for the cause?
tell me then of my purse!

The clouds roll on their back
and laugh
For you? For you?
the waves retreat bored
knowing no foe

Bearer of water, hewer of wood

I glance to the house full of chores
No longer
Did you?
Have you?


I scream
to drown out the silence
that says ruin, ruin, all is lost!
the cold is a comfort
a friend an ally
that says we are one

A turn up-
silver streaks the blue
going to everywhere
leaving me behind
laughing, I know it

The storm raged last night
we anchored in the gale
the foreboding dawn
says we are drifting, drifting
on the great waves
toward the lee shore

All hands! All hands!
we’ll wreck!
and how then claw our way off?
I raise the mighty axe
the rope must be cut
the anchor freed
I bring it down

It thuds

The stump is too strong
Fucking oak

I fall to my knees in surrender
it is too late
we have wrecked
my fleet is no more
I reach for another stump
one of a thousand

Carry, cut, fix
Have you did you

Bearer of water, hewer of wood

Saturday, January 17, 2009

One Green Step

Great stone stairs
long and wide
winding down
far and sweeping

the earth grows wild

and ragged

on the edge

of heavy darkness

She leads
he follows
her fruit
the small of her back
the fullness of her hips
a brown skirt
thick in soft
hard in smooth

Her midnite coat
comes to there
no further

Her steps deliberate
click clack
upon the stone
grace in rhythm
nothing hurried
a language all it's own

He steps silent

in tribute

A gardener near the wall

shifting eyes

busy in nothingness

not acknowledged

merely to decorate

Her steps slow slightly
the syllables changing
the gardener twitches

She stops
he stops
time stops

An arm of silk lace
from beneath the shawl
nails touch the palm
a finger points down
the gardener looks away


The vapor follows the word
thick, sweet, hers
and drifts to his face

A step forward
and down
shadowed in her power
secure in her strength

And he paints
one step


Pitted and weather worn
scarred and honoured
painter and canvas

When finished
a slow glance upward
time measures the depth of her return
one sword upon another

Blades cannot cross
as one
but surrender is willing

He rises
her silent echo
as before
down the stone
click clack

The gardener stood
as the painter bowed

is he now servant to the gardener

Had she pointed there
the gardener would have
trembled in dispatch
knowing his place as well

What has she gained?
what she already had

And his gain?
what she already had

An agreement
perfect in settlement
consummated in device

Why green?
She knows

Might she not have stopped

Might he have refused?

Does the gardener know?
he thinks

Will he tell?
the power is in the keeping
the whoring in the telling

All whores have a price
and knowledge an author

Click clack
click clack

Is it bridge?


To where?

Click clack

Click clack


Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Mysteries Of The Deep

I awoke at three AM and couldn't get back to sleep. My mind drifted to the sea as it often does.

There is the beach. Bright haired blonds play there in their orange and pink and blue bathing suits. The waves come in like little playthings. There is laughter and cigarette butts. Those that go in and out, push forward bullying there way through the silly waves. No danger here. Far too shallow. Small fish in small waters.

It is familiar and secure however. We can see towers of mortar and steel guarding over it's creators on the edge of nature. We can drag our bags and towels across the parking lot and get into our pale gas bombs that some slick salesman waxed on about it's beauty. Salesmen even too shallow for the beach.

But where my mind went in this nether region of the night. This three thirteen AM, Was to the deep. Far off the continental shelf where the water turns deep blue and then black. Danger lurks everywhere and even your feet cannot be seen. No Starbucks in the distance. No steel and mortar. No one to save you from the tide.

It is here in the unknown depths where I know not which mountains lie beneath me, that I like to play. Here great, dark thoughts swim through like great whales who know not the pull of gravity nor the foolishness of man's inventions.

It is in these depths, that I have come across a woman whose coffee is good and her stories wonderful. But you must come in through the back door, she warns. The bright-haired blonds use the front. And it is noisy.

And down deep where the silence echoes, I met a beautiful woman with piercing eyes and the just-so-right hat. She drifts among the trenches and fights mortality with her own brand of mojo.
She comes into view like a shadow from nothing and smiles, accepting my presence. Then continues on to further explore her own depths. There are many like her in these deep waters
who I have yet to bump into.

The beach woke me up. The deep sang me to sleep.