Soot and Turpentine
Is it me,
unraveled from this cocoon in linen,
hair disheveled &
freed from a slumbering prison?
Is it me, in skibbies,
pale, fuzzy,
not pretty,
clawing desperately at the coffee machine?
I hear an echo in my heart.
A song, quiet and forgiving
that wants to be
out & open,
bouncing from the walls,
but
I have lost this battle.
This search & rescue,
bested by better men
more apt at fitting in.
Across the field
where mother sleeps,
the birds tear through the winter wind
scouring her dirt for seed.
Is it me in the window,
staring, reflected through the cold,
eyes fixed on nothing
but the questions in my soul?
Is it me, in this madness,
this shell that I've become
or the graceful spirit
that kept me safe when I was young?
Has my heart become cliche?
Have my words fallen from grace?
And you?
When did you find the old dead tree
and place her broken branches
behind the hearth
where the fire meets
the cold
to warm my bones?
Where did you find the words
that struck the match
and kindling?
That sweetened the black
coffee in my blood with
rich and soothing cream?
Where the emptiness burned away
replaced by glowing embers
that light a place
for my pen upon this parchment?
This dark soot and turpentine
that scores the ancient maple tree?
Where did you come from?
Am I still asleep?
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| From The Sun, The Rain & The Appleseed |
Thought and Memory
I have two friends who serve me well
their company keeps me grounded
iridescent hues reflect from them
like enchanted messengers
wielding magic light from darkness
it is from my own mind they come
from the dark shades of violet-blue
where time has captured moments
and held them there in murky stillness
they are my hopes and dreams
they are my day to day madness
and when I'm lost I call to them
who remind me to think and remember
who I am, who I've been and where I'm going
They are my friends
ancient and mysterious
as the glowing embers of a night fire
bringing warmth and hypnotic dancing light
that conjures from the depths of my soul
these messengers I have called
Thought and Memory
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| From The Sun, The Rain & The Appleseed |
Lakota Spirit
- The word Lakota means "considered friends" or "alliance of friends" and denotes the union of seven Native American tribes who believe their home in the Black Hills of South Dakota is sacred. Coyotl, which means "little wolf", is an old Spanish name for Coyote, who is legend to be the trickster and could change his physical appearance.
In the red stained dirt
where the Lakota spider hunts,
calloused feet dance and pound the earth
coal black and rough. I sit atop the rocks
hunched over from thirst, exhausted and praying as I
stair into the eastern wind
where the mountains give birth to the sun.
My brother, the shy little wolf, coyotl in his masks, whose work
never ends, calls out in the early morning
soft and still.
My arms reach to the wind that falls
from the great whispering spirit, who
wanders the earth painting the skys and tall cliffs and
prairies, bursting water from mountain springs
returning with a whisper to the sea.
My voice cries out in song
from distant memory to the one from whom the spirit came
to the one who creates; and I weep. For I am
the unnamed sage, who is content with nothing
but the sound of the whispering spirit and the old red earth.
My eyes in constant wonder and my heart at peace
filled with the sadness in life
I believe, only joy can bring.
