Friday, June 19, 2009

One is Not Enough

I want my flowers curving,
their petals embracing space
in all its magnetism, quantum fluxes
and multiple dimensions.
I want lascivious sensual magnetic
lines and lemniscate sepals.

I desire splendor.

Let petal edges fractal,
curving to infinitesimal details.
Let the electromagnetic spectrum stand aside
in awe, muted before the frequencies
radiating as my colors.
Flowers are the creative universe recreating
joy in infinite non-repeating variation -
(relatively speaking) -
so give me flowers where I can nestle
deep between stamen and stigma
asleep on the labellum
until I slip light shifted,

What Pain

What pain lies falling on the edge of knives
fades into orange-red aching at the wrist

why do silver mirrored edges glide so easily
through unprotesting skin that weeps in red

but where is the ache located
and can it be surgically removed.

Reply to John Payne, a kyrielle

They do not end that cease to be.
Petals fall slow and purposely.
Bees leave at dusk for tomorrow's morn.
All things that end must soon transform.

The Earth turns round, a cycling sphere.
Seasons bring salmon over weirs.
The dying fish leave hatchlings born.
All things that end must soon transform.

Tide and Moon join the surging sea.
All things are bound, like flower and bee.
We each shape each and change our form.
All things that end must soon transform.

The loss of one is but one end.
A pause, and then begin again.
The loss of one, be free to mourn,
but wait. What ends must soon transform.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

My Friend

I used to think that memories
could only shadows be.
That loss and grief, regret uneased
wiped out reality.
No smile remembered counts as "smile."
No grateful tear as "wet"
if only held a little while
in memory, and yet,
the times have etched some days so sharp
that down the long-halled years
they stand still graced with present shape:
at ending, you are near.