i am nostalgic for all these things

coffee

on laidback mornings when light
is still dim but growing
and the sun has yet to stretch
from its midnight rest, meanwhile
water falls from its rolling boil
and subsides to a humming churn
— a background lofi track for
lifting kettlepouring waterdripping coffee thatdripsanddripsamber of another place
to place of cup unrushed
time seeping is what it takes
for this to percolate, until
burning reality must be faced
misty thoughts still clinging dissipate
— yet a lofi sound worm track
plays stilland beatsin my head

late nights

off kiltered circadian rhythms
are kindling for sleepless nights
crouching over processed trees
used for inferior means
while infinite stars rotate ignored
in perfect symmetry
so maybe
I’ll shove this to the side
and stare at the cloudless sky

h
o
u
s
e

p l a n t s

bring a plant inside
on shelf and water it while
outside garden dies.

condensed forest of broad leaves
against white walls of concrete.

sward

laying out with backs to the grass
while dog rolls between the blades
face first
in a field sunbaked yet grows green
must be
what’s underneath our
bodies still
despite the rotting and decay
grass deepens then reaches for the
blazing sky
filling lungs with scented revery
for the dusking walk home

mangroves

bodies contorting in an     avant-garde dance
frozen mid     motion into windswept hands
sun bleached skeleton     twisting upward in
supplication     graying with each lapping wave

l
o
n
e
l
i
n
e
s
s

this is what

alone

feels like in the
dark with no light.

summer storms

a blank canvas of gray
shapeless solid shifting
sometimes drizzling rain
but now hinting of warm
setting sun rays hiding
unseenultimatelythe canvas crumples
into visible clouds
billows balm pink blushing
but now fading to gray
shadows blanketing earth
unseenultimately

clay

sunbaked clay immersing a summer world
in its orange hue glow even though it hides below
cut grass pressed dry by polite people’s feet
into smooth trails I walk along alone
while nodding at passerby in silence.

w a t e r

f
a
l
l

friends sitting on a rock
watching cold water fall
and saying nothing at all
while leaves float to the surface
from trees shedding the last
memories of spring.

geese

sitting on the front step
waiting for the sunset
behind cedars lining
road dusty from day’s drudgery
and then I hear
from another unpaved path
traveled in formation
travelers in migration
from frigid mountain streams
their currents slowing into solids
freezing last summer’s dreams

blowdryers

tiptoeing on a stool
to cast my reflection
onto the bathroom mirror with fingers half the size
gripping a blowdryer meant for drying dripping heads
but I blow everything
except for my head

hot air making the hair
on my neck stick straight out
my shirt rising like a jellyfish, slow motion
floating, covered in bumps up and down my spinal ridge
they spread with shivering
as good feelings do

white noise droning, drowning
after shower hours
into foggy clock hands and foggier mirrors filled
with cowlicks and damp feet
i can’t see past misty
imagery — but i still hear
the oscillating beat

fall

leaves parachuting to earth
before the first snow
have a way of persuading
brain neurons to slow
down the mental stream
till it’s trickling
with thoughts so sparse one sneaks in
from their home of now bare limbs

c
o
l
d

s
h
e
e
t
s

40 degrees
not enough to freeze
but enough
to stay
in bed.

december

rhythms just offbeat enough to
make leaves dance by the window now
closed to the blue sky’s brisk
breeze looking for a warm place to
look through frosted panes from the
other side

winter monochrome

as birds come to roost
and sun sinks to rest
in caves below horizons
now bleeding last gasp
of colors once flush with life
pink and indigo and gold
hues now fading fast
then shuddering cold
into desaturated wind
full of white and midnight and ice

to: Innocence

.15 - 3.18

the lost song

As a young boy, I wandered late at night
Under covers, quilt, and glowing stars
In a forest wild of a wilder sprite
Sitting on a rock and playing a pipe
I sat in the clearing of a tree ring
Under the sprite’s beating music spell
And it taught me how to make six holes sing
A lost song
I can’t remember.

I still feel the rhythm late at night
Of everything but the wishful aching
For a wooded haunt I’ve now forgot
Where my trapped dreams reflect back to me
Warped by icy rapids in moonlit streams
Whispering songs
I can’t remember.

a lone creature

As this mist descends deep into dark valleys drear
I spot a lone creature in the fir’s shadow’s near
A sad song he did weep for his days now unsure
His lost past held in fear, thoughts he could not enter

As he sang his sad song, the forests’ moan did leap
A chorus full of tears about what he must reap
Shadows can’t cover wrongs, but it did hide his tears
Your story I will keep if you’ll tell me right here

escaping the phoenix

i.

mist hides in chasm’s edges
parallel to narrow ridge
I walk trying to leave but
never leaving the lurking
phoenix waiting for me to
tire and turn to retire
hoping to recover
from scars aching deep
only to discover
bleeding wounds cutting deeper
leaving a scented track
for what follows behind
I’ve seen it before
and fought it
confronted the beast
and lost to it
because despite victories
my enemy that’s part of me
rises from its ashes again
to greet me at a later date
on a narrow ridge I can’t
escape

ii.

you rise again from ash
that should have blown away
poised to strike at
my heart that’s past afraid
now beaten till beatless
fractured frozen pieces
but no one runs forever
from dust, so I rise
to chasm’s edge
and I fall
into colder mist
feared now less than
what swoops behind then
dissipates on razor crags
gleaming snow tainted red
(not mine)
chronicles of struggles past
(of mine)
while wind’s draft draws me
up in gravity’s face
no match for deeper
magic and it’s misty
embrace

monotony

These clouded eyes were
Not always jaded
But filled with gazing
Child-like wonder
Of night skies that
Shine for rehearsal
Again, not tired
Of the repeating
Waiting for me to
Wake from my sleeping
To join in this repeating

journey home

Over grassy swards and knolls deep
Where earthen beast have fallen asleep 
Winged birds swift above it fly
Straight to forests dark and firs high

Dark clouds bring shadows and tears
Giving life to wide-eyed fears
That drink sorrow from swollen springs
Deepening roots for blossoming spring

So far from home, stars shine
Lighting paths through leafs of time
Wooden sounds echo over the wind
Leading you back to where you began.