2013 poems

book of hours

book_of_hours

This is the book of hours.

It starts
with something
much earlier
than life.

Brighter than
a halo,
shorter than
a sigh.

As you begin
to flip the pages,
there is
something of elements
and monumental drift.

Every letter
glides as a cloud
in exquisite detail.

It is all there,
frail and impermanent,
the stones and
the race.

It is an exercise
of contemplation
within this verse
of sight.

The mother
holding
the pendulum
of her breasts

and the hours
careening by
as dry

leaves
from nowhere.

This is the book of hours.

Contemporary Poetry

black earth

black_earth

That once I found mirrors
sprawled on the floor, and I
looked for the mountains
of my eyes.

There were many
but lightly had I
taken flecks of skin
to cover the mirrors;
that I wanted to see
no more my reflection
but only feel the caress
of silence,
it was about blood
that trickles like a mute river
around the architecture of bones.

An aura,
myriad of angles,
a hollow breeze trapped
but circulating from one
morsel to the next,
the opulent scattering
of cavities and memories.

I would never comprehend
the purpose but once
inside I could walk
counting the domes
of each mystery
like beads in a rosary.

I could even step upon
the slabs of shadow
for I was only
an invisible thought
measuring the joy
of the black earth.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

Per aspera ad astra

ad astra

 

I – waiting
in an unknown corner –
will have a shepherd’s role.
Heartlessly shall I pick up
an empty bucket and bang
it with drops of dew.
Flocks of words that have
broken skin will gather
around me like tiny shadows
of morning or soul.
If a window opens then
temples grateful with dust
from beginning to despair.
I will love the gaps in sound
when every word, world
after world, tightens into
a raceme and leaves its scent
plummet as – tar of transcendence,
foam of formlessness, empire of
impermanence, depth of delusion –
to the ground.
I intend, through endless pages
of misery and category,
to leave a trail for posterity
to meander through the truth
of resemblance in a metaphor.

Contemporary Poetry

art and time

History is a duel between art and time.
– Will Durant

art_and_time_Poetry_in_21st_century

Allow me
to carve
my strange vision
in your interior

let me turn
your feelings
into marble
shinning inside
my hidden truth

allow me to build
from your essence
the columns
to a new cathedral
where I will sit
to sing my memory

one day I hope
to be remembered
as the artisan that painted
the landscape of your soul
with the aurora of a dream

perhaps
this poem
is already a relic
of our brief encounter
crumbling on your tongue

crumbling like the rock
that was once art
but now becoming dust
for time’s wind.

Contemporary Poetry