The rain in a hurricane
Is not rain, but an ancient glacier
From a bygone ice age crumbling,
Shattered into a billion pieces,
Melted by this raw energy
That is locked in every drop
And hurled with the roar of thunder.
Rain in a hurricane does not fall
Nor does it slant;
It cuts like shards of glass,
Tastes of salt,
So gritty with debris
It leaves me bleeding.
The storm surge of a hurricane
Is not a wave,
But a wall of water
That trumpeting winds call down.
It is a flood
Shaped like a circling maelstrom sea
Boiling over the brim.
The wind in a hurricane
Is not a wind
But the rage of Titans,
The scream that drives sailors insane.
The eye of a hurricane
Is not the Eye of God,
For it would be weeping,
No, this eye is blinded
By the fury of void and chaos -
Tohu v'vohu * - the forces of creation
God wrestled into shape.
But remember when the tempest passes
And you return to your shredded home alive,
God rested on the 7th day and made it holy.
Tohu v'vohu is Hebrew for " unformed and void" in Gen.I:2,
Written May 2009, published online at PoemHunter May 2009, on poetfreak, published in Bayou Review Spring 2010
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
Sleep Kisses
Sleep kisses are petals
of a dream lover's bouquet:
touch softly or they fall into the deep
well of night and nothingness.
October 2009
of a dream lover's bouquet:
touch softly or they fall into the deep
well of night and nothingness.
October 2009
A Waltz Wave: Running Away From Love
White
silk scarf
waves
in her
wake - the train
of her
gown.
Crossing
fields of wheat,
her feet are scorched
by flames of
sunset.
She
escapes.
Fly away
if love
is
a gold
cage.
October 2009
silk scarf
waves
in her
wake - the train
of her
gown.
Crossing
fields of wheat,
her feet are scorched
by flames of
sunset.
She
escapes.
Fly away
if love
is
a gold
cage.
October 2009
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The Moon's Departure
Science tells us the moon is leaving --
A slow uncoiling of its constant orbit --
Widening and widening
Until it is unraveled from the earth --
Set free from our gravitational tether
To fly away towards worlds unknown --
Taking its somber face and moody dark side,
Astronaut footprints and flags,
Lunokhod (the Russian Moon Robot)
And our mirror-studded laser reflectors
That let us know within a millimeter
Just how far the moon has strayed each day.
What others in the universe will make
Of these mementos is hard to guess.
But more important to us
What will regulate
The flux and flow of madness?
To say nothing of how this will lay waste
To reams of astrologers charts, calendars
And farmers' almanac tables.
And will menstrual flow cease,
Making eggs be planted
In old uterine membranes,
Not freshly minted each month?
And come to think of it,
Will women still be labeled unclean,
Without that flood of blood?
What need will there be
For niddah regulations?
I suppose we will have to invent some engine
To motor the tides on schedule
And the synodic rhythm
That ebbs and flows
Inside every cell of life.
I think we will have to lasso
That lunar orb to earth with cables,
Or duct tape and kite string
If all else fails, and not let it go.
Or fetch another moon from Saturn
(It won't miss just one
With so many gems in its crown.)
Otherwise what will stand for its image
Of muted light and mood change in our poetry?
And what will happen to the role
The moon has played in our dreams?
What beacon will replace
The aura it throws on amore?
How much courage must we lovers have
On a midnight walk on the beach
Without moonlight
To pull our heartstrings together?
Will my heart have to leap
Into the gap between us,
Like a blind aerialist
Not knowing if my beloved
Has reached out, heart open,
To catch me?
August 2010
A slow uncoiling of its constant orbit --
Widening and widening
Until it is unraveled from the earth --
Set free from our gravitational tether
To fly away towards worlds unknown --
Taking its somber face and moody dark side,
Astronaut footprints and flags,
Lunokhod (the Russian Moon Robot)
And our mirror-studded laser reflectors
That let us know within a millimeter
Just how far the moon has strayed each day.
What others in the universe will make
Of these mementos is hard to guess.
But more important to us
What will regulate
The flux and flow of madness?
To say nothing of how this will lay waste
To reams of astrologers charts, calendars
And farmers' almanac tables.
And will menstrual flow cease,
Making eggs be planted
In old uterine membranes,
Not freshly minted each month?
And come to think of it,
Will women still be labeled unclean,
Without that flood of blood?
What need will there be
For niddah regulations?
I suppose we will have to invent some engine
To motor the tides on schedule
And the synodic rhythm
That ebbs and flows
Inside every cell of life.
I think we will have to lasso
That lunar orb to earth with cables,
Or duct tape and kite string
If all else fails, and not let it go.
Or fetch another moon from Saturn
(It won't miss just one
With so many gems in its crown.)
Otherwise what will stand for its image
Of muted light and mood change in our poetry?
And what will happen to the role
The moon has played in our dreams?
What beacon will replace
The aura it throws on amore?
How much courage must we lovers have
On a midnight walk on the beach
Without moonlight
To pull our heartstrings together?
Will my heart have to leap
Into the gap between us,
Like a blind aerialist
Not knowing if my beloved
Has reached out, heart open,
To catch me?
August 2010
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