Twenty years

(This is another poem I found in an old notebook)

Twenty years from womb

burst out crying, burst out small and red

began to grow and walk and humanize

learned to talk an harmonize.

Always in its warm, protective shadow

I remained.

Stumbling forward hands and feet first

mouth open and eyes in wonder

I wandered knowing always how to return

to that safe, sound spot

where, against the howls,

I could remain.

And now, twenty years from womb

from remaining and leaving, I have returned.

What I found, where I discovered, who I am

returned to you to share these things.

In disgust you turn away, close your eyes.

Once refusing to see, I can no longer ignore

that twenty years from womb

I've escaped your tomb.

Found

Found in a pocket journal, dated 5/12/09

Words rise from gaping mouths

Empty sounds with meaningless power

Light pierces from their eye, from your eye

Piercing my heart, pith giving fire

consuming my whole

Words rise from gaping mouths

Empy sounds with meaningless power

Warmth spreads from my hand,

your touch drying my tear-soaked depths

stilling my shivers

Words rise from gaping mouths

Empty sounds with meaningless power

Saying more in their silent omissions

Than in thousands of speeches before

Unlocking desire, hope, future

though just one of many locks

Words rise from gaping mouths

Empty sounds with meaningless power

I don't know if I meant to add more stanzas, the apparent pattern would seem to say "yes" but maybe ending there was supposed to be a resounding "no."

Firefly’s Dance

Flash, drift, darkness, flash
their glow shines ‘cross the field
warming the cool northern breeze
blowing through bulrush blades.
And, solitarily, I watch the dance,
longing to join. To flash and drift
through any blade, against any breeze,
with you for whom I flash.
Watching, ever watching, I search
for that single flash that, launching lightening,
will speed me straight to you
who cannot—or will not—see through the dark.
So, here I wait, near the waving ocean of grass
and amidst a flashing pool of light
in my own black hole of sorts
watching, waiting, hoping for your flash.

And so I dive...

And so I dive

deep into those scrawling symbols

representing lives lived not my own

but known.

Diving down, kicking there, leaving here--

eyes stinging and lungs burning--

but stop, no. I hurry, striving deep

within to find the light those lives keep.

For my own stolen after offered,

stolen quickly, simply, dejectedly

plunging my way into darkness

complete and blinding.

And so I dive

deep into these scawlen symbol

representing lives lost, never to be known,

my own.