a delicate truth poem

Once again I was at the poetry club, and so here is my April poem. I’m back in Romania for Open Hands work next week, but back soon for more music and book fun. Stay tuned.


A delicate truth

These spring days I spend

under the pear tree thinking of

shadows and light lost

and the rocky helicopter ride

 

Our thoughts became our souls

until there were no more days

no more royal blue sunsets

to calm the mistakes I’ve made

 

I walked through the golden field

until I found you crying over

a dead butterfly

“things mean a lot”

 

i wish I could drain the pain I’ve caused you

wait until winter and start again

by the broken bridge

of tomorrow’s dream.


 

a new poem

When I have the time I go along to a poetry club. It’s very low-key, and run by my neighbour the shepherd. Here is the poem I wrote yesterday morning for it which the members there seemed to enjoy. Brand new for spring.

Rock, Paper, Scissors

I shut my mind to it all

who cares the stars still sparkle

in this cold black night when the brown leaves

are just like brown paper waiting to burn.

 

the evening will fall and drag me out of to the golden  lake where

you first held my hand and said something about time

could always heal, but you didn’t tell me the

sun hardly shines this way.

 

hope walks against your lies

one day the breeze will settle the clouds, and the sun will

melt your snake skin coat and even your

exotic perfume won’t help you.

 

four thousand tired trees surround this empty heart

I’ll talk to blurry animals about electricity as

a child’s balloon floats by out of time

losing hope to the sky’s fluorescent glow.