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.
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.