Month: January 2013

waisting

I stand with my refrigerator.

 and freezer doors open

Staring at the contents

wasting cooled air into the kitchen.

I have already been through the cupboards.

Oh, there’s plenty of brightly packaged

Plasticized stuff in there

 

But I can’t eat any of it.

 

I am not fooling myself.

It’s more like won’t.

 

The condenser kicks on

While the new refrigerator door

Makes a clunky, squeaky sound as it closes.

 

Tough choice between

Pureed mango baby food

Almond milk and rice chex

Rice cake and sunflower butter

 

Sounds kinda exotic

If you’ve never been there.

 

So I sit in the sun

On my yoga mat

Wasting time.

Grateful for a few bites

That aren’t  jammed

With gluten and its secret spy names

Malt. Matzo.Carmel. Dextrin. Shoyu. Surimi.

 

 

I swing the garage doors wide open

Chinook winds sift through

And just a few hundred miles

Of paved roads strain and separate

You and me.

I stare at the dust settling on my

Sky blue Toyota. Waiting…

just a few miles on the speedometer.

 

I stare at Googlearth.

At places named

Poncha Springs. Foxfield. Redcliff.Dinosaur.Hallelujah Junction.

Bluearth.Blueye.Valentine.Bugtussle.Sandraw. Needmore.Nameless.

sounds kinda exotic if you have never been there 

I’m not fooling anyone.

I can’t go.

Or maybe more like won’t.

 

As I stand by the refrigerator,

The garage door makes its

Clunky squeaking closing sound.

Wasted a wish.

pools ponds powder


i dog paddle
i frog kick another lap
in the less than pristine pool
my skin drinks the feel of water
and soothes a hunger

i am still trying to shake off

the whopping poof of smoky powder
flying through the kitchen
Just from tying my laces.

My walking shoes
Have walked every day
In wind
Which changes direction
by the hour.
But not the content.

exposed
topsoil

the rivers and canals
sand
bone dry
the dog looks at me
he questions me
as if i am responsible
perhaps i am.

Foolhardy are we
to believe in a
vanquished Nature.
Dustbowl eras have ended.
Yet, here i find it has returned
in my kitchen.

Specks of Montana and Oklahoma
Dancing in the sunlight. from the
Sunroom window
Where the aspen trees twist dangerously
In daily Breezy conditions.

I worry about the warm days.
I worry about the trees leafing
out in January.
thousands of white bags
Roiling down the alleys
Headed for the Gulf of Mexico.
Or Alternately by the hour
The Arctic Circle.

I worry about Spring
Where certainly, as is often true,
Mother Nature will sing her revenge.

Yellow Dog won’t move today
from his new
Two ply bed.
Not even when I pick up his leash.
Clouds of dust fluff from his ears
When he shakes his head, No. No.
coughing like an asthmatic.

“RAIN! SNOW!”
I scream at the constantly
Grey dirt sky.
People are staring at me.
Again.

my dad says
many people were driven to
insanity by the sifting dust of the 30s
i am there with them now

i brake my car in the middle
of an abandoned Street
to disentangle a mass of contractor’s plastic
choking a honeysuckle

Frightening my passengers
and a few lookers on.

It is full of powder.
Idaho. I decide.
maybe a grain or two of Nebraska

we compare wounds


Once when she was nine
She was playing in an abandoned house
The ancient door gave way
And a nest of wasps
Spilled down her back

And stung
And stung
Sting, stang, stung

She whispers low into the phone
barely I can make out the words
But it seems she says:

Even now I can see the scars
Even today
I feel numb where they tapped me

like a bittersweet human touch
I can remember
Every
Single
Finger
Tip

rooms in two colors

All around me
my walls
Whisper to you

The very colours of your skin
Coffee with cream.

I painted them
My solitary walls
A year ago

Not knowing
They were the foreshadowing
Of your faces

Wondering
Pondering
As I chose the
Sad sandy
Chaco Canyon
Ruin color.

It soothed me
To have ruins
All about
A broken me.

I didn’t know I was calling
Summoning all of
you from our long ago past.

The chambers echo in our hearts
You

Always provides the
Perfect mixture of warmth

Never knowing
Always hoping
That we had met in the past

Contemplating
The calming hues
Again. Again.

The tones of chalk
Blend with
Talc of the potter’s honeycomb

Covering to protect aimless souls
Calling. All the while.
Longing to meet you in our far distant future.

Coffee with crème
of dawn
And dusk
The colours of beginnings

Pre-veil


Cowriters Kat Karnes and Ken Levy

Our sorrow song
time
slides from minutes into decades
not enough tears can wash away
that trite adage
‘Time heals all wounds.’
you are as near now as then
I can touch your cheek
wipe the salt away
and say the meaningless
simple words
I meant to say
But I cannot take this pain away
Your reflection sweeps past behind me
I feel your breath
Come closer
I deny your death
My soul is a deep empty place
Your grasp has no release
a familiar aching hole
where words fail to express
only tears cleanse a slow soul

I stare at faces in public places
I close my eyes tight
And I see you
And I see you
Time slows and I quicken my pace.
I turn to watch the years flash by
And your shadow disappears

our past path outlined in faint traces
Fate fools me
I can no longer find reality or truth

I hear your voice, a loop, an old recording
I collapse against a stone pillar
I don’t care who sees me suffering there
A homeless child
Shaking fists at fated, faithless sky
It’s all the cry I have left in me

This is the last place
The last place I saw you touch
If I hold your fingerprints long enough
I can hope you back
Through the ethereal
Long enough to take all of you away

You are the murky clouds
That roil in the northeast
An imminent storm that
Never really strikes
I know you watch
From Nimbus
Each and every time
Before I drink of morning’s first cup.

Break through that veil of time
Space.
Just
Today
Just
One
real
Sign.

Be.

A stranger’s wink, shove, nod.
Bittersweet
I walk alone with you.
.
.
.
Cowritten poems are constructed through three of us contributing a line or phrase through a Facebook chat. One person deleivers a line (while the others sniffle a bit)

Elijah

cowriter Ken Levy
.
.
It’s cold, dry
Still dark on windswept plain
I sift through fog
Searching for another
Room in an abandoned house
Weathered planks stab at me
From a creaky floor
I step carefully through the haze
Trip
Clumsy, clumsy

It’s those splinters of you
That I don’t see
That make me stumble and fall

The dust around me
Choking
Stifling
I beg for water.
While two thousand miles away
You wait in rain
And rain

I feel crackle
Hear static on the line

Rain holds the same rhythm
Of a weeping heart
In my dreams, I wake and I reach for you
In reality
I awaken and I reach
Reach for you

Like prophets of old
I reach through fire
For one salty
Drop

Systeme restore

 
Cowriter Kenneth Levy
.
.
.
.

what if we could restore crashed hearts,
in much the same way 
we can restore a computer hard drive. 
Fix mistakes from the past.
Ctrl, Alt, Delete,
open the Task
Manager,
turn back the clock.
 
the buttons within such easy reach
I could find them
read my heart’s manual
find a way back to the time
the date ​​the day 
when we were real.
 
Normal.
 
Find the place where you didn’t exist.
As I drum my fingers along the sore spaces
between my ribs 
where you laid your head.
I feel your hair slide across my skin
When it didn’t hurt
when I pressed against your empty pillow
when the words I spoke seemed to be ours
before my brain read everything as a foreign tongue
upside down chinese
I have tried
 
Compressing all the memories of the hurt 10001000000111001000000100001
 
dissonant voices break into my sorrow song
 
Crash
resume
Restart
restore.
Hard drive erase.
try again?
restore not available.
system recovery?
 
I push. Push. Push. to control the panes
like reading braille through space
I cannot erase the memories of your
Air and mine in the same sweet place
if I try I can almost.
Almost.
touch
 
system overload.
try again.
Re boo t.
Create restore point,
restore in progress,
 
I have no more energy
no more motivation or drive
but plenty
still plenty memory
in real time
in that time
 
 
it seems lost all
lost
like my heart’s lifeguard
I hear the monitor of its arrhythmic beat
i stare at the screen
see the Windows of my own eyes
 
i see the tell tale crying wrinkles
drying droplets on glass
 
the mechanism taunts me.
please be patient.
do not power off .
your pc.
personal culprit.
 
restore time remaining
50 miseries
it seems like I am in the grasp
of some wicked plan
to keep me wrapped in wire and static
30 miseries remaining.
 
while you go completely dark

 
I wish I could ask you one more time
just one more question
just one day sooner
one month sooner.
 

as if my energy alone
could power us.

The hum  starts again
…the clicks…then the beep and blips.
 
Please enter password…
this is where my fingers go numb
one word
a simple word that could call out to you
make you find your way through wire and wisp 
 
 
and I stare at the IV drip
of you flowing back into my arms
and i hope
 
but hope is the cruelest
and I can bear no more
I slam my fist
Again st
the
off
button.