She Dreams...

The Longest Night

We are lost little creatures in stolen white furs,
Softly burrowed in blankets and waiting for spring.
I have lived through the seasons before here without
You, and being alone isn't such a bad thing.

Our small fingers are curling like books with bent spines
In the darkness we cradle each other and breathe
In the scent of the winter, unwilling to ask
Why our bodies make promises we don’t believe.

I have stared for too long at your satellite eyes
And the smoke as it mimics the curl of your lips.
If I look any longer I'll lose myself in
That deep midnight of thoughtlessness, blissful eclipse.

Now we cannot move quickly. Like snakes in the snow
Our cold blood has been frozen and our eyes are glazed
With forgetting. We dream of the warm summer air
As our backs arch together, our soft senses dazed.

We are tired little creatures, asleep as the sun
Slips above the horizon on weary white wings.
Our hands interlaced seem to whisper forever,
But being alone isn't such a bad thing.

The Hospital

In white halls, behind closed doors
Little hands open and close
And gasping breaths escape before
Sharp wailing cries curl tiny toes.

Those little hands open and close.
On floors below old eyes rise up;
Imagining curled tiny toes,
They stare into their paper cups.

On floors below their eyes rise up.
In wrinkled faces failing eyes
Stare absently at paper cups
And think of children and goodbyes.

Their wrinkled faces, failing eyes
And labored breath are nightmare things.
Their children, thinking of goodbyes
Wait for the news the doctors bring.

With labored breath the nightmare things
Crawl down from the florescent lights.
We wait for the news the doctors bring
In buzzing rooms into the night.

Our minds crawl, the florescent lights
Beat on our senses, leave us sore
In rooms that buzz into the night,
In white halls and behind closed doors.

And Soon I Will Forget

The last of night's stars flickers and is gone.
I stare up at nothing. Where have they gone?

Into the pitch black sky the moon rises,
Hides her face behind a cloud, and is gone.

Cold in the morning, ruffled under sheets
I lie wondering where the night has gone.

The long wintry shadows of the sun stretch
Each day across the grey trees and are gone.

Bruised from forgotten kisses and long nights,
Those dark lingering marks too will be gone.

Leaning against the doorway I look up
And try to tell you where my days have gone.

In the bright afternoon I close my eyes
Against the light. I wish it would be gone.

There is dust on the window, layers and thoughts
That will soon be brushed away and gone.

The most beautiful thing I have seen here
Is the flame of dying leaves, which is gone.

Hands and the curve of the back are two loves
I sacrifice to winter. They are gone.

I know what the night will bring— it's cold glare
And merry losses (me, I will be gone).

Ballad for an Imagined Lover

I lay down at the river's edge
My fingers laced with dew
And wondered what it would be like
To be alone with you.

The way I heard you in my head
Was nothing like you are—
That softened voice, that subtle gaze
Were lovelier by far.

As I lay by the river bed
The willow's hanging boughs
Traced ripples on the water as
A breeze tickled my brow.

And I imagined how you would
Run fingers down my spine,
But your hands are blunt instruments
That cannot trace a line.

I cupped the water lovingly
And brought it to my lips;
I closed my eyes and felt it as
A cool and gentle kiss.

But you are not as gentle as
The water in my hands.
Your kisses are like fireworks,
Explosive with demands.

And even the bright sky above
Made me think of your eyes
And how their blue would drink me in.
The clouds above me sighed.

But you will hardly look at me
And even their bright blue
Is darker than I thought it was
When I imagined you.

It was so easy dreaming there
To view you from afar,
But there's scum at the river’s edge
And your fine skin has scars.

The Waiting

She stands at the distant end of the pier,
Her dress alive with the dancing wind,
Her face a question painted still—
She stares down at the weathered pine
Riddled with cracks and still wet with water
From the sky and the spray of the sea.

And as she waits on the brink of the sea
Sharing her thoughts with the pier
And hearing the breaths of water
Ruffled by the wind
She digs her toes into softened pine.
Beside her bare feet her sandals lie still.

In solitude she wonders if the fish still
Dart through the meadows of tall sea
Grass, down below the planks of pine.
She lets her mind escape below the pier,
Beneath the wood, out of the wind,
And down into the forgiving waters.

Enfolded and embraced in water,
Her shining silver body never still,
Her dear bright scales have never felt the wind,
She's never left the deep womb of the sea.
Above she sees the belly of the pier,
Blocking out the sun with slats of pine.

But up above with prickled skin she pines
And cannot heed the water's
Call to dive and leave her body on the pier.
And so she keeps her body very still
And raises up her eyes to meet the sea,
Her cheeks flushed bright by the insistent wind.

Then carried to her on the wind
She hears footsteps falling on the pine.
She tears her eyes away from the sea—
Her dreams rush out with the water’s
Tide. A man is waiting, standing still
In the sand at the distant end of the pier.

His face is still as knotted pine.
He walks the pier against the wind.
Under the water fish slip out to sea.

Losing Color

Here, where the snow drifts and I am beyond caring
And time seeps and slips through cracks into my darkened room,
I think perhaps my sleepless nights may not be worth the bearing.

Ice creeps up the windowpane and winter is preparing.
The brittle fingers of the trees like daunting figures loom
Here, where the snow drifts and I am beyond caring.

Dusk bleeds into morning, the callous sun is glaring.
My restive hands are wandering, my tired mind entombed.
I think perhaps my sleepless nights may not be worth the bearing.

The silent days are turning, a tiny bird takes wing –
Its grey-brown body is a smudge against the frozen moon
And in the dark the snow drifts, but I am beyond caring.

I tumble onward blindly, my tired senses wearing,
And in my idle restless mind a thousand doubts have bloomed.
I think perhaps my sleepless nights may not be worth the bearing.

And now outside my window's frame the sightless dawn is flaring.
The world is bleached to shades of grey, its stillness like a tomb.
Through my days the snow drifts, but I am beyond caring –
I think perhaps my sleepless nights may not be worth the bearing.

Snow Day

We went out in the morning, bright and cold,
Ready for grand adventures to unfold.
In coats and mittens, hat and scarves and gloves,
The ground below white as the sky above,
The sparkling snow a blanket o’er the earth,
Across its face, our footsteps were the first.
We crunched across the lacey surface and
Left our mark on the shining winter land.
We marched over white meadows to the woods
The only place we truly understood.
The trees, their branches iced with virgin snow,
Flushed with the brilliant morning seemed to glow.
They left long shadows on the glistening ground
And soon with shouts and laughter would resound
As we began the hard work of the day,
Building great castles in which we could play
And wage important wars like kings and queens
In far off lands and worlds we had not seen.
We built up sturdy walls and dug deep caves
Making up stories about warriors brave
Who fought only with snow and their bare hands
And saved whole kingdoms with their strong command.
Then by mid day, when all our forts were done,
And shadows stretched distorted by the sun,
Our hands were frozen and our clothes soaked through
And so into the warm house we withdrew.
We drank hot chocolate, tried to warm our bones,
And thought about winning the winter throne
Through hard-fought battle, throwing balls of snow
So when we warmed we could not help but go
Back out into the forest where we could
Make war for the dominion of the wood.
Our winter weaponry flew through the air
And struck the startled trees, hit unaware
They dropped their heavy loads of snow and ice
With muffled thuds as we tried to entice
Each other out from clever hiding spots
And shrieked with laughter each time we were caught.
And when the trees grew dark with shadows deep
We left the woods and fell away to sleep.

Sinking into evening, I learn the moon's alive.

The violet sun sings heavy through the sky
And wisps of clouds hang aimless in the air.
Alone, I am the angel of July
With promises and flowers in my hair.
Cold stars are ice and fire, dancing still
Out in the hungry solitude of space,
And I would dance with them, seeking the thrill
Of night's cold rapture, timeless dark's embrace.
The aching curve of earth's descending sweep
Caresses the unwilling endless dusk;
The children's wails are tempered now by sleep
Their tender minds shedding small tired husks.

And I, with fledgling wings and pale, soft hands,
Open my darkened eyes and understand.

The Early Hours

Each morning as the color leaves the sky
And curving into day the sun provides
A last red flare to tell us come what may
The dance goes on, you turn your face to mine.
It's true, you said, there’s nothing for us here
But dreams that burn and slowly melt away
And moments all in beautiful relief
Painted across the face of memory.

If I grow lost in facets of the stars
And flicker out a million miles away,
Will you take centuries to know I'm gone
And lose me in the growing light of dawn?
I do not want to sink into the sky,
That vast dark blanket wrapping up the world
Would drink me in without a second thought
And leave me floating endless through the black.

Now in the newly lit October air
A bird begins to sing her twittering song
Telling the freezing night not to return
And scolding me for staying still asleep.
But years from now, when all the birds have flown,
And winter finds us are curled beneath the ground,
Who will remember each soliloquy
I spoke into the silence of your sleep?

We are forgetful creatures, lost at best
Within the winding tunnels of our thoughts,
Not knowing where our numbered days have gone
As we walk blindly onward through the dark,
I want to etch this moment into stone
And hang it up above us so the sun
Illuminates each day the rise and fall
Of our unending breath in harmony.

But even I know none of this can last
And as I leave your sleeping form to walk
Across the sparkling grass, new-wet with dew,
I know that I will someday forget you.
Just as the stars were bleached out by the sun
Your form will fade to brighter memories
And I won't even know to miss your face
For bones remember nothing about loss.

Here Again

I haven't thought of this place in so long. There was a while where I barely wrote anything. I couldn't even seem to finish a poem and titles completely escaped me. I might go back later and post a few of the things I wrote in that interim, but for now I just want to get out my recent work. I just finished a final portfolio of work for a class on Poetry in Form. It includes, in order:

-a blank verse poem
-a Shakespearean sonnet
-a poem in heroic couplets
-a villanelle
-a sestina
-a ballad
-a ghazal
-a pantoum
-a poem in anapestic tetrameter

I had never written any of my poetry in form before this class, with the exception of one sonnet and a few scattered Haiku, so it was really challenging for me. I came into the the class despising rhyme schemes. I thought that writing within established forms was limiting, but in the end I think it opened me up to a lot of new ways of approaching poetry. Well, anyway, here is my last three months.