Thank you to Credo Espoir for publishing 5 of my poems today.  Here are 3 of them.

Open Spaces

It feels great

to be out from under

rolling carpets of steel and stone.

I’m standing with outlying anonymity,

breathing in the glory of solitude.

Enjoying the simple subtraction 

of so much weight from shoulders.

It’s so easy to forestall deep sorrow here

while feeling the deepening rumble

of a wet, thunderous afternoon

within my chest.

The wind battering from all sides,

turning my hair like the Medusa,

as I wait for the open spaces,

and the nighttime canvas of midnight blue

to be painted across the sky.

Piccadilly Dreaming Away From Shore 

Ice cream,

Slow time,

Colors are vivid.

Music makes the feet move,

Times are good,

And people are in love with life.

They all watch mundane things

with great gusto-

clouds:

high and wispy,

slender vapor,

a sky full of ships

and waves

flowers:

full of kaleidoscopic, 

vibrant color,

swirling soft petals,

boat propellors above the sea

Brown rice:

nutty flavored part of a seafarer’s diet,

chewy on the tongue

with that periodic crunch,

a dollop of honey atop

hats:

perched on heads as pirate scarves,

hat bands and feather accessorizing,

brims overhanging

the beautiful faces of the romantics

tea:

strongly brewed,

poured into patterned teacups,

quixotic ideas drunk in

not unlike a sailor’s rum

Idealists with

big thoughts,

breaking chains,

Piccadilly dreamers floating upon the new ark.

Bicycle-Life Cycle’s Rise and Fall

The world no longer shines gently as the yellow season.

There are no cooling features to this day.

I can hardly bear the oppressive heat in clothes.

Ceramic birds fly,

and from my once elegant arms,

my wings beat,

growing from seeds of bruise and laceration.

Sitting upon this vehicle,

drawing upon my will,

I find I have gears I’ve never used.

I feel the burning strain in my lungs,

hear the clamor of oxygen for space.

My wheels find purchase as I climb

and finally respite.

I have arrived at the signaled end and beginning,

a place of silence and no regret,

my stele now planted at the apex.

And over the hill,

I see no poverty of rainbows.

The swirl of the stars grows,

even as the moon slips from behind thin clouds,

even in the sun’s silver flame.

The bicycle gains speed in my ceremonial descent,

dropping all falsehoods in its wake.

I am no longer its captain

and all at once I am homesick

for a place I’ve never been.

Someone once asked me

how much does light weigh.

I think I know.