Little Bird Sea Shore

littleshorebird

Little Bird Sea Shore

little bird

ocean shore

walking the edge

waves, skitter skitter

stop, beak the sand

in and out along

the tidal know

you stay you go

little bird I watch

you see

skitter skitter away

from me back and forth

sun to moon you

wait rolling waves

advance retreat

finally you fly

I

fly

with

you

before we knew

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the places we gather

inside

how we hide

in between

the pieces of yesterday

and the rise of tomorrow

within

us, and through all time

we didn’t know but walked

empty

trying to hold water

up

with our hearts, and how

it rained down

rained down

on

us

before

we

knew

 

Us

Waiting For You

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The sailboat waited for the wind,

for the tide to rise, and the clouds

waited for the sun, while the trees waited

for rain.  The river waited for the moon

to tell its tidal tales, and the fish waited

for the river to flow their days.  And it was

quiet, and still, and I was waiting, too.

I was counting tides on the sailboat,

waiting for you.

Like A Joke

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You make a joke

You throw a joke

I am the joke

Can’t I take a joke

They laugh, they look

You smile, I within

I am the joke

What’s wrong, but

They know, I just

Can’t take a joke

I am the joke

It is me

And they laugh

At your jokes

They laugh at me

You grow like

A giant fed by

Their laughter, and

I shrink – tiny, tiny

Me, and that makes

An even better joke

So you say that, too

The laughs swallow

Me up, tiny me

disappears

Like

a

joke

and we knew (a love poem)

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the water held green, and it loved

pink so deeply that the sun rose each day

just to watch how green surrounded her true,

protected every petal and blush, and she

cherished him and stretched her bloom,

and the water was their canvas, so nothing

would change, and the reflection made

all that grew timeless, and we knew

Erosion

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She used to face the wind, steady

strength worn in straight lines and

sound steps. But harsh nights

and bitter words weathered her

core, washed away resolve,

beat down seasoned worth,

pieces fall away, she lets

them go, it’s all broken

anyway, layers of fall

lean and snap of

her, cruel words

grab, she’s only

a fragment of

what she was,

the rest of

her is

gone

let him pick no more

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don’t blossom here, flower,

close up, go back inside. don’t reach,

for your sun, don’t open your petals

wide.  don’t smile, or believe, or

speak your fuschia dreams.

he’ll pick you if you bloom just right,

grip you, rip you, wilt your hue,

until a lovelier one blooms, and he will

drop you. pick her. pick her. pick her.

you’ll be lying on the ground, with no

way to grow. wither. hold your blooms,

dear flower, let him pick no more.

true

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in the morning of peace and know
beside the line between now and float
the trees felt their wait and reached
above how, into the hold of sun before
and clouds they became always and
in the soul of black and white time
grew into glow and everything was true

between believe and break

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in the days between believe and break
the sun rose dark and painted shadows
trees bowed and let go of all they held
bare fingers pointing any and no way
and all that was once held together by time
let fly the wind and broke into pieces
of nothing sinking deeper in the deep within
and cracks spilled hope in freezing drops
bottom chased chained below motionless
curtains drawn, she never left her bed.

yellow tree

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talk to me, yellow tree,

tell me how you sing in gold

harmonies of light and float,

you lift and fall in autumn

pieces on the ground ~ whisper

your dance of shifting limbs

you tell time with your turn

teach me roots that grasp

frozen grip when all they hold is

gone

The Butterfly and the Hail Storm

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In the morning, while the sun knew
and I was time, she drifted to me.  Blue,
floating blue cascade shimmer, she came
to me with whispers of summer still.
Quieted by her dance, I stayed as she
settled upon me, smiled with her indigo
wings, round eyes and watched me
wonder her blue deep through me.
 
And then later, on the mountain, darkness
dropped, as it does with time, sky turning,
mirroring granite below. Rain pelted, soaked,
willed itself to hail. Morning forgotten,
I drew myself closed within the gray, startled
by bolts of lightning on nearby pines.  Hunched
down, arms around knees, head bowed, hurting.
I felt the wings on my back lose their flight.