Cicada and Circe

Ides of May are the Cicada’s realm.
Countless. Myriad. Infinity.
Beating Wings. abdominal Wings,
Drumming. Calling. Screaming.
Interesting.
Distracting.
Abominable.
Claustrophobic.
Unquiet woods, Any tree
Emanate a plebeian pitch
A frenzy of febrile Mating Calls.
Evening skies of later May darken with
Cavalcades of Capricious Clouds
Rain torrents, torments….
Circean blows, empty shells and a liberating silence.
Metamorphosed and Dead
After a seventeen-year wait.
Fulfilled?
Unfulfilled?!

2003

Shore and Tide

Sleep well, little baby
There may not be morning again
Home is stolen, and soggy
Far from your sister and father and everybody

The palms, drowned,
and paddies, shattered, in disdain
the fish serenade, dead,
in the vast blackness of today -
the harvest of sorrow burns me…but you are safe.
Sleep well, little baby, I will not leave you to God’s grace
And yet….the slow tears of eternity stare at me from your face

January 2005

Will-O’-the-Wisp

the hills beckon me
today
their alluring blue contours intimate in me a grand emptiness.
Of calm winds and steady reams of transparent rain.
Of looking down on clouds and walking through them.
Of a verdant silent valley and dark flowing waters.
Of chiaroscuro games of trees and clouds and grass.
Of neo-natal pleasures and the Cicada's unforgiving cry.
Of cold nights in solitude and warm nights in companionship.
Of surreptitious glances and stolen stares.
Of unsaid words, choked responses and a withheld confession.
Of cautious tread and glancing strokes.
Of an impassive face; or misread, unread stray thoughts, betrayed in silence?
Of vibrant, violent frissons of feeling and unsullied sentiment.
Of original prospect and final sin.
Of silent days and silent flows of heart and mind;
I await Destiny.
And “as justice flows in an everlasting stream”,
I wait.
I wait…….

August-September 2003