Dark Morning

Dark Morning

“… Like images in a puddle bent / Projected from the night.”

The misty morning haze
Paints thinly my coat
But kisses wetly my face
Unwelcome & contrite

And quite like a fuzzy mote
In the vision of the day
Floats dejectedly the sun
A lazy leak of light

And trees on the horizon
Hue muted & translucent
Like blue veins under pale skin
Rise then vanish from sight

And that dreary sun’s ascent
Queer’ seems to darken the day
Like images in a puddle bent
Projected from the night

 

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You Filled a Space

Here
Small & safe
You are warmth
You filled a space
Wherein echoed the lonely tune
Of a wanting harmony
And you taught it joy & fear

Tears
I will kiss
Them, reserve
Them on my lips
For suckling at each moistened bloom
Roots of an eager seed
Whose dreams are thirsty, my dear

Cheer
Heart ablaze
Only you
Only your face
Could stir such stasis into wonder
In pools of pride-sick eyes
For you taught them joy & fear

Years
Coming breaths
The blessed heights
The plunging depths
Enlightened nightmares threaten thunder
That tears ‘cross aching skies
In a world without you here

 

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Bent Spines

I have noticed as of late
How drinking tea and reading
Does not simple leisure make

If using one hand for sipping,
The other, a sort of weight
To keep the pages from flipping—

It is a TASK to do both!
With a cup hot and brimming
And a book thicker than most

For ev’ry distracted gaze,
When paused or too engrossed,
Chances a spill or stained page

So I admit to the crime—
Condemned by all a book sage—
Of putting bends in the spines

“The RISK! Lost chapters!” you gasp,
“Unbound by severed glued lines!”
To your awe, I answer that:

Yes, it gives me liberty
To leave my book lying flat
As to have two hands for tea!

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Happy Enough

I feel as though I have just woken up
From a long sleep, on a cloud, far away.
“Darling,” I say, yawning. “What is today?”
But where you once lied beside me is dust.

I am confused and afraid, but the panic I brush,
Instead crawl to the edge of our piece of sky.
“Where are you?” across the blinding white I cry.
But the silence resounds of years lost to us.

Wide-eyed I searched, cloud to cloud, hushed,
Shaking, night falling upon my empty bed—
“Here I sleep!” a boy! peeping through the cloud said.
Though not you, the sight was a welcome bust.

So I let him stay with me; I suppose I just gave up.
Years more have gone by, and now his arms I fit.
“Better him than be alone,” I think, grin and bear it.
He must be my Light to have saved me from Dusk.

I have not told you—he is a hard man to love.
He often leaves our cloud at night. To where?
“To where? Where do you go?” Ask him myself, I dare
But to no avail. Unanswered, I am forced to trust.

It is in these sad times that my thoughts return to us.
I close my liquid eyes, open my palms to the wind.
“Are you still out there?” I whisper, spiriting you in.
But I can no longer feel you, no heartbeat, no touch.

I feel as though I have finally woken up
From a second sleep, on cotton-blend reality.
“Darling?” My voice is changed. “Are we happy?”
His snore breaks—a ‘yes?’ We are happy enough.

 

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100 Days of Haiku [71-80]

Day 71:

The pine needles fall
Like fragments of memory
From much simpler times

Day 72:

The house stands alone
In shade of tall, aging pines
In light of my dreams

Day 73:

I see my life here
Visions of could-be’s haunt me
Ghosts in the corners

Day 74:

My mind: the children
Running through speckled sunbeams
Falling in my arms

Day 75:

I see the porch swing
Through the white kitchen window
My husband reading

Day 76:

I will paint the rooms
Strew our art & sound about
Make it come alive

Day 77:

E’er—’til the end—
I will not believe that this
Is unrequited

Day 78:

How can you view them
And your heart not swell with want
For the joys they have?

Day 79:

I’ll wait forever
A vampire at your door
Invite me inside

Day 80:

A thousand miles
We both feared, for we both knew
Our joy waits elsewhere

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100 Days of Haiku [61-70]

Day 61:

He can’t say the words
I banished them from his lips
Until he means it

Day 62:

I miss my kindred
Years now I have been unknown
Years more I shall be

Day 63:

Curls, teeth, fairy laughs–
Does she know of the Siren?
How well she wrecked you

Day 64:

It is amazing
How beautiful she becomes
When sure she is loved

Day 65:

Is it truly so?
“Better to have loved & lost”
When loss would kill me

Day 66:

West Wind, sustain me
Bring me back to the breath-source
Cover me in pine

Day 67:

Words in the Beginning
Spoken birthed the Universe
And flowed ever since

Day 68:

You are in ev’ry
Memory that I possess
That I care to keep

Day 69:

My fear prevents me
From laying even one brick
On life’s foundation

Day 70:

Late to my party
Sorry – But I have been dead
Asleep in my soul

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100 Days of Haiku [51-60]

Day 51:

“The leaves are turning.”
People say that ev’ry year.
“No, they are dying.”

Day 52:

Thirsty for crisp air
My face and my words quickly
Slipping through the door.

Day 53:

Read your letters
I have saved since August First
Your love might return

Day 54:

Between wake & sleep
Visions of my final nod
Seem almost welcome.

Day 55:

The bark on the trees
Matches the shade of decay
​On the once green leaves.

Day 56:

Only Elderly
Keep Tums & Melatonin
Perched at their bedside.

Day 57:

Sore throat—my excuse
To speak only the vital
To ignore you more.

Day 58:

To them share your pain
It is glorious, the weight
That lifts from your soul.

Day 59:

My greatest pleasure
Is to vision the birth of
Your envy for me.

Day 60:

Enchanted orchard
With rows of ripe fruit so sweet—
And he the sweeter.

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100 Days of Haiku [41-50]

Day 41:

Headlights, glowing dreams,
Fading in the darkness ‘hind.
They’ll never catch me.

Day 42:

I have accepted;
Sleeping will always seem such
A waste of my time.

Day 43:

Sharp pangs of panic
Consume my chest, choke my mind.
My hold on life slips.

Day 44:

I submit, smile,
Desperate to obtain the
Conjugal lodestone.

Day 45:

Didn’t quite love you,
But perhaps I should have tried;
I love him too much.

Day 46:

I reek of fried food.
There is meat under my nails–
You should hire me.

Day 47:

I worship her, the
Overexaggerated
Perfection, the myth.

Day 48:

Demented passion–
Capable of in one’s youth–
Is yours remembered.

Day 49:

A whisper to you:
Carry me into your home.
Keep me forever.

Day 50:

I am not a sun.
All my life I’ve pretended.
I don’t make my light.

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