Estranged dreams

Sometimes you're just there,
waiting.
Sometimes you're not.
But searching for you
makes me realise
how often the latter is the case.

You hold the key to my failings,
the source of my creation, and
guard it zealously.

Inspired, I scrawl a note,
ecstatic.
Only to lose it.
Finding it months later,
giving me the impetus to begin gain, to try once more,
Your fleeting visit marked
only by a keen few,
trolling the tubes,
abed in a storm.

Then, you leave for good.
Only to be replaced.
Your double,
however antipodious,
my Muse ,
the Vandrich corporeal.
Pouring into me
with that which you bring so infrequently, so irregularly.

Then, all too soon, she leaves. Bounding away forever.
A thousand pieces lay unfinished in my storage box of a mind.
The pitiful excuse for an artist, what I'd like to be,
but could never achieve.
I watch some come and go.
And I wish they were you.
But I should know you better, since you stayed with me
for so many lives.
Only to desert me
when I finally realised it was you I'd been searching for.
If that takes some
chloroform or a handgun,
what am I to do?
It may be uncreative,
but how else can I be
without you?

Day

each day
is a dare
fluid descent to solid
base
perpetual horizon
unattainable
unavoidable
balance of hope and sustenance.

Summer Snapshots

i can't stop
stepping into pictures
other sentences of abridgment,
captured moving serenity,
passing on,
passing along an answer.
birth. honest life.
passion, renewal.
one true grade
on the scale of green- grey-
late-summer- blue
and hints thrown in
childlike tautologies
what is a corner i can squirm to:
disbelief?
suspension of intelligence? thievery?
Or sarcastic imagery ?
or simply thriving
in fashion capitalism
and backyard alliances.
entire rolling infinity
glitter, bound & away
to bonding snapshot surfaces
again & again,
like order or breath. .

For the Sonneteer

to celebrate a poet is an invitation into imagination introspection, reinvention changed/charged perception to celebrate a poet is to light a beacon for the demonstrator or downtrodden to find and be led to places where that small voice declaring ones calling can be answered 'yes, i am coming' and 'with confidence' to celebrate a poet, says to a weary world 'rest, read, reach into the vast reserves of the universe. find, if only for a moment, the peace of letting go, of looking through another's eyes, of knowing from the poet's pen and, the reader's voice something new is created'.

Transfigurations

one climbing uphill
may notice
transformation of water.
from liquid to lace,
lace to blanket.
blanket to base,
where oxygen
in small simple steps
seeks a shadow connection,
chases history
high onto memory's plain of constant combustion.

one climbing uphill
may consider floating-
perspective of earth
passing to exact placement
for pursuer.

Understanding Magnitude and Intensity

I watch
the lightbulb pop
imagine the darkness darker,
the furniture still waiting for me
to move amongst the moment.
the silhouetted image
burned in memory
slowly fades.
I navigate to the bed
by rote strip naked,
lay down,
think of the world
before the light went out.
The world before intensity
and darkness called me to wait alone.
for the morning to reveal
inaccuracy of my dreams.

Half shrouded in blue,
The moon hanging above me.
Pigeons sound the dawn.