I run
the earth is gentle here
meeting my feet with a lover's kiss
even the sharpest retort is only in jest
for the path is carpeted in nought
worse for bare skin than sodden wood
I run
with the breathless wind in my face
the trees raining leaves of golden brown love
and the rhythm I play as I fly over the earth
beats with the thudding of my heart
I run
Unpacking
A breathless wind hurried past my window
enlisting with it droplets of rain fresh on the sill
It whispered of a foreign land
a desert perhaps, wet with a camel's spit
the song on the lips of a prayer
hurled to it from a temple
or the blood of a birthing mother
and the first wail of her child
and maybe the dust from the shoes
of runner bringing news of fire
the swirl like cigarette smoke kissing the stars
or the salt of a sea swollen with cruise ships
carrying the rare perfume of a flower
brought, perhaps, from halfway across the planet
A breathless wind hurried past
leaving me behind
Travelogue
I shall watch a foreign sunset, alien trees waving an unfamiliar wind by we will look at each other in the eyes for a moment, in a blaze of recognition I shall read in your face what you will in mine
Read the story of living in a human world and see the same plot in a widely different genre
I shall write verse in your name
your name, which I know nothing of
Pages will be turned and you shall pass out of my life and I out of yours and the world shall be a better place for it.
Read the story of living in a human world and see the same plot in a widely different genre
I shall write verse in your name
your name, which I know nothing of
Pages will be turned and you shall pass out of my life and I out of yours and the world shall be a better place for it.
The sound of a phantom's shadow in the dark
The voice of the breeze
unspoken whispers
the secret language of the trees
conversations in dreams
what unwritten poetry sounds like
the scream of sleeping cars
lyrics in a silent mike
the song of unstrung guitars
breath of the planet's dark side
the swishing winds past talks send
the hidden tune you have inside
words of an imaginary friend
unspoken whispers
the secret language of the trees
conversations in dreams
what unwritten poetry sounds like
the scream of sleeping cars
lyrics in a silent mike
the song of unstrung guitars
breath of the planet's dark side
the swishing winds past talks send
the hidden tune you have inside
words of an imaginary friend
The touch of the sun
soft stuff of clouds
the cold steel of the on-screen gun
crush of yesterday's crowds
the warmth of a flying kiss
feel of a vacuum
the pang of a near miss
comfort of the womb
a hug shared over the phone
lingering fingers of someone gone
and someone yet to come.
The daylight stars
faces in exposed photos
images through broken binoculars
the ancient sculpture's lost nose
shapes on an untouched sheet
the unseen night rainbow
springtime footprints left by winter feet
the dead light-bulb's glow
mirror people on the other side
the smile of the maker of the universe
the painting you have inside
conjured-up character's features
At First Sight, Or.
They walked past each other on the street
opposite directions, separate lives
They shared one glance
something in his eyes
made her look back, just to make sure
and she saw
that he had done the same, just a moment before
and nothing more.
she wondered what might have happened
had they both looked back together,
glimpsed what they were looking for at first glance
and saw that it was there at the second?
And then they walked in opposite directions to their different lives.
Prospect
Sky
there is sky, and burning sun
And road
road trod below and shop crouched beside,
Woman drinking tea
nice-looking woman, alone
on lazy, late afternoon street.
And man
man across, doing something else
Well suited to the atmosphere,
light dances through his hair.
Landscape,
to each the other
mild detail in unfocused
landscape.
Not sentient more than that three legged chair
The odd grey wood
or the trimmed wildflower framing right foreground
And left.
Then they drop their eyes in sudden kinship
Startled at catching their painting staring back.
Aug 23 2009
there is sky, and burning sun
And road
road trod below and shop crouched beside,
Woman drinking tea
nice-looking woman, alone
on lazy, late afternoon street.
And man
man across, doing something else
Well suited to the atmosphere,
light dances through his hair.
Landscape,
to each the other
mild detail in unfocused
landscape.
Not sentient more than that three legged chair
The odd grey wood
or the trimmed wildflower framing right foreground
And left.
Then they drop their eyes in sudden kinship
Startled at catching their painting staring back.
Aug 23 2009
Can't
(Another attempt at song lyrics [co-authored])
You can't
climb a tree when you're riding a horse
sing when you have icecream in your mouth
rock her to sleep wheb you're painting a desert lake
You can't see the stars when you're laying in the sun
You can't
wear a crown when you're in your bubble bath
kiss when you're looking into his eyes
feel the wind through your hair when you're reading by the fire
You can't see the stars when you're laying in the sun
You can't
smell coffee when your dog kisses you awake
travel the world when the world is you
blow out birthday candles when you're out watching fireworks
You can't see the stars when you're laying in the sun
You can't
climb a tree when you're riding a horse
sing when you have icecream in your mouth
rock her to sleep wheb you're painting a desert lake
You can't see the stars when you're laying in the sun
You can't
wear a crown when you're in your bubble bath
kiss when you're looking into his eyes
feel the wind through your hair when you're reading by the fire
You can't see the stars when you're laying in the sun
You can't
smell coffee when your dog kisses you awake
travel the world when the world is you
blow out birthday candles when you're out watching fireworks
You can't see the stars when you're laying in the sun
I Am You
I am in the voice of the breeze
unspoken whispers
I am the secret language of the trees
conversations in dreams
I am what unwritten poetry sounds like
the scream of sleeping cars
I am lyrics in a silent mike
the song of unstrung guitars
I am the breath of the planet's dark side
the swishing winds past talks send
I am the hidden tune you have inside
the words of an imaginary friend
Hear me
I am you
I am in the daylight stars
faces in exposed photos
I am images through broken binoculars
the ancient sculpture's lost nose
I am shapes on an untouched sheet
the unseen night rainbow
I am springtime footprints left by winter feet
the dead light-bulb's glow
I am the mirror people on the other side
the smile of the maker of the universe
I am the painting you have inside
the conjured-up character's features
See me
I am you
I am in the touch of the sun
the soft stuff of clouds
I am the cold steel of a videogame gun
the crush of yesterday's crowds
I am the warmth of a flying kiss
the feel of a vaccuum
I am the pang of a near miss
the comfort of the womb
I am a hug shared over the phone
I am the lingering fingers of someone gone
and someone yet to come
Feel me
I am you
unspoken whispers
I am the secret language of the trees
conversations in dreams
I am what unwritten poetry sounds like
the scream of sleeping cars
I am lyrics in a silent mike
the song of unstrung guitars
I am the breath of the planet's dark side
the swishing winds past talks send
I am the hidden tune you have inside
the words of an imaginary friend
Hear me
I am you
I am in the daylight stars
faces in exposed photos
I am images through broken binoculars
the ancient sculpture's lost nose
I am shapes on an untouched sheet
the unseen night rainbow
I am springtime footprints left by winter feet
the dead light-bulb's glow
I am the mirror people on the other side
the smile of the maker of the universe
I am the painting you have inside
the conjured-up character's features
See me
I am you
I am in the touch of the sun
the soft stuff of clouds
I am the cold steel of a videogame gun
the crush of yesterday's crowds
I am the warmth of a flying kiss
the feel of a vaccuum
I am the pang of a near miss
the comfort of the womb
I am a hug shared over the phone
I am the lingering fingers of someone gone
and someone yet to come
Feel me
I am you
Philosophizing with Flies
Fireflies flickered like flying cinder
above the dispirited glow of dying embers
blinking crepuscular inconstant code
thoughtless of me
and my decidedly un-bioluminescent existence
of measured rebirth and of incurable dissolution
and of the world of other relevant metaphors
that I grappled to gain from them
June 24 2009
above the dispirited glow of dying embers
blinking crepuscular inconstant code
thoughtless of me
and my decidedly un-bioluminescent existence
of measured rebirth and of incurable dissolution
and of the world of other relevant metaphors
that I grappled to gain from them
June 24 2009
Kinship or Looking Down From a Plane
Night flight wings over sleeping earth
Windowed mortal gazes over ribbons and pins of jeweled light
Spirited handmade copies of the divine
Reverent reflection of the kindred arching dome of distant fires
May 15 09
Windowed mortal gazes over ribbons and pins of jeweled light
Spirited handmade copies of the divine
Reverent reflection of the kindred arching dome of distant fires
May 15 09
Memorialize
Bunker
lashed down by
dark green blood of hostile earth
oozing out in thorns and lichen
reclaiming the face of
this pimpled hill
staring across the border at its estranged kinsmen
He sat here
snow white winter embrace shrapnel greeting
blood sunshine machine gun song radio love
crouched hole in wall sight shadow enemy perpetual
and for a moment heard the silence of a future spring
grey glint of unbuilt highway
sweeping cheerfully across the peaceful front
to cluttered chai shop and reverent memorial
with a jeep full of tourists
and a girl to gingerly pick her way through goat scat
to look out that same window and wonder about him.
May 10 09
lashed down by
dark green blood of hostile earth
oozing out in thorns and lichen
reclaiming the face of
this pimpled hill
staring across the border at its estranged kinsmen
He sat here
snow white winter embrace shrapnel greeting
blood sunshine machine gun song radio love
crouched hole in wall sight shadow enemy perpetual
and for a moment heard the silence of a future spring
grey glint of unbuilt highway
sweeping cheerfully across the peaceful front
to cluttered chai shop and reverent memorial
with a jeep full of tourists
and a girl to gingerly pick her way through goat scat
to look out that same window and wonder about him.
May 10 09
Planet Kabob or I Should Have Been Studying
The sun beam stealthily inching along the carpet
the skylight shaped patch counting seconds
of careful crawling up my legs,
then blindingly wading through
the definition of a binary search sequence imprinted white on my lap
then sweeping past my mathematics induced consciousness
to alight on the next unsuspecting earthly inhabitant
Me, sitting willingly in a library
strapped on to the crisping surface
of a giant spit of a planet
patiently cooking in the heat of a distant fire.
May 8 09
the skylight shaped patch counting seconds
of careful crawling up my legs,
then blindingly wading through
the definition of a binary search sequence imprinted white on my lap
then sweeping past my mathematics induced consciousness
to alight on the next unsuspecting earthly inhabitant
Me, sitting willingly in a library
strapped on to the crisping surface
of a giant spit of a planet
patiently cooking in the heat of a distant fire.
May 8 09
Arithmetic Fake Projective Spaces and Arithmetic Fake Grassmanians
In another life I will stroll through the library
pick up and read American Journal of Mathematics
as if a passing fancy for pleasure prodded me to some light reading
In another life
Introduction:
Let r be a positive integer,
I shall nod encouragingly
and let Z be a compact Kahler manifold of dimension r whose Betti numbers are the same as that of P^rsub C
pause, smile appreciatively and muse
Ah, same Betti numbers perhaps, but is it or is it not isomorphic to P^r sub C?
and know exactly what I mean.
pick up and read American Journal of Mathematics
as if a passing fancy for pleasure prodded me to some light reading
In another life
Introduction:
Let r be a positive integer,
I shall nod encouragingly
and let Z be a compact Kahler manifold of dimension r whose Betti numbers are the same as that of P^rsub C
pause, smile appreciatively and muse
Ah, same Betti numbers perhaps, but is it or is it not isomorphic to P^r sub C?
and know exactly what I mean.
Drowning One's Sorrows in Duck
The middle aged sun burned one imperfect corner of
a sky of a peerless and nameless kin of blue so clear
that airplane exhaust lines stood out,
white crayon persistence of unsteady mortal hands
impersonating absent stratus clouds with impunity,
enclosing the blemishing broken pill of a daylight moon
clinging, innocuously unaware of its impending reign
staring ferociously and blindingly down at itself
reflected in the botchy rippling impressionism below,
the surface charged with the frenzied feeding of aquatic avifauna
a moving depiction of an inspired landscape
Discomfort is the unwanted protection of uncompromisingly pro-raincloud clothing
oblivious to the dictates of thermodynamics
Misery is the statuesque pectoral boast of a sunning water bird
and no camera to immortalize the witnessing
Loneliness is such a day as this was
and no one to tell of its perfection.
Feb 4th 2009
Unpacking
A breath of untouched air
travelled long with me
sealed in a secret corner
stowed away in an unopened package
forgotten under my bed
Unknowingly released
in hurried pursuit of the misplaced
untethered from its confines
In a sudden fresh whisper of unremembered scent
recollected in a burst of memory
with the air of an unexpected kinsman arriving
energetic and enthusiastic even after an inter-continental flight,
before brushing by swiftly and dissolving cheerfully
assimilated freely into the foreign,
heartlessly departing to new lands
Leaving me
the task at hand momentarily neglected,
holding my breath
and thinking of home.
To
You, Poet
Who
Once broke bonds of reality
to briefly touch perfection with the tip of a finger
and experience that so crudely confined to fiction
Discovered a quietly awaiting moated glade, its path unfrequented
its name corrupted by long amnesia and collective deception
and left behind no footsteps to follow
From there, spoke to me in your verse, of color beyond perception
in a secret language more valuable than comprehension
planted in an inconceivable dimension
beyond the best reach of my mine
For an instant I was in love
or saw what love could be
And with every word the wind swept away
I hoped to someday love like you.
Who
Once broke bonds of reality
to briefly touch perfection with the tip of a finger
and experience that so crudely confined to fiction
Discovered a quietly awaiting moated glade, its path unfrequented
its name corrupted by long amnesia and collective deception
and left behind no footsteps to follow
From there, spoke to me in your verse, of color beyond perception
in a secret language more valuable than comprehension
planted in an inconceivable dimension
beyond the best reach of my mine
For an instant I was in love
or saw what love could be
And with every word the wind swept away
I hoped to someday love like you.
Snow
Awoken by atmospheric water vapour frozen into ice crystals
and falling from the upper atmosphere in light white flakes against my window,
One of many of weather inspired humans, I now write of snow
Winds drive the hours by, and it snows with the same ardour it began with,
[long after fickle mortals have changed their facebook status's to things entirely unconnected to the clime]
the white sky wholeheartedly working to paint its image on the land below.
And I wait, watching by the window,
as the earth and the heavens, apparently unconcerned with dignity
enthusiastically sling snow stuff at each other on the wings of icy winds,
swirling turbulently over frosted trees, lampposts and less comfortable bipeds, swollen and ungainly with immunity,
For inspiration,
my mind as poetically blank as the untouched plains outside.
Dec 2008
and falling from the upper atmosphere in light white flakes against my window,
One of many of weather inspired humans, I now write of snow
Winds drive the hours by, and it snows with the same ardour it began with,
[long after fickle mortals have changed their facebook status's to things entirely unconnected to the clime]
the white sky wholeheartedly working to paint its image on the land below.
And I wait, watching by the window,
as the earth and the heavens, apparently unconcerned with dignity
enthusiastically sling snow stuff at each other on the wings of icy winds,
swirling turbulently over frosted trees, lampposts and less comfortable bipeds, swollen and ungainly with immunity,
For inspiration,
my mind as poetically blank as the untouched plains outside.
Dec 2008
Poet
Seeing a fraction of this world
living an instant of its time
conceiving a morsel of its ideas
writing an inch of its verse.
12 Dec 2008
living an instant of its time
conceiving a morsel of its ideas
writing an inch of its verse.
12 Dec 2008
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