Thursday, May 22, 2014

Birds



Our steps forward and we hear them
Whistles under whispers
Peeping under Patters
And the tin rustles and the layers of sound
Hypnotizing and Surrounding
Each musician wrapped in the glory
Of his own voice
Each concurrent wave offsetting the next
And our steps forward
And our ears to the side
As we pass the explosion and crescendo skywards

~for Annie

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Quoth My Demons

I feel I must write
About what, you ask
Maybe love, I say reading your hints non-verbally
But it's been written I quickly follow
Maybe politics, I say and you shudder
Probably already thinking of the shrill screams
Maybe nature, I say
You stifle a yawn with the back of your hand
You were born too late, you say
Everything to say has been said
There is nothing new under the sun
You leave and I open the book of Ecclesiastes
I'll write of an inexhaustible God, I whisper