Tree of Tears (Poem)

A colossus approaches the turbulent world.

A marble really, in a universe's spectrum,

and perches himself upon the world's open-jawed mouth.

Steadily, as an artist would trace his favorite body-curve-line

this giant uproots from rocky soil an enormous banyan tree -

its roots still quivering from the unjust blow,

and branches spilling clay-red tears. 

Gulls, terns and albatross flap confused amongst its branch-like veins,

seeking refuge for which they are vanguard... 

Then gently from its concrete and mortar foundation

this behemoth unlatches a city section

from its rigid lines and unflinching geometry,

when vexed vapor suddenly sprays its eye,

blinding him momentarily,

allowing for a deafening roar...

While unnoticed and small,

sparrows collect

the tree's tears, now aloe,

And slipping from their backs and earth-brown feathers 

– onto the colussus' eyes,

these tears sooth a giant's pain.

Muted Day (Poem)

On a soft, muted day

cupping a fragile evening in my hands,

lacing my fingers through twilight hours,

I lay myself, naked, down upon

      a field of emerald green grass,

to feel blind poems etch themselves

across my whisper-quiet skin.

...And trembling slightly under the vast pressure

      of so ink-black a sky,

I sigh a tender sigh,

heavy with moments

of life sketches and drawings

traced when I used to

smile at the color of the morning and the smell of love on my fingertips.

Still, naked

speckled with falling stars,

I gently blow the fragile evening

as one would dandelion seeds

during a summer picnic,

and watch twilight swirl around dusk, each distinct hour

journey upon its own path into a new day.

Now for the Running: Part II (Poem)

Everything I breathed in instantly became a jumble of lines,

swirling and howling in my ears 

as my eyes teared over from fear and joy.

I knew without a doubt he came quickly behind

as if the pen on my paper doodles bled him closer and closer to my sprint.

Alleyways turned streets, turned highways, turned tucked-away corners

where scenes from my life flipped and reeled like a motion-picture book.

I saw gorgeous amber-yellow cafes

replaced

by concrete thumping clubs

replaced

by junkies

replaced 

by burning cliffs

woven between

girls leaving men and mean looking bottles.

For a second I even thought I was swimming deep,

flailing and flapping in nose-high ocean water, 

thick salt tickling the back of my throat drop by drop.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop..." words jerking out of me, ragged.

I have never been a runner, 

and nightmarish man with a fresh hole in his chest chasing me aside,

I couldn't hold out much longer, 

scrabbling for the corner of building,

splitting skin where once a rock had flown from free and heavy.

Twisting and spinning I broke free,

wondering how much my life was worth anyway,

wondering how much he had bought my dreams for.

Inside my head there had always been such lovely images,

pieced and stitched together with hours of patience,

days worth of watching snow slide down a melted pane,

months worth staring at a wheel-go-round of words fling

sentence

after 

sentence into my head.

Now this idiot was chasing me, panting down pathways.

"Oooof," enough. Enough.

I plunged into a bar.

"You know young man, this bar is owned by him," 

a sallow man told me from the corner where he sat,

leaning against a wall that backed against another wall

that crumbled into another wall leading back to me.

Gray and charred, all walls were decorated with pictures from my life,

stills, thousands upon thousands of them.

My heart broke then, 

and emptiness poured in like an upside-down waterfall.

A Whisper Once Told Me (Poem)

She told me to float,

and watch the sky carefully.

“Something incredible will happen,” she whispered to me –  

Days passed and the river took me further –

her whispers never left my side –

they never lied and still I floated.

at last, when I could breath no more – I stopped,

supine. Blinding sun, heavy earth.

Falling Stones (Poem)

Swish

branches on the shoes of a wondering man –  

Blink of the sun,

hovering over oceans of waves

stumbling along her path. 

Tremble of the earth – with

the falling and clicking of stones in heavy saltwater

and there she goes;

floating, dancing with the sea. 

My pen scratches paper-

blots,

and here she is,

purring and crawling over my words.

My Streets (Poem)

I wish the Andes hadn’t been silenced–

I wish the city cradling me during birth had yelled a little louder. 

I wish I had seen them take torches to the shoulder-high monte.

I saw the Andes burn,

how it heaved its ashes down crowded, ugly streets.

And wondered why those black flakes burned,

why they smeared my clothing,

And my father?

I saw him swimming,

head bowed to his Father,

flakes of white ash on his brow –

valley trees murmuring his name. 

I have always connected poetry to fire

whether my pen admitted it or not.  

I connected serenity to my city,

whether the children robbing me knew it or not –

I always heard the

humming

strumming

running

whether the crowd cared or not. 

In the winter, when the air burned my tongue,

and sun licked my eyes–

I turned to my mother,

and tumbled into her as waves upon sand.

and it was then I heard the mountains

and I craved…cradled,

words. Incessant fire.