Udderly
04 February 2015
I speak,
usually,
from regurgitation,
chewing and swallowing again,
like cows.
And yet,
rumination
is an essential part
of getting nourishment from life.
Smart cows.
falling into
20 April 2014
your eyes
I memorize,
as if I’m hypnotized,
unconsciously mesmerized by
your soul.
barefoot soul
13 April 2014
barefoot
on hardwood floors,
on sun-hugged, luscious green,
on ocean-caressed midnight sand,
sole-touched.
jungle
03 April 2014
densely
lush, overgrown,
and mostly unexplored,
like the deepest, darkest jungle –
my mind.
beauty,
mixed with terror,
strangely symbiotic,
in ways I’ll never understand
fully.
treasures
waiting to be
found or rediscovered;
if I’m lost, I’ll leave my words to
follow.
I roar
31 March 2014
she purrs …
wind carried scent,
from many miles away,
triggers something primal in me.
I roar!
moments full of moments
31 March 2014
barefoot
days, porch swing nights,
moments full of moments,
barely a sigh, remembering –
life … love …
reschedule
07 March 2014
it was
six months ago
I made an appointment.
I don’t remember yesterday,
sorry.
when asked about revising
05 March 2014
almost
never, still means
sometimes, or possibly,
although, really, I just never
revise.
I guess
that probably
excludes me from being
what you would call a genuine
poet.
I am
spontaneous.
It’s sort of like childbirth,
once it’s out, it’s out, nurtured, but
unchanged.
Oddly,
it’s only my
poetry, as fiction
is constantly revised, never
finished.
In fact,
I’m envious
of poets who revise,
those who polish to perfection —
it shows.
It’s art,
a craft one learns,
a lifetime of practice,
that we each must do our own way,
I think.
So, no,
I don’t revise,
to answer your question.
I’m really not concerned about
it though.
