Long Purples Poems

Take me to the tombstone 
let me touch the gray stone that stands
where life could not
I will put my face to that touchstone of deaf thunder,
What happened  to your breath baby brother,
what happened in...

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I'd love to paint, a picture for you, of images in my head.
Of a quirky old town, I'll set the scene, as you rise from a crooked bed.
The room you're in, whilst large in size,...

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After hiking on the trail one day, I was making my way back,
Immersed in balmy thrills of summer, and the sunshine attack!

Birdsong was in my ears, and fragrance of beauty all around;
And greenness like a...

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Time echoes and resonates 
without language,
successfully invests 
in green ecstatic backdrop,
below misty blue sky

Spotted and splashed Earth space,
blossomed in round yellows and spindling purples
soft blues and flaming orange

Fragile
naked moments of fully fertile tone
bilateral shapes and...

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I was reclining upon soft pillows, in my spacious window seat,
Savoring pretty views and sunshine, while I nibbled on a treat.

Alternately I read my novel, and gazed on the tranquil scene, 
As one gazes at...

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Time echoes and resonates without language,
invests in green triumphal backdrop
below mystic blue sky,
splattered

Blossoming in yellows and spindling purples
blues and flaming orange,
fragile moments of fully fertile fractures,
flagrant erections of next generation's hope
for full coloring 
perennially emerging...

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If roses are red
then violets are blue.
If you were as dumb as me
you'd have voted for Trump too.

This election just past,
I never wanted to sin
but I'm so tired of Losing wars
when Earth's climate needs to...

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It’s Harvard VS Yale this weekend, the vibes are just starting now. Everyone - and I mean everyone - has been asking about my game tickets, because guest tickets are $25 a pop. I’m more...

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I know of a river of more than average 
Sorts...
Meandering, when not dallying to maunder,
Between many differing contours 
And unruly contorts;
Where a privileged youth once
Happily sought -
Pursuing about his passions
In the traditional methods 
By which...

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There are wrinkles
Now, lines erasing a past
Where the fine contours of her face
Were drawn, in color
Crisp, clean lineages from 
Time echoing hope,
Soothing away the fragments
Reality connecting the dots,
Gentling the descent
From her youth to the present
Moment,...

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I OPENED A DOOR AND FOUND MYSELF
SITTING IN THE MIDST OF CLOUDS.

THE ATMOSPHERE WAS QUITE CHILLY.
AND THE OXYGEN LEVEL EXTREMELY LOW. 
HEAVENLY IN A WAY.

I WASN'T SURE OF MY DIRECTION.
WAS I ASCENDING OR WERE THE...

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A damp, dank odour pervades the saturated forest; pungent. acrid;
The stench an assault on the human senses:
Working subtly, slowly permeating every pore until it compromises the very heart of the forest.

Seeping easily between the debris;...

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With wind in the air, girl in the honeymoon, technology shape our thinking, I cannot sleep without having to think about you Why I look so sad tell me the white lines that you see...

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Reflections of the day of my Birth
On this 58th year I reflect on what is before me and, also behind me
How did I get this far with more behind me than there is ahead of...

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In the valley 
I'm down on my haunches 
with the tall grass whispering around me,
enveloped like I was wrapped in a blanket
I listen to the mournful dirges 
of my scattered brothers and sisters
filling the skies...

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Lorca Translations III

Federico Garcia Lorca (1898-1936) was a Spanish poet, playwright and theater director. He was assassinated by Nationalist forces at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War and his body was never found.

Paisaje (“Landscape”)
by...

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**

  I awoke this morning to birds singing.
  The dead silence that's been heard all winter.
  Now the harmonious sounds of life, as birds sing,  
  Sing about the new...

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Mary was ten and she adored flowers, and she had three pretty sisters;
But, she never could make a garden grow; like stars, losing jade glitter.

Sisters Sarah, Martha and Alice spoiled Mary, for she was the...

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Lorca Translations II

Canción del jinete (“Song of the Rider”)
by Federico Garcia Lorca
translation by Michael R. Burch

Cordoba. Distant and lone.
Black pony, big moon,
olives in my saddlebag.
Although my pony knows the way,
I never will reach Cordoba.

High plains,...

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I am told
	that I should write
lines that will
	a picture make

cold breeze blows
	bearing all warmth away
carrying just a whisper
	softly to my ears

a distant sound
	I can barely hear
somewhere distant
	somewhere far away

and I do gaze
	looking about
that my eyes...

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I couldn’t help but think now of where her life would go now she was gone. I suppose I done it to myself really. I transfixed on the reasoning for ages, only now coming to...

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Oh it was so long ago, now, in the time before television.
It was a more genteel time.
Women used to do the housework and read to the children.
Their husbands went off to save the world,
and their...

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Have You Tried My Slushie?             By 
Briar Rabbit
 
 
 
I don’t know if it brings the boys to the 
yard
I’d want some time to myself
 
I  think..
 
I think of angel dust
while
liberty belles call my name
 
 
cement and concrete as...

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My hair is mostly white with streaks of black here and there
My white hair marks me as “aged” --- is that fair?
I don’t think or feel old (to which my body keeps disagreeing)
Just let me...

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He glances out the window,
And watches the sunset,
But he doesn’t see the beauty,
Nor the warm rays which, 
Pierces through the glass,
Only the anticipation and, 
Anxiety of a long night,

Carefully, he watches, 
The colors change,
First the...

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