Roundness Poems

In the Invisibility

whereas I, by chance, talking to myself, finding myself
alone, enclosed by four walls and a door, knock
to see, in the invisibility, with x-ray ability, not held,
if you dear reader, sitting by your nightlight, might
switch it on and find a word to speak silently
or out loud; your choice. the ones you borrow

from a native tongue, feeling
their incomprehensible weight,

stopping mid-sentence, to ponder if you are moved
in the slightest bit; I’m biting my lip in anticipation,
though I’ve no inkling that you're mulling over
my thoughts, my doubts, my innards, my all.

now, I, think of you, sitting by a scintilla of light,
moonlight marvels at the roundness of your lips
as you nearly sing your “o’s;” sonnets seem
sensual alongside the bed, though always grieving.
love is a dog, a walk in the woods, a lark.

leave me be. let me remember you as I long to.
don’t say goodbye, but leave my sighs on the table,
where you first met me, and I almost met you,
and you, dear reader, take back up with me,

though now there’s a familiarity between us,
lost in the shadows, amidst the stars
and you can nearly hear me breathing.

I Come and Go

hell comes and goes

that old
high sprung
jack-in-the box
grin on a spring

jumps out

pop goes my holy holisticness

i fall sick of myself
my all-a-roundness leaks

stuff looms

it happens

then i pray and cuss
cuss and pray

chase down the devil
pin him down
rip off his clown face

tell him
ever
so
gently

to stop being me

A BEATY IN A BEAUTY

I could hear her beauty, 
The music was just a noise, 
The sparks in her eyes aroused my pity, 
Denying her my touch could be a curse,

The roundness on her chest is the cause,
Under her black dress was the dance of her titty,
They're full on her chest as if they're 'bout to burst,
No! I rather turn them to my prettiest cuties.

The sexiness of her lips nearly stopped my pulse,
She's just too sexy to walk lonely round the city,
Tho', I know she needs lots of doughs in her purse,
Before her love can be in my kitty.
 
I don't mind! Her smile is just too pretty,
Her skin also glows and my palms can be its nurse,
Hope my feel of her freshness will not be gritty.
Oh! I'm already dreaming that she's in my house.

Then the music that came on was beaty,
Then I woke up to feel her absence across,
So, love has left me with loneliness to sign a new treaty,
Afterall, I woke up from this sweet dream to still carry my own cross.

Somewhere

Somewhere in these busy woods
a woodpecker tattoos tree bark,
I hear its piercing peck and drumming.

Above me songbirds and squirrels
hustle to and fro
through their arboreal thoroughfares.

Then I, in my absent mindedness,
meandered into this open glade;
here silence climbs up a rope-less tent
one pitched under a million feet of sky.

I could spend an hour here,
a week, for I am sheltered;
not only from woodland chatter and fuss
but also times hurried pulse.

This sunlit acre could be moonlit
perhaps somewhere it already is?
'Somewhere' has moved on
upon a pathway I cannot see from here.

This sylvan space, this patch of peace
is a tower of stillness,
a sunny circle of buttercups and stray bluebells,
and what I thought of as somewhere
bewitches me in a dappled roundness
of nowhere.

The Moon Is Orange

The moon is orange with the roundness of Halloween.
The witch sits close by and is truthfully easily seen.
They are conferring, plotting, planning something mean.
It is the moon’s first chance to be evil. His name is Dean.

Remnants of Eden

Remnants of Eden United

Scattered shards, remnants of Eden,
Gathered to a ring of bright topaz
A simultaneous soliloquy of intentionality
At the crux of intersecting avenues,
Indivisible solidarity and singular consent,
Distilled in breathless agreement
Rising from opaque mists
Where gypsy heart and pilgrim spirit
Commit to a blind quest,
Stumble in silence toward the joining
As their plea peers into fleeting glimpses
Of merging tranquility
And 
Feel the quickening of a singular pulse
In wordless words,
Translated by acrostic identities
Through star crossed collisions
Of shattered betrayals,
To exhale one sigh – one whisper -
Overflowing in lyrical foundations
Of delighted synchronized accord
In geometric solutions of rhymes and rhythms -
Journey into enchantment of unbreakable roundness -
A seamless garment of the eternal’s delight,
A fusion of two conscious worlds spoken as one breath.

Ode To a Deflated Wife

Gather her up with velvet mitts.
Dab with cotton wipes.
Toss her gently on a bed of roses.
Yank her light switch until she glows.
Purge blues with muted pastels.
Whisper of wealth yet to come, 
encourage with chocolates and wine.
Agree to die first;
love her back to roundness.

Dog In a Turning Pond

Paws paddlewheel a roundness.
Mouth wide in the sluice, a sodden rudder
pushes sideways braiding a foaming wake.
Pond and dog orbit an ocular sky,
watery eyes memo the turning scene:
a bobbing hat floats beneath clouds,
a heron fishing over its stooping shadow,
a nodding woman upon a snorting horse,
a stroller, a mother,
an old man shaped like a walking stick.
The delirious dog bites a wave and sneezes,
while to-and-fro, a bobbing ball seductively,
turns his world.

First Beach

The agency of touch
fell before you.
You receive it like warm lush rain
sinking ever forward
into your next terrain.

I am the blue bull.
the one who makes decisions.
I'm the careful surgeon.
The one whoe makes incisions.

Square my light into roundness.
Immerse all life into oneness.

Deep Thoughts

After a brief illness the world rolls back
as a globe atlas seeking its gimbal.
It occurs to me that the planet has no legs,
that legs are a mark of the ephemeral nature
of all angularity. Roundness the real
mark of the Lord Thy God.
I then wonder if I still have a fever of the brain?
My bowels are irregular
I dump fiber into my coffee, munch on dry toast.
A host of ridiculous thoughts plague me still.
Being perhaps still ill and loosely fitting
I bang my head upon a poem
and pray that it may recover all by itself.

Shapeless

rain droplets falling
losing their ego roundness
shapeless fill all shapes

Ode For a Deflated Wife

Gather her up
with rubber gloves and Lysol.
Toss her gently on a bed of roses.
Yank her light switch,
immerse blues in soft sell.
Whisper of wealth yet to come,
encourage with chocolates,
agree to die first;
love her back to roundness.

Moonstruck

The roundness of a drop of water
keeps me stuck on spin,
no flat earth could wash so cleanly.

The moon could be hollow,
it rings like a bell when struck.
I study bells and their carved-out emptiness.
I interpret tones and their bongs
into words.

Last evening
I was distracted by moonlight -
it trembled.
Light is so much faster
than bells chimes.
Patiently I waited in the shimmer,
then came the deep and distant ringing.
The sleeping birds heard it also,
Owls spun their heads
like silver coins.

A thunderstruck night sky
intoned its obscure vespers.
Ears detecting, but the sound
seemed not so much outer 
but inwards -
a vibrations of being.

The chipmunk
who had raced here and there all day long
stood as still as a tiger
eyes alight 
in the burning bright hollowness
of that carillon call.

Thank You Spirit Moon

Ojibwe tribe is in awe of the spirit moon
She brings a swift coldness to the atmosphere
Showing her reverence for a wintery mix.

Cree call her frost exploding moon, 
in honor of the tree crackling sounds of Canada
Her bright roundness announces icicles and snow

Luna keeps her far side hidden, an illusion of secret
Showing us her full wolf moon, the one we howl for
Changing our moods in mercurial ways

I stare at her from the safety of my home
Wind chill here is minus eight below zero.
Thank you spirit moon, I say, admiring her frost.

Her gorgeousness brings blackness to the sky
Dwarfing the beauty of the constellations
Obliterating them. I feel Native American around her.

Going West

Once, a hundred cigarettes 
glowed in just one cinema.
Arrows flew yet all were near misses,
random unaimed bullets easily knocked over 
bunches of whooping Comanches.
Some horses were shot unseen off-screen.

In small Midwest towns fantasy roamed unchecked
nibbling at young hearts and brains.
Many adults pinned their hopes 
on the aerodynamic tailfins of Chevy Stingrays
and more spaceship roundness in their homes.
Malls proliferated on the edge of cornfields
where prayers were answered on Sunday.

All this was normal, no one marked our
lack of awareness, we were painted innocent 
by a world that had come to terms with
its time.

We knew much was wrong
some radicals fought for the oppressed.
Texas Rangers stood ready to lasso
hordes of cartoon villains.
A few federal agents imagined time travel.

The whole country was going somewhere
and working hard to ignore where we were,
as if in fact, we were all stuck in a movie
peering over the glow of a hundred cigarettes.

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