Three Poems Written A While Ago

Delicate Dance

The balance is the beauty,

each part moving freely

and yet affecting each other part,

compensating to retain the center.

If the form is awkward,

the movements must wobble.

Thus perfection mars the balance

and brings the structure down.

The balance is the beauty.

Can I give so that you can take

and receive what is given equal to your movement?

I must move to fill a certain space,

if you move toward an empty place.

If you bend to pick up a pin,

I must move further from the center .01 steps

and up one penny’s width.

Or, should I scuff an indent

and sink in a cold puddle depression at my heel.


Out of Context


Caution to protect

From something conceived

To have formed an idea

Crouched, ready

To spring an

Animal hunting

Exhilarated, the opposite

Of clothing reflected

Off the surface

A mournful cry for

The dead throws out

From lower branches

Unstable ruin pushed into penetrable

Guard of anger bringing

Back from loss

Scorching, slow, not

Wanting to make small

Space sweaty gurgling

Footsteps a monolith

Volleys of hard sap

Grooved gradually a

Road in the light

Sparkling loosely down spiked discs

Wandering from the Woods.


“I want to hear a poem

where Tito Puente is still alive

and Elvis is dead,”

Tito Puente is still alive,

still chugging out the rhythm,

Tangelo, tangelo,

The old bridge leads like a scout

Through tropical sweat dripping

Tangle of vines.

Milagro! Milagro!

He is still alive!

But, Elvis is dead.

This entry was posted in All part of the process, music, paying attention, poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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