31 March 2011

Haiku II

Stranded by a tide
I never imagined, one
hand’s simple pressure

Haiku I

Lucky, lucky teeth
get to hang out every day
with your laughing tongue

30 March 2011

Bare-Armed Woman

There are archers,
and then there are archers.

She stands knee-deep in the
glinting, winking, knowingly seductive tumble
of her shed layers of armour.
I’d be tempted to start collecting it all back into my arms, if I were her.

I’m not.

There she stands.
Not without doubt,
but certainly without terror.

By now she’s reached her exquisite skin
which, she notices,
does not require defending.

Her hunter’s eyes are keen, as you’d expect.
But they give as much as they take in.

They reveal her inner wolf.
They entertain all possibilities.

Her arrows bring surprises.
reminders
big dreams
gratitudes
challenges

Best of all:
her back is strong.
From bending.

29 March 2011

Eagle Heart Woman

Golden eagle woman.
Through these grey eyes of mine,
you look awake.

Let me see you dance a way forward,
and a way out
into less familiar sky-places.

I think I trust you with the task
of moving on up.

There are currents to ride up there,
and I see that your feathers are finding them.

There are winds that require diving,
and I notice that your courage seeks them.

Then there are moments to turn
and look carefully
over your shining shoulder.

I know you dare to look back, directly at the sun.
You allow its scorching fingers to chase you away
from your oldest, most comfortable devils.

Allow me to observe you.
Allow me to say how you ripple through a gathering.

You toss yourself in like a brown and golden stone,
and you circle on your wings of amber,
seeking bottom.

Bird Heart

I saw the prettiest birds fly away with my heart.
They opened my gates.

They threw wide the doors without a backward bird-glance.

They burst
like the understated endings of a thousand intelligent films
slipping out of their restraint
into a dance of abandon.

They exploded
like a private grimace of loss breaking its cage bars,
transforming the sky,
in a fulsome wail of mourning.

They slipped out
wing after wing after wing after wing,
racing between my ribs,
left side.

Blue ones, yellow ones.

Small
fierce
sweet.

Asking no questions
and thinking not a moment ahead.

Talking their heads off:
rich chirps
and impossibly liquid song-speeches
flying with them.

I’ve never seen a pink bird before this.  I really thought they live elsewhere.
I didn’t know they were nesting on my heart.

There they go
like a river pouring off a cliff, except upwards.

Their beating and fluttering bodies
making the air in front of me sound
like big water on the move.

Rags of my blood scattering.
Shreds of me funneling out of my chest.

Where are you going, birds?
Where are you taking my heart?
I thought it was in me.

I see your point, though.
It’s no more in me than out:
diffuse.

Heart pieces glued everywhere,
stuck like bits of abandoned chewing gum.

Clinging barnacle-wise to so many
beings and phenomena and memories and delusions.

Not in me, but mine.

Leaving me, always leaving me,
and mine.