Tag Archives: writing

The Predictor

On the day of first yellow mango

came the prophet in form of grand smiler

He stood glowing as I lay sleep wandering

He bore gifts of bright abundance

songs of camas and white fawn lily fields

Colours luminescent like rainbows

With a voice like a choir of ethereal children

he weaved my comfort blanket of story

painted walls of wonder unfolding the day

Sky Faces

You can’t depend on their presence

You cannot summon them with command

Sky faces drift on a time outside of time

They carry messages from places of knowing

Just out of grasp

Speaking a language you’ve yet to learn

Obscured from sight by light step dancers

Sky faces are playful tricksters

They swoop in close

Breath sweet spearmint and clover

On silent wings they glide low and high

Leave you wanting

Promising—-

In time, maybe when you’re older

On some still early morning mist rising

As a new sun spreads life to shivered earth

Sky faces will linger, sip of your offering

Whisper words in the language of your heart

A Hand for You

I could have left a note

but it’s windy over there near the bay

You’ll be back before the melting

they remind us every day anyway

I listen to Neve and The Deer Children

sing songs in a language I do not understand

Which path did you choose at the crossroad

I wonder over morning coffee

Where is her other hand you’ll probably ask

when you arrive and find my sign

Why are there no footprints

either coming or going

Navigation

clarity

contemplate your resurrection path

winds are strong today

avert the fragile makers

empty vessels travel weightless

anchors having all rusted away

your hair obscures your view

yet you see what needs be seen

a blurring

a sign

a single thread

soft speaking from the edge of

a craggy cliff

a hem of your old sweatshirt

A Fair Day

I was tapping out a rhythm with my cutlery and my glass

He was sitting on the shady side of the road

I slipped him into a plot where it seemed he belonged

He sat there looking at three hungry dogs searching

I wondered if he was working up to something good or bad

His boots did not look like they’d been walking in the field

I decided he must be waiting on a woman named Gabrielle

He had the gaze of a patient but expectant man

I craned my neck without revealing my serious curiosity

He took off his hat and with one palm smoothed down his dark hair

I started humming to a tune I was strumming in my head

His fingers started twitching like he might be running out of time

I looked up at the waiter who was looking down at me without a smile

and in that flicker of an instant that cowboy vaporized

I tried to finish the story while my fork turned a tasteless meal

He left me there on that sunlit veranda like it was a fair deal

Sky Talk

Study the language

What is the first line

When did your understanding begin

How many questions have you asked

Why not

Who are you now

Who were you before

What is the one purpose to which you aspire

The sky delivers notes on a messenger bird

Check your pockets

You may imagine you need a translator

You need only be still

Be

What is the message

What does a sky know anyway

More than I

More than you

A dimensional traveller

A seer

A curator of acts

A promulgator of fate

A harbinger

A collage of beauty and debris

A curtain of velvet and chain

A theatre of death metal and symphony

A canvas for reverence and horror

A chameleon of change and stasis

A prophet of mysterium tremendum

Whose eyes witness this same sky

What message do you send

When you believe no one sees

But the eyes of your intention

What is your métier

Today is the matter

Tomorrow you may know better

Forever soars with tireless wings

There’s a Crack in the Ice

There’s a crack where ice meets the sun

A star open to the temporary

A hole to a cool underworld

I pause in this moment to ponder

My invitation to the party below

And yes, am I tempted

But so do I remember

Qualifications lacking

I am only half blind

Unstable when disconnected from earth

And cannot swim

White Horse

What are the chances one sweet Sunday

you’re snowshoeing in sun just passing

a girl guide troupe with raised open palms

enchanting Whiskey Jacks to alight

Coastal Range holding their mystic line

Salish Sea shimmers like raindrop diamonds

And you’re hoping these picks hold steady

Save your neck from the icy risk at the rim

You stall as you feel its presence

Silent watcher eyes your stumble through

White stallion in camouflage in plain view