jornales

for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

Here (for One Shoot Sunday)

Haunted Grainery, a photo by Sean McCormick

Night dying can’t be quiet
here: the air sputters,
roars. Dogs cough
in their sleep. Water laps
edges of dreams.

Darkness bleeds, floods
the field. Wheat grain
swaying in crimson stun
the absent moon. The sky
spits stars.

Someone rises
in the dark, pattering feet
alone. Phantom paws
race the light, those
purple spears

leaving bruises
night inflicts on sleep. No one
waits for night dying
here: day isn’t
a likely light.

Posted at One Stop Poetry for One Shoot Sunday from a photo by Sean McCormick titled, “Haunted Grainery”. Join other poets and artists like me who have bonded as a community of lovers for their art.

February 6, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

the copper sea (for One Shoot Sunday)

the sun sets copper
on the sea swarming over
desert longings
lapping our dreams

on our footprints
a heat rises on ghosts
of foam cresting
for the stars

the sand sinks
death our sun desires
drained on our footprints
unquenched

no shadows lurk
here the light fractures
the pining twilight
leaves splinters

on the sand
the copper sea turns in
a petulant phantom
on our footprints

unwashed silted

footprints by Iquanyin Moon

Posted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry, a community of poets and artists who love their art and sustain each other.

January 30, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

Deserter (One Shot Wednesday)

Spine-sagged figures trudge where mottled hill
smacks a smoky sky. A breeze lifts arms but weighs down on phantom weights, crosses the shape of forebodings.
I plead for coddling. But gray huddle bursts–on command
of the winged kingpin–derisive of my intrusion,
message on their repulsive eyes. I recoil
faceless among faces, creep away.

Had I feathers not sticks to heave survival arms
uphill in desert cubicles where suns sketch moons
over trees, I would fly away. Had I beaks not lips to warble jeweled clips not statements of commitments
without weight or facets I could not hold out to
to some light or undecided darkness,
I would sing. Hence, spirit-less

I creep up a clump of cypresses–those grave
sentinels that now stir in the wind, a warning. Am I
perhaps who has given up fighting, scrambling to my end
where martinet on my deserter’s trail awaits? Hinted stars witness my trembling, and then my calming—
when over my head twitters from sparrows roosting
drip as notes, congealing as affirmation of peace

my endless steps into the day, how it winds
to fill and drain then draw up tweets I drop like theirs,
balancing my spirit on a concrete sky.

NOTE: Editing refuses to read my line breaks on line #2 stanza 1, break on down on/phantom weights; line #3 stanza 2, break on warble/jeweled; line #4 stanza 3, break on stars/witness

Edited from original published in “Poets Against War”, March 2008
posted for One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry blog. Join other poets and link up your poem wth Mr. Linky in the site.

January 19, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments