maybe a Sonnet to stun
for the first few lines and then
turn in a new direction;
settling some innocent frame,
feeling for slowing the pace,
spinning a gut or a brain,
spiraling up and away.
Can we word-walk a moment
stuttering fast but metric,
capturing meaning from sense,
rippling along - majestic.
Smaller – growing bigger -
galaxy - nebula - Star.
Somewhat like an old sunflower
I conned a bee the livelong day
and dark the night and tossed was i,
tossed and bowed by beating heart,
battered by windstorm head to root;
humbled by the night, i become
a face-turn now towards the sun.
When golden sun arises in the fields
my shadow falls onto the West,
rapidly I am tall
- but then shorter
and shorter
as form
turns
to
zero
at midday
- when my outline
sputters and travels out
into the falling, aching East
and I arise again, full, disappear.
although I will avoid reflected light
turning from my mirror again, again
because I know I’m headed for midnight;
a little rest and a little more pain.
A heart that flows a river’s what I see;
(my tiny life is dropping down the drain)
- not knowing who I am or who I’ll be -
although my son loves mirrors like a Star,
sees himself as Elvis, Danny, he
adores his own reflection, avatar;
knows that power’s rising to a height
with alchemy of joy - and jollity -
polishing the mirror, burning bright,
although I will avoid reflected light.
that when he smiles he can’t lose
his little life, a given gift,
and when he smiles, he will include
folks on the right and on his left
as if we’re all relying on
a simple little theory that
angel, ape, enlightened man
without a smile’s a dot, a mote.
Around the dinner table, he’s
holding gaze; attention of
his friends, his mates and yes, he knows
the great effect a smile can have;
suggesting ‘there is joy and peace’
with mouth and eyes for people in a race.
On a moving train I can’t rest
on the ground any more, unsettling
and flying on backwards through air
so the earth flows like water
in blue and old grey.
Trees and green fields, even houses and sheep
don’t wander but flow,
turn to liquid and stream.
No rain, only membranes of glass
from a train and a trembling of torso
so fluid and flowing like blood or a lymph,
amoeba or nymph, on an engine
vibrating my feet and my bum
‘til we stop, ‘til we stop, moving on.
