Monday, October 15, 2012

Taking Honey

Hot knife cuts cap
off cells filled with
liquid gold. Spin it, 
force it to ooze out
the spigot. Strain it into a 
cheesecloth covered
bucket. Leave enough
for bee's hard won
winter food.
Bottle some for me to 
sweeten and warm up
winter's bitter chill. 

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

How Fidelity Happens

Blankets knot, sheets tangle.

 Limbs twist, nerves jangle. 

Fragrance floats along for free. 
Kything sent to him, unbeknownst by me. 

The next morning he said, 

“I dreamed the strangest dream

If anyone else dreamed the same

one last night, maybe it 

happened to me.” 

I turn away. 

Pink spreads up my face. 

I'm grateful no one can see inside 

bundled and bedded dreams.

My ring's still on my finger. 

I'm awake and longing for home. 

I want my beloved - he waits for 

me in our marriage bed - alone. 

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

A Generous Man

He told the rose, "You're
dangerous," many times
that day - for she always
carried a passport in her bag
and a ready yes on her face.

He could easily snap her stem 
from its branch. She wanted 
plucked, and stuck permanently
close in the empty buttonhole 
of some gentleman's jacket.

He bent down often
to smell the rose, knowing 
she couldn't be his. He left
her fragrance blooming for
another to pick and carry
close to his chest for life.

He remembers this rose
whose faint perfume still
curls around his songs, tickles
his dreams, and whispers
his poetry awake.

Ann Dunbar's Paper Dress Sculptures

I drove an hour to go back to Curtis Steiner's shop/gallery in Ballard again. The first time wasn't enough. It is the sort of place that lets you poke around and open drawers to see what secrets are held inside. It feels like walking into a poem. The shop sings with storied art, with lots of uncrowded space to pause and wonder...and breathe. It invites you to come in and linger.

Ann Dunbar makes common paper elegant and eloquent. Even the sunlight was attracted and played dress up with us.

Monday, October 8, 2012

My Love Lets Me Fly

Wind carries my kite high. 
It fights to be free but if I 
give in and release the taut 
string, the dancing colors 
will know mangled ruin -
be lost. 

You hold me tight without 
letting go no matter how I beg. 

You wrap me untangled 
around the strong handle 
of your love. 

You let my colors
out to fly and play -
but not away.

Outlines and Bounding Lines

The child presses down hard

until black wax builds up. 

Inadequate outlines

printed without sufficient

ability can't keep rambunctious 

colors captive on the page.

"Concentrated, contained energy equals eternal delight." William Blake via Malcolm Guite