My Poet and I

There is a poet inside me,

Struggling to get out. 

He leans against my heart, 

And presses against the back of my sternum,

Scratching with the sharp toes

Of his cold feet. 

Yet I long to live with him again,

To chat over lonesome coffee,

Somewhere just off the road. 

I can't always hear him, 

But I hear him walking,

Getting nearer. 

And as I prepare for his return

I see Poetry everywhere. 

Not just from the poets, 

But as the birds beat at the air

To let go of the earth. 

And in the leaves of the trees

Waving

In gentle applause.

But also in the cracked sidewalk,

The potholes,

And the dirty truckstop shower. 

It is everywhere,

Just waiting, 

For my poet and I. 

Sailing the Atlantic at Night

 

Suspended between starry sky

And dark sea,

Sailing the Atlantic at night.

Not a sound but the waves

Rushing past,

Or is it stars brushing by sails?

Where do the stars begin or

The sea end?

Feeling the unseen ocean swell.

Mysterious invisible sails

Obscuring stars,

Black triangles against a dark sky.

What began as a smudge

To the East,

Hardens to a line as stars fade.

Slow motion explosion of color,

Shimmering waves,

The sun burns a hole in the horizon.

Topaz waters fade to blue green,

Clouds flout on.

This will suffice, to me, for a church.

I Couldn't Find Any Sleep

I Couldn't Find Any Sleep
(first draft, incomplete?)

I tried to get too much done yesterday

And when I finally laid down

(short nap before a night shift)

I couldn't find any sleep

In the jungle that is my disquieted mind

The hurly-burly of all my schemes and aspirations

Howled like monkeys at sunset.

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Image used without permission. Stolen here.