the plaintive calls

in this temporary lull…

in the stall that passes for a quiet pause…

the sigh between stoplights winking…

through another relentless rumbling evening rush,
.
.
i can hear the faint… the plaintive calls.

like memories echoing down narrow windowed canyon walls

a slow whitened silhouette a blur above rooftops,

entrails across the smoke dark shroud of sky.
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a lone seagull…

aloft in her weightless circles calling…

pleading our cause that carnivorous Winter release

it’s talon grip on our weathered psyches.
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this colossal metropolis

frayed and weary along its steely margins,

holding a collective breath praying for relief

for signs our resolve has slain the beast.
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to be home… and warm is a primal lure

and cars have little patience for an inconvenient reverie,

but i have witnessed Spring’s first inland gull

and believe her plea was not in vain.
.
.
heartened and invigorated now,

windows down i invite the viper wind

to hiss his last stinging breaths on my skin

and tangle my hair as i drive.

even the sparrow….Haiku/Tanka

a relentless snow
.
drifts in consuming whiteout…
.
will i disappear,
.
succumb to the vampire wind
.
that would drain my soul to numb?
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.
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these eyes half open
.
in waking hibernation,
.
this heart a frail beat.
.
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a frozen flatline…
.
waiting in emotional
.
ambiguity
.
.
for the morning Sun
.
to light… this desolate sky…
.
to wake… from this sleep…
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the ambivalent
.
stare dead eyed past the wounded.
.
yet time and again
.
your brown eyes warm my shadows,
.
and mend these oft broken wings.
.
.

Hope turns skyward now…
.
beyond… this Season of Fear…
.
snow… falls ever white…
.
and Winter’s death has it’s Spring,
.
even the sparrow… finds food.
.
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008
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watercolor pencil, pencil,
black and white marker,
white acrylic paint
12″x 12″ vellum paper,
sourced from various pics
and my imagination
click for larger image

numb of Winters past

Its-a-lonely-man
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for years suspended

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in the crevice of between…

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regret or forget…
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speaking or silence…

.
numb silhouette safe between

.
love and protection.
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shadows disappear

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in the white of fallen snow,

.
each Spring forgives the
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impatient crocus.
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crocus abd bees 2012 001
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Time erases shadows and

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Love resolves the wounds.
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shoots and wings, thresholds and thank you’s

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i woke today to an earlier light,

slicing sun… between wooden blinds.

Spring soil…it shifts and yearns

in shy murmurs… of shoots and wings.

.

how the wind is alive

with the long forgotten calls

of weary immigrant birds,

floating currents… returning home.

.

and maybe… my day is here

to shed this curfew of skin and doubt,

finally… free myself forward

shutter eyes that lurk behind my head.

.

let my instinct… map a ready sky,

a fragile trust and mysterious as flight.

let unfurl… these inadvertent wings

and surrender my will to each unknown.

.

there is stubborn in my bones

a rain worn feather remains as resolute,

and how much fear… i’ve let fly

oh, sweet wing of creation… take me home.
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thresholds
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When I began this little blog a year ago, I had such meager and modest expectations that anyone would pay any attention to what was being written here, let alone take the time to leave a comment because of something I happened to write.

I wrote short stories then, a memoir of sorts, recollections of a kid from a troubled family living in a poor and forsaken neighborhood in Brooklyn. And that’s all I had plans to write until I just happened to see a link to a poetry site on someone’s blog. It was the first week of April, and just happened to be the first week of National Poetry Month.

I still can’t explain what compelled me to submit a poem, I’d only written one until then just a few months earlier. But I did, flying by the seat of my proverbial pants, against every fear and anxiety I wrote renewal. I was so heartened and overwhelmed by the response, I wrote another.

And the rest, as they say is history.

But I believe our history is a living thing, and so very humbly here I am… 150 poems later. This past week this little blog surpassed 16,000 page views and recorded its 5000th comment and on days like this when I sit back and reflect on this profound improbability, I have to clunk myself in the head with the heal of my hand in a “I shoulda’ had a V8′ moment to make sure this isn’t a dream.

Me, who feared poetry all his life… is now obsessed with its writing.
.
.
shoots and wings
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And now I think it’s time to ‘unfurl these inadvertent wings’, cast aside the fear and doubt and accept the gifts that are being presented. In the coming weeks and months I’ll be busy with some collaborations and personal projects I wanted to tell you about.

A dear friend and most talented writer Bianca (B.G. Bowers) is dedicating her blog for the entire month of April to invited guest poets and challenges. She has very graciously asked me to participate, and I was honored to accept. On April 20th my poems will be featured and I’m really excited at the prospect. Thank you again Bianca.

In the next few weeks, 3 poets who are held in very high regard for personal and important reasons, and I will be working on co written poems. The themes of each of these poems are so dramatically different, the challenges will likely take us all to places we haven’t been before. With the enormous energy and talent these poets possess, I have no doubt co writing these poems will be an exciting and rewarding creative experience and I thank them all for this opportunity.

When you have a chance please visit
Melanie (Wordifull) Chloe (Sirena Tales) and teardropsofink

And lastly, many of you might remember that this past summer I was invited to apply for residency to the Ragdale Artist Retreat. Considering the prestigious alumni that have and still spend time there, it is an honor for me to even be considered. I’ve hesitated to apply because the one requisite the board asks you to have, is a worthy goal, something you can or want to achieve while you are there. I didn’t…until now.

In a recent comment thread with my wonderful new poet friend Nomzi (Nomzi Kumalo), she mentioned that she’d like to have a collection or a book of some of her favorite poems of mine. And of course I gave her my standard ‘oh I’ve never had the dream or desire to be published’ response. She hasn’t been the first friend to tell me this…

well… I finally got the courage to ask ‘why not a book?’

So I will apply now and whether I get accepted to Ragdale or not, a book will be self published in the coming months. I do have a tentative title ‘poems of Hope from a wounded heart‘, and dear Chloe has so graciously accepted to write an introduction. Thank you Nomzi for the spark and thank you Chloe for being generous with your valuable time. Love and Hugs to you both!
.
.
thank you all
.
.
And of course none of this would have or could have happened without all of you, who have read this poetry of mine and written so many profoundly heartfelt and encouraging comments. And a very special thanks to Melissa Hassard and the 20 Lines a Day community.

What an incredible gift this Circle of Encouragement is!

so ty, ty, ty, from the bottom of this very grateful heart.

Love and Hugs to you all!

Monday Haiku….the beckoning call

lights-6 (1)
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the beckoning call
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Winter’s icy voice,
.
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an apathetic hiss through
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gangways and alleys,
.
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the callous slicing
.
.
across streets and tender skin.
.
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there’s no reprieve in
.
.
.
.
this frigid metropolis,
.
.
stripped naked when ice winds sneak,
.
.
under window sills…
.
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through mortar and psyche…
.
.
stirring the blackened mold of
.
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toxic memories.
.
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it’s the helplessness
.
.
against this relentless howl…
.
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the beckoning call
.
.
.
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of the white season…
.
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the rerun of fatal fears..
.
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of hibernation…
.
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i dream of the womb,
.
.
in amniotic innocence
.
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pregnant with Hope.
.
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i believe in Hope,
.
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I believe in Redemption
.
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and in Renewal.
.
.
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to erase my eyes
.
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of each cruelty i’ve seen,
.
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.

and sleep… until Spring.
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P1010022_EarlyMagnolias_WebEdit (1)

tiptoe

dear new friends and old,
we are leaving in a few hours to spend
some time with family and to continue our
labor of love, restoring the 100 year old
house on our farm. i’ll be back on Tuesday,
in the meantime i thought i would repost this
poem, my second after joining 20 Lines A Day
in April.

thank you all for your continued and constant
encouragement, it means so very much to me.

if it weren’t for all of you, i wouldn’t be writing
this poetry of mine. please know what a gift you
have given me, that some days i still can’t believe
this is my blog, these are my words and you all,
are my friends.

thank you, so very much,
{{{ h u g s }}} and *smiles* to you all

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tiptoe.
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th

Amid this winter’s grey mist grip
our April mocks her Spring impression.
Rush hour red lights stop and start,
frustrated and my happened glance at

a waif like girl no more than nine,
she’s mouthing words of imagined rhyme.
I watch her whispering monologues
as she tiptoes boulders in the park.

Pure innocence her soft protection
from cruel worlds I suffer much too well.
I mouthed my thank you to the waif
and she tiptoed boulders until dark.
.
.
.

written April 14 2013
submitted to 20 Lines A Day
prose and poetry challenge for April

bloom

thCA42BGX3

with delicate and

slow unfurling

let me savor

then, every

curl and

ruffle.

our

spring

is upon us

i’m here waiting,

an ear to your soil

and listening.

always.

written April 2013
submitted to 20 Lines A Day
prose and poetry challenge for April