You see now, don’t you?
Home is where you come from
Of course it is
But Home is also
where you are now.
Category Archives: Photography
Sunday
Sundays I move quiet
through house street wood
listening for birdsong
wave off voices of what should
Sundays I step slow
close observe neighbourhood
Sunday time
sunrise to dreamline—
all mine.
Endings
Maybe a thousand years from now
when no one knows my name
the one who finds the note I write
slipped between these silent walls tonight
will know this was once my house
surrounded by these tall pine woods
where I wandered with wild lilies, spring roses, and butterflies
where I stood looking up to wide open starry skies
talking with the moon
where I lit candles in empty rooms
And I photographed my cat
who sat waiting patiently near the door
so she wouldn’t be left behind.
Mirror
One eyelid seems to droop lower than the other
think I’m slowly starting to look like my mother
and yeah that scares me a little
What’s happening to my skin
is there hair growing on my chin
maybe my eyes deceive me again
And who knows where this train’s going
there’s some fool’s grace in hardly knowing
I got a ticket is all that ought concern me
There are still teeth behind these lips
still plenty rhythm dancing in these hips
Gratitude is the jewel I’ll hold onto.
Arrivals
A book arrives when you invite it
some part of you within
awake while you lay still deep sleep dreaming
A voice calls out in whisper or shouts
some part that’s missing
maybe unknown or things you thought you already figured out
A wave from a small open hand raised from
some boat adrift in high waves
inviting a stranger wandering alone on the beach
An open mouth changing shape singing
some song you have yet to hear
whose melody awaits you to write it when your rhythm is more clear
A bark in the distance on a dark night of falling stars
some yellow dog howling at its own shadow
loneliness and euphoria converging in his throat
A book arrives when the windows are open
some butterfly or raging tiger
pausing there on your sill, equally prepared for sunrise or the end.
Visitor
I stopped by your little house
this morning just before ten
the only sound the low whisper of
red dirt rising in the hot red sun
I guess everything gets thirsty
when there’s nowhere but home to run
I left a note in the door crack
I hope it don’t blow away
I hope you come back real soon
The kids will need reassuring
The fields still need turning
and Vera’s waiting at the river
for you.
Holding
We linger here
holding on
to some unnamable presence
these rooms
these walls
the elusive slips of light entering
from windows
framing tall trees
silent open skies.
These lands hold us
fixed in final sacred moments.
We whose quiet chapter ends
here.
Learning
Open minds–
How do they look
when presented in neat rows?
Learning glows
inside skulls.
So far I know:
Bones are fragile
Life’s value low.
Kindred
You, obscure and unknown
lonely quiet inside-looking-outters
bearers of fragile hearts beating earth minderers
early morning vision scribblers
imaginating further world articulators
colourers in darkness
openers of windows
unlockers of doors
shatterers of blinds
unseen dancers in moonlight
reciters of poetry by candlelight
painters of lifebreath on cool basement walls
believers in things that hardly matter at all
hallucinators of Beauty amidst shatter and rubble
You, stragglers lingerers
dreaming humming sudden songsingerers
moongazers stargliders
slow walkers between frenzied hurry-up-or-you’ll-be-left-behinders
seekers wanderers
hitchhikers cosmic giant thumb colliders
rainy night half naked pale horse riders
hopeful rhythmic intoxicated drumbeaters
sometime purple feather and white lily flower eaters…
I love you.
Complement
I leave small things behind
when places quietly intone
beckon from lonely shadow
some tangible confirmation
I noticed them waiting there.