Monday, May 7, 2012

In overgrown brush, lush,
                   she sits
and waits amidst
       the thrush like chorus of outer work
and inner work and the silent
                                  science of it all,

                                  cultivating flora framework
                                               for the growth and fare and fair  
                                               of vintage
                                                 vineyard so
                                                          she may one day drink
and have her
fill.  Bursting forth, exploding bloom, she
          surveys the work and knows full well that much
                    has come from one who started out
                                          with nothing. 
shimmers, glimmers graciously
with much ado, 
            aiding progress and she notices
                                                now the need,
                                                     the speed
brought, propels and gives.   
With singleness of heart, she
diligently shears – allows- that she, herself
might be grafted into this prized
                             place that she adores.  It’s
voiceless here ‘cept for the whisper of the wind
                             which she recognizes well and  
                                    she’s the only creature
and therefore safe. 
               She’s untamed and breathing, coming into life, domesticated,not.   It’s the sky that will train her.  She’ll take her
cues from hues and clouds, gladly
                              gulping rain. The wide world
                                                  waits but she
no wish to leave her habitat of heaven where, light, 
she’s buoyant body.  She knows not the
meaning of inhalation but steady, focused anyway, she
                              swills the air.  Staying is what
                             seizes, understands and toil,
                                instrumental which brings
                                                   her rest.

stream, mingling
with tears
         she can not
fathom, saturated
        so, by so much sufficient satisfaction.
                       How can she know so much and so
little and still be still? It’s the versant,
                                  virescent variegating
of veined but violet
   vision where introspection ripens into more than
      speculation and all
              is bare
                but beautiful
                      and beckons,
                           bright.  She doesn’t see her skin
                               here; it’s pallid colored but       
still allowed to blend with seed or star and she lodges,
                 burrowed, anchored to exist in absence of




  1. Very neat. I really like a lot of what you've done here. First off, I love the way you arranged the text, I play around with line placement all the time, for both the obvious artistry and aesthetics it created but also as it creates a guiding path and a natural flow. The rhyme is subtle at times, a bit more obvious at others, love the way you worked the rhythm evenly between external and internal rhyme. Some incredible use of language and some nice assonance/consonance as well. Very nicely done. Thanks

  2. yes, i like the line breaks too. beautiful first lines, very attention-grabbing, makes you want to read on. :)

  3. Beautiful!
    This is my favorite line: It’s the sky that will train her. She’ll take her
    cues from hues and clouds, gladly