Snapshot Poem 31 January 02007

It is possible to be
too tired.

For snow to fall
unnoticed

on the other side
of the window.

To forget
that the sound of geese

pulled you from sleep
in the wrong season.

For the moon
to pass

through all its curves
unseen.

It is possible to see bodies
in pieces

on the street
and change the channel.

It is possible
to be washed clean

to be emptied out
to become as blank

as this painted wall.

13 responses to “Snapshot Poem 31 January 02007”

Dave

January 31, 2007

But this is too good a poem to have written by a tired person!

endment

February 1, 2007

How you have caught the essence of the day… illness and fatigue..

Excellent !

I really liked your poem…it really captures my own week! I really liked the part about seeing bodies on the street and changing the channel.

Rethabile

February 1, 2007

Yes, it is. And it is possible to paint a good poem to let us see just how possible it is.

Crafty Green Poet

February 2, 2007

It is possible to switch off from the world, but if you can write such a lovely poem, you haven’t switched off!

Blessed Imbolc, SB

I can relate so well to this.

catnapping

February 11, 2007

god, i have been that tired.
this poem is perfection. i would want a slim book of poems like this one. i would keep it in my jacket to read.

Well put.

I agree with catnapping. I’m greedy. I want a book of poems like this.

Small Talk

March 30, 2007

An beautiful poem. Fell in love with it.

Poetry

June 16, 2007

4 June 2007
After the storm, my mind cleared.
And a high wind arose and blew the tropics north.
running quartz crystals through a blender.
sand through your engines.
bubbles in your bays.
estuaries reaching out toward forbidden seas…
sand through your eyes.
5 June 2007
Calm as baby’s breath
as peaceful as the storm’s eye
Clouds spread and drawn with rough strokes of stratospheric winds
a warm and windy tropical day.
7 June 2007
Black water at dusk.
Lighting on the horizon.
Warm winds coming in across the darkening waters.
A flash of white wings as an egret takes flight.
And Thunder like God clearing his throat.
8 June 2007
Morning star in the still of the clear, dark waters.
a sky as clear eyed as a young girl.
bruised and tattered storm remnants limp off in the gathering light.
9 June 2007
Tickled her fancy.
giggling all the day long.
pretty good for a Saturday.
Clouds on the lake floating aimlessly by.
She smiled big–grinned really.
12 JUne 2007
A silver sky
ripe for the mirror.
you can not see yourself in this mirror
you can only see others
moreover, you can only see what others choose to expose.
Their houses, their boats, their sea-doos.
Birds skimming low over the water could
like as not
see them selves if they were to look down
as they skim low over the water
but they never do.
Rather they allow their reflections to chase them
quick and sharp over the still, glistening waters
while the bird’s mind remains ever fixed on
food, or other birds, or escaping those damn noisy humans.
A dense forest impenetrable as a gaze.
13 JUne 2007
Like angry bee’s eyes
the metal screen seen through the bamboo blinds.
A million insects dot the lake spreading micro ripples
14 June 2007
Of Fly Catchers and hidden lakes.
Of sleeping lizards and morning dew.
It is of birdsong and misty dawns
and fleeced clouds floating in a still pool.
The waters ripple awake in the gathering morn.
The first water birds head out for the far shore.

WATERMARK