poems: the art of
saying something meaningful
with not many words


Fire burned the sky
First orange, then pink, then
The dull red of faintly glowing coals
Fish-scales layered over horse-tails
And paint strokes lashed in flaming spirals 'tween the two
I have never seen anything like it

Hip-Hop Groove (change)

The world is a tilt-a-whirl
And it makes us dizzy, every one
We stand and stare as round it twirls
This merry-go-round is never done

The dance of the heavens, yes the dance of the stars
Is the dance of my eyes and my heart
When the seasons come spinning by, yes change comes rushing through
Then I know I'll soon be trading the familiar for the new
(And sometimes loving it
And sometimes overcome)

The ceaseless pace of change comes ever pulsing on:
The basso beat of a hip-hop groove in a car with its windows down
Cruising round through the town until it's vibrating in the ground
I grind my teeth at the sound, knowing that the future can't be found
It's already here, just waiting to be unbound

The past is not lost, just gone,
        and the future's flight has been delayed
And with all that's lost, how do we carry on
        in the churning slipstream of so many todays

In tumult and in thunder
Silver lights the rims
        (of the dark)
        (of the rolling wheels)
        (of blue skies)
        (of destinations reached)
And the drawn-down darkling brows of the heavens
And the gone-round sparkling weights of the driven

Today was not worse than yesterday (no:
        better in almost every way,
        even the ways that were worse)
And tomorrow will not be worse than now (no:
        better in almost every sound
        even the sound of slowly-breaking curse)