Sunday, 16 December 2012

Ode to How Stean Gorge

Above your iced, gushing torrents,
that would welcome first snow,
I hear you whisper, through the wind
to my quiet,
'to me these falling leaves,
are more lonely
than cold,' and the sky turns all over,
in a breath.
I pull on my tactical, iron
vest, arms wrapped about me
protect my treasure chest,
and I climb all your different faces
of rock,
carrying with me, no heavy stones
of my own.

Your hard touch mocks against my skin,
and I tuck all loose
exposures in, so pockets of memory
and love can begin, to smile
from inside your caverns.
I find somehow, you are as old
and ravenous, for them,
as ever you were, and
I follow your signs and win my spurs above
familiar swirling,
and a wanton danger.
I leap across your voids, raising you wagers,
I will win, both game
and set; and you tease me back
to childhood without debt, without
arrears of moonlight, or cost.
The sun sets
across the lion's brow,
and I ascend his back;
a benevolent ghost...
I only came to remind you, you're beautiful,
and not all who wander
are lost.


Saturday, 15 December 2012

Sandy Hook

How much time,
could ever heal this,
or lend condolence? As blood
runs cold
for such stolen innocence?
For the tiny hands,
that will never again hold,
and the tiny hearts,
that will never now
for lives
almost begun,
that can never be old;
and the premature setting
of so many
sweet suns…
Forget the incessant
of political tongues, or the
pathetic assertion
of some ancient rite;
too many new angels adorn
the heavens tonight,
beyond reason
or any words
that could form truth, or sense.
The price of
plundered treasure;
the cost;
is immense, and all beauty
is eclipsed in this moment.

Only one thing is certain, and sure...
is forever broken.

I keep children safe every day...I couldn't bear it if 20 of them never made it home.
Words can't describe. Thoughts cannot imagine.
My love to all who will feel this. School is supposed to be safe.

Tuesday, 11 December 2012

Oceanus and Tethys

We sat in my row boat,
sweet Tethys and me,
awaiting a horizon
that promised
much calmer seas, for the sun to rise, pink,
and the dark waves to cease
their cold, harsh semblance,
of my days.
And she ran her fingers
with most careful grace, along
every scar
in my boat
of wood,
singing something soothing
as all good sea-nymphs should;
and she would say nothing,
as she silently,
read my mind.
She could see all the seashells I had
once left behind, and all the times
I'd walked this shore,
long after the tide,
searching and turning,
only to painfully find,
I'd cut my finger
lifting the pretty ones
from the sand.
And she seemed to know,
without words,
that I could no longer stand
to trust my own
and bleeding hands,
to hold them,
and know their beauty,
without a pinch, or a snare.
But though she had
those terrifying
seashells, in her hair,
and the most beautiful for the suggestion
of clothes;
it frightened her none,
and she sat,
like a goddess in my leaking boat;
patiently waiting there,
whilst Oceanus mended his holes.