Even When It Rains

June 9, 2012  :: 0 comments

Your painting
where the sun
wears the lipstick
of someone
who kissed it on the cheek
hangs in the tree
from a limb
where I carefully
placed it
so that when I wake
in the morning
and look out my window
I will always see
your blazing kiss.

Prism

featured in the poetry forum June 9, 2012  :: 0 comments

The shining light that comprises God’s being
strode through the prism of a rain drop
dangling from a white lilly bloom
and broke God into all God’s components
whether they be in the visible bands of colors
or the invisible bands of ultraviolet
and infrared.

All of a sudden there were many Gods:
a God of nose hairs
a God of hangnails
a God of pre-cancerous cells
a God of blue bottle flies
a God of dangling modifiers
a God of dandelion parachutes
a God of calcium deposits on toilet rims
a God of coughed up fur balls
a God of tiny, purple alpine flowers
a God of bird shit that splats
on freshly washed car windows
and so on into all the multitude of things
that comprise the one true God.

And in that instant God’s image
appeared in many places around the world:
on pieces of toast
on bars of soap
on rivets holding airplane wings together
on the tips of horse hair paint brushes
on iron filings manipulated by magnets
on page twelve of a Batman comic
on the lever that puts the charge in the electric chair
on the joy sticks of video games
on the cum laden stains of cheap hotel room sheets
and so on to all the multitude of places
an image of God could appear.

And with another step the shining light
that comprises the one true God’s being
moved past the dangling rain drop
and the multitude of God’s manifestations
reformed into the one, all-being being
that holy books have tried to quantify and qualify
that artists and musicians have attempted
to instill into their art and music
that children play with
when they speak to their imaginary friends.

editors note:

Don’t need 3D glasses to see our imaginary Friend. Good thing, since neither the theaters nor the distributors want to pay for them anymore. Step outside and look around; our Friend is everywhere. – mh

Four to One

April 30, 2011  :: 0 comments

God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.
— Genesis 1:4

So, originally,
light and dark
co-mingled,
tangled,
did it like rabbits
in the back yard,
might have been
in chaotic love
until ordained—
or, maybe,
this explains
the missing mass
of galaxies:
dark matter:
the weight of invisible
gravity,
shunted off
unto its own silent place
in the void—

Anything Could Drop Out of the Sky

featured in the poetry forum April 30, 2011  :: 0 comments

Anything could drop out of the sky.
And it did…
And though this particular anything
is quintillions of sub-atomic particles
sneaking through ozone holes and such
bombarding the planet’s surface
they only manage to nudge brain neurons a bit
and slightly alter outcomes of thinkers’ conclusions,
but, beknownst only to the few
who are astronomically present in that moment,
the future glows brighter
up ahead, around the corner,
of the next run-on sentence
spoken over the vacuum
that is abhorred for reasons
not clearly stated in the torn yellow pages
the strong man rips in two
during a muscular demonstration
near the sun worshipping beach girls
who wear the tiniest nano-bikinis,
while I sleep in the shade
of a partly cloudy Magritte umbrella
and a rampant dandelion seed
blown all the way from an Illinois prairie
lands upon my back and tickles me awake.

Permanent Loan

November 22, 2010  :: 0 comments

Jennifer’s Milwaukee
Art Museum
gift-shop coffee mug
never heard the ring
of the cash register
or felt the inside
of a colorful
logo imprinted
plastic bag
or knew anything
for a week
other than the smell
of her leather purse
and the scratch
of her car keys
and the slight pressure
of her empty wallet.

Much Like Rubens

featured in the poetry forum November 22, 2010  :: 0 comments

I cannot catch
the rabbits
Dianne worked
very late on the sixth day
of God’s
great creation
as she constructed them
so quickly
in her rush to meet
the obligation
of God’s contract
to flesh out
a bunch of furry
little creatures
when God
stepped out
of our universe early
to join in happy hour
with the other gods
across the universe
so he could brag
about man
and gravity
and the rings
around Saturn.

AT THE END

featured in the poetry forum July 1, 2010  :: 0 comments

I taste the summer salt
on your lips.

You reflect heat for thermals
so your hawk soars higher.

I hold you
tighter than pain.

Your passion
ignites the setting sky.

I glide on the dream
of your billowing wind.

You strike, rip me apart,
eat my raw emotions.

Consumed, I lie
in an acoustic shadow.

Sated, you curl
into the folds of time.

FOR EVERY ATOM BELONGING

July 1, 2010  :: 0 comments

Delphi mends geographies,
polities, a loss of love
with poetry that penetrates
the deaf ear, that infuses
images the blind clearly
discern.

She extracts Lot’s wife
from the pillar
long since eroded
and taken to the sea,
reconstitutes her body
and spirit: grain by grain.

Delphi records her name
in a new scripture
that lists the recovered,
the closed defile,
the new land covenant
of drinking water.

She proceeds
of her own accord,
recites an essential song
derived from the core
of the youthful sun
and its nightly reflection
upon the moon.

LACK OF FINGER PRINTS

July 1, 2010  :: 0 comments

Lisa writes him love notes
in her very best penmanship.

He attends her for beer
and games on her widescreen TV.

Her idea of love does not include
religious handcuffs.

His idea of love
boxes all of her sex toys.

Lisa thinks to inflame his heart
through a home cooked meal.

He thinks to bring a bag of ice
to use as a pillow.

He asks if Lisa’s parachute
is a shiny golden hue.

She owns no nylon, no silk,
only an old pair of high-jump shoes.

His vague love of unconnected half circles
sips from the cup of martyrs.

Lisa suffers the wrench
of a rusted bolt snapped in two.

HIGHLIFE

March 4, 2010  :: 0 comments

The dogs tussle over a rope-toy,
the wind rustles the cottonwood branches,
lying on her back in the diamond hammock,
Delphi plays cats-cradle
and I, my back against the embracing tree trunk,
set my book down in the grass, so I may
watch the clouds compare beer bellies
protruding over their blue jean sky.