When the Pages End

Upon each day a pen was floating,

Recording with eternal ink

The flavors of your life, denoting

Lines whose forms would find a link

To others’ stories. Every word

Was written down and lives

Within a book that was referred

To me. But what it gives

Is not enough to satisfy

My curiosity.

The story stands unfinished. Why

Do no more words find space to be?

What happens when the pages end

But more is left to write?

I cannot say, but I will tend

This garden sown with seeds tonight

Until your tale bursts forth in me

To grace the dawn’s expectant light.

I just reached the end of one of the journals I use when writing poetry, and this was the poem I wrote on that last page. Now I'm starting to work through some new ideas in a new book...

Sundown in the Desert

The final sliver of a sunken ruddy sun
Contracts to leave a single point beyond the distant sand.

Refracted rays through atmospheric channels run

Then fade to purple darkness glazed above the rocky land.

The press of heat is quieted. Its throbbing hum is done,

And coldness quickly overtakes the sparsely covered ground.

The temperature precipitously drops –

A pebble fallen from a rugged cliff without a sound.

I stand upon the barren mountaintops

With hopes to hear angelic voices sing,

Or is that sheer, suggestive silence just the wind

Whistling past my eardrums as they ring?

Does God reside where life dare not?

Do strangers in this unrelenting land

Arrive in peace at their intended spot,

Or are they lost and led astray to stand

Amid the dangers and mirages of the desert sand?

Yet something moves beneath the stars,

And something sinks its roots into the soil.

Life persists, as if in fragile, sacred jars,

To face the fearsome landscape and its harsh anointing oil,

And so will I – persisting through the night

To search for you until the sun will bathe my soul in light.

This poem doesn't really come from recent physical experience, though I did spend two very brief stints in Arizona (Tucson and Tempe) earlier this year, and I enjoyed seeing the desert landscape beyond each city. Rather, I think at least some of the poem's inspiration comes from a book I read several years ago by Belden C. Lane called The Solace of Fierce Landscapes: Exploring Desert and Mountain Spirituality. Apparently, that book is still working its way through my mind.

Beside the Sunset Bay

Calling softly, seagulls fly

Above my head to touch the sky.

Water in the bay recedes,

And all the children wonder why

Time uncovers waiting weeds

As low tide pulls the waves away.

Salted sea foam breezes play

Across the sand the sunshine feeds,

While the water’s bluish gray

Complexion satisfies the needs

Present on a distant shore

Where other children’s visions soar

To spot the seagulls in the sky.

Still, this roaming troubadour

Will see the cycle, wet and dry,

Wishing to reflect upon

The storied patterns come and gone.

Where does every moment stray

When tides propel it past the dawn?

Perhaps it floats away

To rest beside the sunset bay.

Last week, I was at a conference in northwestern Washington. It was at a hotel sitting right beside a bay, and across the water was a town in Canada. The sunsets over the bay were very beautiful, but I found the morning low tide to be especially interesting. The bay was somewhat separated from the open ocean by islands; I assume that's why the water level dropped so much during low tide. It uncovered a big slope of sand, and the aquatic plants that had been far below the surface of the water were now out in the open air. That's where the ideas in this poem began.

In Sun and Rain

The steady rhythm of the sound

When water droplets touch the grassy ground

Wakes pale and parched organic blades,

Rejuvenating what were scorched and drowned

By fiery sunlight shooting through the glades.

The brittle brown begins to fade away,

Uncovering the greener shades

More flexible and less inclined to fray.

Too many sunny days

Can lead to life that’s easier to break

When just a little pressure paints the haze

And makes a minor tremor seem a devastating quake.

Too many rainy days

Can overwhelm the structures of support

And drown a life in sorrow, while the blaze

Of sunlight is so brief it seems a stingy, fickle sort.

Together, lives are balancing this mix of joy and pain

To weather what the unknown days will bring in sun and rain.

This poem began with a fairly simple idea about rain falling after a drought to rejuvenate the grass. It turned into a brief meditation on the idea that life is about managing the joy and sadness that we experience, finding a good balance through support for one another.

April in Her Eyes

I sometimes wonder where

Her little boy has gone

Who used to sit atop a wooden chair

Outside her house upon a well-mown lawn.

But in my heart I know

What sadness lingers there,

And trembling in the first December snow

Is grass that’s overgrown in disrepair.

I sometimes glimpse her pacing

On garden paths when clouds are low.

It seems as if she’s searching, chasing

Petals fallen months ago.

To drift beyond her hidden pains,

She lifts her gaze to breaking skies,

But always with the gentle rains

Of April in her eyes.

I recently finished reading Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, and this poem is based on a fairly minor phrase from that play. The phrase wasn't particularly crucial to the plot, and this poem as a whole doesn't really relate to the play. I just liked the phrase and wanted to use it as a starting point for something new.

The Dark and Quiet Places

There’s a light outside my window

That shines throughout the night,

And periodic sirens blare

Beneath the moon’s nocturnal flight.

It’s sometimes hard to find a share

Of moments fit to channel rhymes.

Although it’s true that anywhere

Can conjure up poetic chimes,

For me, the dark and quiet places

Seem most attuned to revelation.

The world’s interstitial spaces

Are where I find my inspiration

When all the parts that make up me

Align to strive in harmony

And search for what my role could be

In fashioning the restless night’s

Uncertain destiny.

In my previous apartment, there was a light outside the bedroom window, and I was pretty close to a hospital and a fire station. The light and noise were never really that disturbing, but they made me think about how our environment might help or hurt our efforts to find a more thoughtful or meditative mindset.