As God Is My Witness

Looking back, we see

 

There are many things 

One can say 

About keeping silent 

 

In the face 

Of unspeakable crime— 

 

Taking it forward 

To your grave is not 

One of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Speechless Before Starlings

They’ve just dropped 

In from out 

 

Of the heavens 

For the duration 

 

Of winter and are strung 

Out murmuring along 

 

The three telephone wires 

Opposite the house 

 

Like notes of a musical 

Score—no, something more like 

 

A long discrete succession 

Of commas taking 

 

Up every available space, 

Leaving no room—period— 

 

For words capable 

Of fulfilling 

 

That imminent,

Bewildering air. 

 

 

 

 

Haiku: Wanderlust

 

Itch to find yourself 

Elsewhere the moment you set 

Your footloose feet there. 

 

 

 

Deity

Poetry is that 

Power which keeps 

 

Withdrawing while staying 

Ineffably within 

 

Reach. 

 

 

 

Supplicants Before The Slopes Of Mt. Ithome

 

Though almost drained of the will

To persevere, take notice— 

 

This steep rugged holy mountain an ancient 

Blind bard once described as “ladder-like” climbs 

In rungs to where the air is still 

 

Alive with daemons 

And spirits 

 

Who have not yet exhausted 

Their last breath to help you 

 

Ascend there.