Archive for wonder


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on February 17, 2017 by beautifulimposter

Skyline punctured by silhouettes
Tiny holes of nothing wheeling, diving
Carving strange and wonderful curves
Patches of night in bird shapes
Defying the rising sun
Left behind are the weight of thought or memory
Wingtips trailing feathery clouds
Inky fingering postscripts along the horizon
Treatises upon the marvel and freedom
Of bodies suspended upon oceans of clear air.


Tears To Gold

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 27, 2015 by beautifulimposter

The rain is falling like tears broken open by a sieve
So fine that it looks as though the street lamps
Are bleeding strands of gold
Something magical pouring out of
An otherwise ordinary night
A little bit of wonder obtruding
Upon the drab skirts of life.

So gold drips onto my lips,
Moistening parched, cracked skin,
I’ve been speaking you poems for days
Breathless into the dark,
Tongue unreeling slow soft hymns
Out of your name and the secrets behind your smile
Because that is the purpose it learned
When you put your “I love you” upon it.

Now, all my speech tastes of you,
My breath conjures your shape out of moonlight
I have become this mad fool singing in the rain
Confounded by newfound joy
A fresh, new drunkard drinking deep
From the honey you poor down upon
Such impoverished souls as mine.

It’s a beautiful slavery
The way you’ve bound me up
Cleaving your grace to my limping
Making whole what was sundered
Laying your hand upon my brow
Turning my downcast eyes to light
Turning grey tears into gold.

Autumn Is

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 21, 2015 by beautifulimposter

The between place
A pause, indrawn breath
Of air crisp and tart and bright
As apples, as leaves turning to
Rustling flame, whole forests burning
Red orange rattling
Knucklebones upon the nighted windowpane.

Here there be magic, here there be marvels
Dark and wondrous strange
Harvests of dreams
Riding smokey currents
Reaped as the earth is reaching
For her downy white coverlet
Catlike yawning steam coiling.

More than spring’s spritely urgency
Deeper than summer’s languor
Marking the border between
Waking and winter’s long slumber
Lays October’s country
The shivery bittersweet taste
Of mortality, where the lines blur.

This, this is where autumn lives
At the turning, changing of the courts
Wicked, wild, and free
Sharp as knives and witch’s cold iron teeth
Glinting beneath fat, full, ripe
Hunter’s moon hung lantern,
Welcome twisting fine madness sailing
Madcap stirrings of twilight’s hem.


Keep Them Secret, Keep Them Safe

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2015 by beautifulimposter

When I was a boy
The clouds were dragons, vast, mighty
With the night gathering beneath their wings
Their purple blue orange gold red flaming breath
Carving the sunset out of the midnight lapis horizon
Turning trees and mountains and houses
Into the black shadows of themselves,
Theater scenery backdrops
Setting the stage for new dreams.

I’ve never encountered an average city street
Even by daylight I can always find the strangeness
The rumble beneath the grating
Isn’t the subway, it is breathing
Chthonic stentorian snorts and gasps
Rattling windows that sometimes reflect
Showers of sparks from nowhere
That settle upon the hair and eyelashes
Of all the girls and boys
Revealing the princes and princesses
Whichever they might be.

I’ve followed streams that were the trench dug
By giant’s clubs as they climbed back to the heights
Fee fi foe fumming, bending the trees like blades of grass
I’ve seen the thrones of trolls
Scattered about with the bleached stoney bones of their foes
Watched as a nymph winked at me when she was a badger
Walked alone through vast throngs
Of fair folk and fine, dancing to their tunes
(Though not for a hundred years, for I know the steps
And the trick of them)
Drunk upon a thousand and one tales.

See, I kept the glasses, kept them secret, kept them safe
Most get lost or worse still cracked
The lenses fixed upon youth’s eyes in the beginning
The visions of castles and caves of wonders,
Boxes that hold songs, even whole worlds
Soon fade, become forgotten, or skewed and horrible,
Twisting minds and bodies
Into shapes of rage and terror and hate
Always be wary of the broken ones
Wary, but help them see right and true again if you can
Remember, the helpful will in their turn be helped
It says so in the faerie tales and they never lie.


Voices of October, Lust, Heaven, and Disrepute

Posted in Poetry, Spoken Word with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 2, 2014 by beautifulimposter


Playing The Pauses

Posted in Fun stuff, Journal, Poetry, Prose with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 22, 2014 by beautifulimposter

I haven’t done one of these prose poetry stream of consciousness things in a long time and I thought one was due. It is also a little bit if my own process given a bit of verbal grandeur. Enjoy all, and cheers.

I find myself dwelling in the spaces between things. Each and every moment is in and of itself a concrete thing but my mind obsesses over the pauses, the transitions, the strange gaps between. I am mindful of them, I see them connecting all the comings and goings until my vision is clouded by smeared webs, a constant extending time lapse photograph capturing the changes. I like to play the pauses, try to hear what sits in the middle of breath. It’s these places were the strange and the everyday collide, the unmarked blanks in the constantly unfolding geography of life where “here be dragons”. All of the secret things whisper to me from the cracks, show their magic, where the dreams collect and nightmares pool between the raindrops.
I try to capture this weirdness, describe the ghosts in the candle flame flicker, articulate the landscapes of oddness I see unfolding from the folds and wrinkles. Focus always seems to be on the action or the aftermath yet my eyes are looking for the invisible, not the death or the dying even but the pin point turning, not conception or birth but the bridge spanning the divide built from all the shifting, roiling energy glowing in the one instant that marks the absence of on or the other.
I’m always fumbling for those words that can pin down the weirdness I see all around, the sudden showers of sparks, inexplicable chills, the rustlings, impossible angles, my lips dripping ink. There are bits and pieces falling in windrow drifts from my fingertips, dusting a patina of wonder over plain breakfast table cups of coffee, tilting the picture contrast tint saturation of a million comfortable, safe, familiar conversations or walks down the lane, altering the perspectives to include all of the vast void between now and then, here and there, cataloguing the nothing brim overflowing the nowhere of everywhere. Even awake I dream as my eyes alight on the seams splitting open, mundanity splitting like a ripe peach between my thumbs, spilling rich juices to reveal the seed of all impossible possibilities beneath the flesh.


Little Feet

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on June 6, 2014 by beautifulimposter

Sunshine laughter chasing itself

Beneath flying cloud hair

Spin whirling merry-go-round

Setting skies tilt-a-whirl to ground

Jump skip running of course

No half measures excepted

All or nothing wide open wonder.

Skirts flicker through green gold shadow

Promises of adventure

Down each and every twisting path

Every hill a mountaintop

Faeries tucked away in the bells of flowers

Dragons lair in steam vents

Grumble snoring dreaming

Waiting to be wakened

To go flying off into the blue.

To see the world

Born new each morning

Unfolding bright and full of secret wonder

Begging to be explored

Yearning with tales, bursting at the seems

With monsters and magic

Enough princes and princesses for all the happy

Endlessly possible never ending endings

What sublime joy exists

In un dimmed eyes.

My daughters teach me lessons

How small stones are jewels

Whole worlds can be made

From pavements and chalk

Mermaids can fly if you want them to

While unicorns play tag with the shore

Running atop the wild white plumed waves

They make me remember to forget

House payments and other such drudgery

Wiping from my eyes all the dust and drear

So that occasionally I can see

The flicker flash of glass

As their feet take them off and away

Down yellow brick roads.