Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Waiting for Summer's Flight

Summer's End by Marion Rose

I have sat here before
and watched the summer days
falter before my eyes
and have seen their short-spanned lives
suck the last sweet breath
from between the lips of the sky
as globes of sunlight
peach-orange and golden-yellow
crept upon rolling waves
one by one

And one by one
I took my breaths
swept life off her feet
and into my quickening lungs
and listened as my pulse rushed
silver inside my veins
while the cobalt-blue waters
watched me clasp my craving arms
around my singing bones
and tremble in summer-love’s orgasm


If I waited long enough
I would hear the copper wail of fall
coming from afar
stumbling upon its own feet
charging across the drought
of this glaring ground
tossing red and gold gifts
to whomever wished to receive
twining its throbbing legs
with the awaiting earth

Thrusting its fluttering arms
into all things far and wide
and today I sit
still and statuesque
tranquil and beautiful
open and serene
waiting for summer’s flight
to stretch itself
about my quivering silhouette
and touch me

one last time.

Sunday, September 11, 2011


Photo, Sergeij Bizjaev

one day
one moment
so abruptly
so suddenly
(as suddenly as a wandering stranger
happens at your lit window
on the bleakest winter night)
there comes the need
to release the usual
the predictable
the normal
and embrace the unusual
the risky
the atypical


if you stop and give it
even a passing thought

the best way to break
that chastity belt
you call TRADITION
(because you are afraid
to call it DOGMA)
is to take the rusty key
you have hidden
in the darkest spot
of your musty spirit
of centuries-old resignation)
and ram that key
inside the keyhole
and twist
like a motherfucker

like you’ve never twisted before
delivering yourself
of the evil you call NORMALCY
(because you are afraid
to call it CONFORMITY)

and so today
i say:

My spirit does not resign.

My spirit blazes—
a tongue of flame
sparking crisp flares
that burn brightest
when the heart is dark.

Today is my day
for deliverance,
and I deliver myself!

Fight me.
I dare you!

Cast me out
for my sin
of not fitting in.

Cast me out
and leave me
to oblivion.

But know that
I will be the tempest
that disturbs quietude.

And know that
I will run counterclockwise
and dismantle time.

Because majority
does not equal sanity


Because now . . . is now
and later . . . is never.