Intro To Solstice 35 (comments appreciated – remember this is a snippet)

You are in the mind of the main character. (Please help me get the excitement to pound this out. It’s a sad, twisted but, necessary story.

I am a great artist and I know it. The reason I am great is because of all the suffering I have done. (Paul Gauguin)

Pieces, that’s all she had left. A million pieces of her life strewn everywhere. It was like breaking one of your favorite mugs and all of the shards were scattered across the floor. Some stayed beneath your feet for you to step on immediately, some hidden under the counters or random pieces of furniture for you to discover later. Some pieces just disappeared forever. Maybe they were pulverized by the impact against the tile or they were so obvious they were impossible to see. Later on, when you’d forgotten them, walking barefoot in the kitchen one morning making tea, you’d step on a sharp piece and it would go right through the bottom of you foot leaving a bloody gash.

Now, I’m going to put 35 of these pieces on display for all the world to read. I’m even going to read some of these poems tonight to give them voice in the universe. I keep telling myself this is art, meaningful writing. I wonder if it isn’t just my punishment. Do I really believe that great art comes from great pain and suffering like Gauguin? Or am I just a masochist? Or just plain fucked up and deserved all of this? Shit, all I know is that the writing is fucking fantastic.

 

Count Up: 133 Days after Hurricane Maria Made Landfall & 147 Days after Hurricane Irma Made Landfall in Puerto Rico.

Little Poem of Love

sheer morning in the dunes

flutes in the wind

play a sequence of notes

across the horizon

the ocean constant

the ocean ever changing

cathedral of song

my heart

a strange divinity

night

opaque night of the full moon

imagine your hands

surrounded by voices

gliding shivering the seagrass

holy its inclination

silence within the circle

coquí on the windowsill

i have a sense of loosing

myself to hold you

chimes

bells in the wind

flare and dissolve

empty rooms and

shadows on the walk

my garden green and astonishing

the patience of a clock

hours withheld

those given with an open hand

conjunction of ocean and prayer

Hurricane Dreams

Hurricane Dreams

 

One

this evening as night

surrounds the bay like a familiar

stars describe the sky    luminous

the moon there is a sanctuary

in this dark where time is something

I can hold in my hand

wind takes the curtains

in a graceful gesture

silence sweeps the balcony

as I wait   clouds rush the beach

roaring

 

Two

I am lost to the depth

of my need for you    your hands

the small of my back as we dance

ask anything    call my name

under your breath as you fuck me

hard against the white linen sheets

Three

the fury raging tempest in her eyes

only a small confrontation

in comparison    with the hurricane

to come

Four

there is no balance    no courting

a storm swift approaching

wind rips the palms now left

then right in its confusion

Five

stucco buildings in sun

your smooth voice   your hands

come to me in summer   high

heat    slow arousal of the mind

an open window on the bay

the luxury of a balcony and

champagne at sunset

you in my life    slow

perpetual like roses bloom

in a sheltered garden

Six

if the storm breaks free   if we

survive this length of night

she will disappear with her

cloud filled eyes and seaweed hair

the beach littered

with fragments of the past

dead things we can sweep away

like so much sand

on the blue kitchen tiles

Recordemos Que Estamos Todavía Sin Electricidad Hace 100 Días.

Sonata

 

we have gotten beyond all that

shadows in the new moon

forsythia, lilac, wisteria, red bud,

dogwood and azalea in May

sun in equinox too soon

tulips, this is a letter

a plea to the spring sight of you

London in May, July in Syracuse

I am so hungry for the past

filled with lovers

at least then I had my pick

to bite the full throat of you

to sleep in your arms

to lay my hair across your face

to claim you simply

as one bends and picks a flower

red hibiscus in wind

my hands trembling

Poem That Comes Before Sleep

I have lost you

pretending   discretion

more a word

than choice

say it isn’t    true

we know our path

biographies written

in hands we held

took you away

easy as sleep   turned

dream you were gone

as children wake screaming

from nightmares   in sleep

you were quiet

against dreams of going

as though my choice

night comes

I say   too soon

too soon

have I lost

other hands

to this

Avalon

In this white white house

on the edge of the Atlantic

a voice runs along my skin

trembling at the texture

of a woman you waited

ten years to touch

 slow samba of the heart

as you sleep dream

of your life on this

bright side of ocean

 inevitable calm

surrounds you, I come

out of the wind moist

with ocean in my hair

to find you to lay

my head in your lap

the heat of your hand

on my face

stars in the mist

on the shore moonlight

barefoot on the terrace

the soft of this moment

of this all

overwhelms

swirls around us

you asleep in a blue chair

and I whispering to the moon

 

Night Shore

I want to believe only

geography separates us

that missing you

will bring results

seascapes   nightscapes

mementos of light

rushing into black

night arcs full

this dream ages me

futile as an impulse

torn against the keening wind

tiny mirrors of sound

and the helix

in the palm of your hand

turning prismatic

we dream of moons

full amber light

and sky

core of opal

 

what is overlooked

passion before

thought   an afterthought

how lovely you are

would a kiss mean the same

 

I dream you dream

of me at night, my love

mountains call your name

misty to the dawning

elegant sweep of light

your every gesture

the beginning

beginning over

as if these could break

the spell cast

without need of thunder