Words for a picture

He leaves again

He leaves longing for the left behind

The comfort of lust satisfied

Over and over again

He leaves the lover

He believes the leaving will not last

He leaves and light deceives him

He leaves and turns

Rolls up his sleeves to look into the deep days of the dark season

When the sun slides away on purpose

Hides from him

Hints of the familiar lost

Then vanishes and deceives him

He leaves

He cannot return

There is no home in the past

He leaves again

And what he leaves is nothing more than

Leaves

A Song for Twelve degrees in August

There was no one who
Brought you to your knees
Boot to the head
Like you’re out for revenge
You pesky rat
Like it wasn’t enough for you to chase the sun
To make the white dark
White
There was no one who
Danced on your grave
Taunted you like a defeated fat old school yard bully
Smiled at your sudden demise
For your make-believe oppression thru the sun break
To make the red skin
Brown
Back off winter
Chill
Relax
Inhabit those deep dark places
Where your icy schemes conceived antidotes like
Coffee
And what happens between the duvet and the posturepedic
Go back there
Till the dusk stretched sun has made us all to inebriated to remember
Your frigid handshake at the door

Chinook

It’s a soggy wind
Blown round the corner
In the last breaths before midnight
And the road home
Leaving the quivering puddles in the spaces where the road and sidewalk meet
Soon the frost will kiss them to keep them
In place

It’s a deeper wind
Blown down inside
Past the promise of the day
And the road home
Peeling the lacy white gown away from the harlot – snow
And when it’s alone – used up – down to its core
Of dirt

It’s a harder wind
Blown resolutely away
Over the erosion of years
And the winding road home
Wiping out the tracks of yesterday made in the freshness of glittering hope
And the familiar path home is hidden under another morning’s
Snow

The wind is not alone
It is only empty
It is what is left behind that is alone
Again as it once was
To eek out the hope of courage against another wind

It’s a roaring wind…

great politcal poetry none too reverent...

john allemang: poetic justice

a short excerpt;

Osama's Christmas Letter

The season's best to all of you

(unless you're a Christian, Kurd, or Jew);

It's been a hectic time, I know

For all who hate the foreign foe

But here in hidden border caves

The past year's made us terror's slaves

And while the mountain air's a perk

Next year for sure, I'm quitting work

To spend time with the wife and kids

And sell my memoirs - any bids?

p.135

thanks again trudy perfect Christmas gift

And you open the other side (a response to everett(e)

open the other side
pass through
clasp the knocker without invitation
convince yourself
it is not a revolving
door–welcome mat suggests you wipe your feet on
the inside

and you open the other side

leave me out in the winter cold
dirty dancing
standing on the corner
begging to go down into somebody’s need
to feed my need
for the delightful sigh of the lover who

opens the other side

who walks along the highway to distraction

an aside: (you gave me an orienteering course – you growled at me when I got it wrong – I lost my bearings)

who doesn’t have to pretend that the beaten path is too conforming
deforming the façade that plays out in the
open
fix the destination or
fix the compass

and you open the other side