I have been up all night
writing and re-writing
tomorrow—
watching the stars
tick across the sky.
Around midnight
the Big Dipper is just
beyond my window.
By 3 am—only stars.
No names.
Then in the hush
just before dawn
when time slows
nearly to a stop
I see my grandmother’s dog
the one she made live outside
that entire North Dakota winter
his pleading, cold-crazed eyes
a sad, two-star constellation.
They shot him in the spring.
The sun doesn't rise.
The world falls face first
into its light, finds its mark
resumes the fiction of the day.
With regret I sense before I can see
the Holy Dark dissolve into grainy
morning. Here and there a bird
stirs in its quills. Before long
they are on the roof rattling
the gutters, pecking at the
tiles. One of these days
they will pull the house beam out
and the whole thing will fall down.
asha
Drift
Girl
When I was a girl
and hungry for pleasure
with feathers in my hair
and bells on my feet
a wild unpruned thing
a child on the run
feasting on the sweets
and bitters of love
on the full gush of all things
in a swarm of musics
and carelessly carefree
rising and falling
on each tide swimming
a slave to the moon
with a barefoot heart dancing
to the flute of my own god
I spilled blossom after blossom
to the wind with no regard
being full of my season
and the aphrodisiac perfumes
on which I fed
lips red
voice thick from singing
eyes heavy from wooing
until I delivered the fruit of the union
until I became
with the pain and the growing
the reaping and sowing
a woman.
asha
Elegy for a Poet
Before the final breath and night
swallowed the glow above the hill
and in the eye—
before the bloodsplash of light
pulsing with unborn and terrifying thoughts
was stilled in the gently falling hush
world to world of the quietest breath
and the last petal of a most beautiful flower fell
into the quick black stream of death—
fell down and forever from view
know this darkness that settled
this disappearing act forever playing out
within the world, this knife
around which the wound dried
was delivered by angels.
You were a splash of light
between two worlds
grooving, ransacking visions
till kingdom came
singing till you shattered
ravaged by innocence.
You were a dying man
hungry for the company
of rain soaked pines
a downed bird whose fierce eye
grew dim in the cage by the door.
Holy Mary, Mother of God—
. . . you were a curly-headed boy
stealing to the lake for an evening swim.
Pray for us sinners—
. . . stealing back to the lake for an evening swim
stealing back to lost summer.
Pray for us now, at the hour of our death—
. . . as I kiss your wax brow
at the door that is always locked.
asha
John T. Chance, in memoriam - June 9, 1934 - February 1, 1992
Words
The floor of my mind is littered with words—scrawled, scribbled out, crumpled words. I hear them whispering to one another—shifty, resistant as shadows in wind, as bugs in cracks, as sprouts growing in the fetid dark. Some are annoying—sharp rocks under bare feet—others threatening as broken glass. Some are photos fallen from a collage with little value of their own, pennies on the ground. Others are blobs of paint that did not make it to the canvas, beautiful, dry and beyond recall. Others are worlds orbiting their own remote stars. Observed they change. They do not obey the rules. They float, switch polarities, attract and repel at random, sometimes swirling, sometimes playing dead only to suddenly reappear with new meanings.
asha
Red Fish
A red fish
the size of a child
startles up through the trees.
Who sitting around this stone table
will remember this for me?
asha
Stonelight - Prelude
THOUGHTS WHILE LEAVING . . .
setting out upon a long journey
I take my lantern off the post
the hills in the west are approaching Jupiter
a young moon
in the 7th house
horns to the east
floats low in a purple lea
half in shadow/half in light
I take the path of the terminator.
there are endless stones in this path
each stone a world
and endless steps in this journey
each step a birth/each step a death
birth/death blended into this exquisite twilight
through which I go towards Jupiter
and the edge goes with me
for we are in need of the sea.
asha
Stonelight - Movement 1
the little moon
the little moon that starved so long in the brass box
the little moon
who only eyes of dream can see
—that one—
who lay so long
sunk in a chilly abyss beyond the reach of conscious fire
she has summoned me to leave the daylight realm
cold stars swirl and drown in the black sea that must be crossed
—on a winter's night
first passing the lava bone brain forest of an inner deep
I set out—
she keeps her dark face forever turned to dark
she stands behind ripped clouds
hanging from the proscenium arch of night
peeking in at the living world
aching with light—
on a winter night we set out on that terrible journey
through the larvae brain bone forest
over sunk stars sparkling beyond reach
only eyes of dream can gather the crystals—the frozen
shipwrecked treasures from which the moon was born.
asha
Road's Eye View
Road's Eye View
I saw her once
presiding over the
beginning of the day,
the giant turbaned umber
goddess of morning’s sunlit web
—Banana Woman—
mountains of bananas rising behind her,
towers of bananas stacked on tables around her,
foothills of bananas sprawling out
along the market’s spider path.
She would not look up from her ledger so,
needing to make peace with my demons,
I gave my confession to her dogs.
And her dogs replied—
Let us begin with death
and the possibility of death
for this is the humid season
of atrocity and wonder
where the starting point
is fear and desire
twisted together,
inseparable vines,
the assailable heart
and the available flesh
lashed to a skeleton raft,
survivors in the carbon sea
shipwrecked in this stinking
singing swamp, ten thousand
tiny concertinas squeaking in the
buzzing, clicking, humming dark—
where are you . . . here I am . . .
here I am . . . who are you . . .
here I am . . . here I am . . .
where are you . . . who are you . . .
who are you . . . I am here . . .
who will feed my daily flesh . . .
who are you . . .
who are you . . .
I cannot sleep . . .
here I am . . .
peel back my skin and eat . . .
asha
To Ram
when you came
and the sea was night
oh come
be with me always
o Boat—night and day at sea
your touch
at last I speak
singing
round
creaking
laughing at me
because you are kind
my heart can grow
because you love me
I do not need to know tonight
the foghorns hare aroused me
from the dream
I drift on
away from sleep
away from sleep
in you—in me
thinking
o Earth
living constellations
and dark
and the blissful
the murmur of your holy name
awakening in my heart at last
o joy
the fulfillment of my deepest
sweetest
sorrow
perhaps I can never return
my way is with you
if I cannot reach you tonight
streets and bushes
let me be
I will sing and die
waves on the shore
the end of the sea
if you touch me
o Ram
make me mad
your love is enough
so empty
so night
be still
Heart—Night
Cloud of Dancing
you do love me
that is enough
stairs of stone
of wood
of waves
and laughter skyward
as though I die
telling me
be at home my child
my darling, my earth and look for me
I am here behind every guise
garlanded by Love’s bitter-sweet tears
asha
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)