Birds
We shut our heavy doors on everything
And blue birds fly blindly into windows
On elegant and most delicate wings
Leaving nothing but plumes of indigo
In the wake of our horrid obstructions
The finest of feathers are left behind
A reminder of careless disruption
And so with haste we close all of the blinds
On the blooming magnolias and birds
That flutter in flakes of falling petals
And sweet songs that we only dreamt we heard
On T.V or records much less gentle
Nature suffers by our quite callous hands;
It’s visible on panes where birds have slammed
Beauty and Starry Skies
I know not of where the flaxen moon lives
Or where the lustrous sun waits for a kiss
But I’m sure radiant skies will outlive
Me and certainly temporary this
That stars will still cast shadows with their glow
While faintly they cling to dapple the dawn
With the halo beauty alone bestows
Quite a long while after night has moved on
Illuminating lives with endless light
The constellations promise splendor and
A future like lovers bidding goodnight;
Beneath these fading cosmos I still stand
Beauty resides in the sky among stars;
What wondrous specks of forever they are
Ode to New York
I see your appeal like fingers tangled
In my hair that just will not stop pulling
The stars shine out the glass of gray buildings
Leaving all the pavement and world glowing
And you breath awe and love in great detail
Like bumping into old friends I forgot
I stand entranced on the thirty fifth street
On the corner of “What if?” and “Why not?”
I hear heartbeats as impatient car horns,
A melody unlike Maine’s safe silence,
Rushed voices sing to your lovely brisk pulse
The air full of elation and sirens
The sounds still buzz in the back of my mind
The hum of a thousand lives intertwined
And a hot breeze that whistles by my ears
You are an orchestra of all mankind
You’re mesmerizing and you pause for none
You have all the world’s and my attention;
For the city that never sleeps I couldn’t
Dream to capture in just two dimensions
Love
I’m an open book but you never read
You love like flames engulf vellum and faith
(On this and not much else we can agree)
Give me godlike apathy if you need
You are careless and it’s so enchanting:
I’m an open book but you never read
Shared feelings are messy like pens that bleed,
Nothing’s more terrifying than intimacy:
(On this and not much else we can agree)
I’d write you as often as faith recedes
And let you kiss me like axes kiss trees:
I’m an open book but you never read
You’re the type of muse from which writers feed,
But love is paper cuts and blind worship
(On this and not much else we can agree)
You don’t care for novels or any creed
Love is finding faith in an atheist:
I’m an open book but you never read
(On this and not much else we can agree)
Moths That Land on Cigarettes
We are like moths that land on cigarettes
Gullible creatures born to a brief life
(We all just fade like photograph vignettes)
We run from the darkness that we reject
And flock to whatever lights that we find:
We are like moths that land on cigarettes
Death isn’t unkind but we cannot accept
That we could end while time remains deathless
(We all just fade like photograph vignettes)
Other things consume and that we forget;
Passion kills quicker than indifference:
We are like moths that land on cigarettes
Running since fate isn’t very far behind
We create brief wonder and kill our time
(We all just fade like photograph vignettes)
Like insects in a soft yellow gas jet,
Burnt out on any bits of hope we find
We are like moths that land on cigarettes
(We all just fade like photograph vignettes)
Ode On a Hebron Spring
Where once was ice daffodils have risen
Now tulips paint a hilly green canvas
Only this campus could hope to capture
A late Spring and all of its romances
What once was cold is now humid and hot
Warm days return and the sunshine follows
Only Hebron graciously enhances
The blues skies of today and tomorrow
Perhaps this is what I will miss the most;
Rolling green hills where wild plant life does bloom,
And clear skies and possibilities stretch far;
A place I did most of my growing too
Truths I know
If I were to let go of my glass
It would fall and break;
I know this to be truth
If I were to let you go
You’d shatter too;
I also know this truth
Forest Seeking Fire
I guess there’s not much to be said
Of a forest seeking fire,
Of someone who unpacks quickly
Even though staying isn’t their desire
I’m not sure what’s to be said of me;
Of someone that’s all Saturday mornings
And scuffed up dashboards,
Hellbent on aimlessly exploring
I’m not sure what’s to be said of me;
Of someone that notoriously leaves on all the lights;
Who thinks the best things happen under trees
And can’t for the life of her be precise
I guess there’s something to be said
Of who someone who meant to mean more;
I’m as still as a revolution
But I guess I’ll never be a bore
Snow Owl
An owl is perched on a telephone pole,
Brilliant white like all the snow that melted;
Perched quietly on the side of the road
Looking out of place and rather helpless
People pulled over and lined the long street
To snap a picture of the misplaced bird
That remained unmoved on a calm June day,
Despite all the noises it must have heard
It’s pale feathers grew tarnished and sooty
As the humid summer days carried on,
It hadn’t ventured far since I last saw it
and we realized that something must be wrong
Calls were made to anyone who cared to
Attempt to catch the illusive snow owl;
Many game wardens and neighbors had tried,
But after a while they threw in the towel
On a normal Sunday not long after
Driving home from another day at work
In my leisure passing I caught sight of
A lump of what appeared to be just dirt
The snow owl was stiff and crumpled face down
The creature was no longer white at all
Rolled up in a heap of the breakdown lane
Limp and lifeless as a tattered rag doll
Like early snowfall it wasn’t meant to last
Stuck in a place it was not meant to stay
Someone tossed the carcass into the marsh;
From our minds this snowflake would surely fade
