Harvest Dream

Last night we had a rain storm
to beat the band…wind blowing hard,
rainy fat little lakes of water
hurtling along and surfing the windy currents.
The air was wild and electric, fresh.
We left the bar and walked.
We were stirred up and feeling wild.
She was practically vibrating
with desire and pent up energy,
and wanting to be wild,
so I drove us to the vineyard


and among the groaning
vines fat with fruit
we took off our shoes and clothes
and let the weather drench us
with its furious grip!
The grass was tall between the rows,
the dirt sodden around the vines,
and there we ran,
and tackled each other,
completely stark naked!!
Down to the earth we fell,
again and again,
rolling and kissing…

and everything.tumblr_n284i9tGMN1qj9ytzo1_500

Later, we sprinted to the winery,
and rummaged for extra clothes, towels,
and a coffee maker and fridge in the crush.
We dried each other off and
put on some warm clothes
and then let our others dry
while we had coffee,
and then beer.
The space heater toasted us up,
until we were warm enough
to go to the cellar…

in the ground, in her womb,
the smell of yeast pungent
like the smell of us.
I grabbed a couple bottles
and a wine key (to heaven),
she carried lots of blankets and candles.
We went to the deepest quietest place,
back in the corner and had…


I the bread and she the wine.
If I am dreaming,
never wake me,
for it is bliss.tumblr_n29vrxYJQR1risr9ko1_1280



When Rain Runs Backwards

How can I find draught
when rain runs backwards,
rivers reverse and earth swallows up all…
waters, grains and grits?
In a topsy-turbulant epoch,
chained to hate and fear
I grow parched, thin
and desperate for drink.

Mama stands tall,
open and frank and
waiting for me.
But courage fails,
fears follow and
dog me knackered
And so I thirst, I thirst…

until driven I
fly to Her face,
and flit low to
Her Gentle Power
and there I drink
till I am sated and renewed…
and fly fly fly

It is only then
that I realize that
She drank from me as I from Her,
and my fear,
my pain and sorrow
has been drained and I am
full of the freedom of never-more!


Infection Crucinfection (Easter 1980)

{I have been contemplative over the difference of this Easter compared to any other one in my entire life.  It has me looking back, at old poems, old journals, etc.  Thus the spate of poems 3 decades old.

I have changed a lot, and I think that is good.  I think my poems are better now, too…Terraces, right??

This poem was the first poem about Easter for me.}


He sat in the straw
mute as a rock
crudely undone.

Ranker than swine
coarse to our nails
we swung to our job.

Infected with Truth
He hung in the dust
Drenched to His Skin,
Bleached to His Bones.

Then He went
all the way
coming to
common terms
with loss as
Blind as Wind.


Challenge (Spring, 1980)

Don’t be afraid to plead–
Be proud to be outrageous so long as
you have regard for “un-with-it” truth.
Say things that are, and are not the same.
Accidental or intentional, internal or external,
or both, it does not in the least represent sloth.
All of us feel losses.  And we–we were not robbed
of the pastoral dream of youth–
just the pastoral dream of maturity.

To write in mockery of the system is the ultimate
Slavery to the system, of all things.
To say “I Love You” to language, especially now,
in its decayed condition–
to tickle the ear with musical savvy–
to say that human integrity can walk
hand in hand with responsibility…

It’s a challenge to chaos


Why use language?
Why simply to save the Word.

I’ll say it forever, damn it!
Life in a harsh world IS worthwhile!


Veils and Terraces

I put up veils that day…in the midst of the screaming panicked anger.
In the grip of vile and hateful words (they hit me like icicles and melted).
I put up veils, to cover landslide avalanches words started inside me.

I was small, 6.  I was alone, now, lost amidst the melting mountain of self
that cascades like Mississippis of mud, of dirt, of noisy horror and
buzzard squawks in my fevered mind.

On that precipice I teetered, feeling the depths draw and mock me
feeling the pressure of the wind and heat from adults lashing and railing
(in the name of love).

I fled dimly, frenzy-fueled and fearful (forever, I thought)
and hastily found in the lonely nothing my shame, my self-loathing
and my razor thoughts, and wove veils.

Concealing the rift, the chasm.  Covering the evidence
that I was a monster, deviant, and worse…
covering the life of pretense…

Imagine my shock, these days, as veils are torn asunder by laughter
as coverings are ripped away by joyous contentment, revealing
where there were only chasms, there are now terraces!

I am far larger than I ever was, and veiled only in terraces.