Issue #9
Words simply
are drawbridges
across rivers
that separate.
We raise
and lower
the bridges at will.
❖
Notes:
After seven years of reading and writing only haiku, I felt constrained by the form and sought other creative forms of expression. I played around with the haiku, assembling them into groups of two or three. I finally settled on a seven-line poem composed of three couplets with a single concluding line. The poems like haiku do not have titles. Over the years, I have written thousands of these short poems.
Against the black dirt a single rose petal. Her thin pink lips curl up in a smile. I sip white wine slowly. ❖ I taste the valley between her lips and wander through the rainforests of her beauty. She chases nightmares from my spirit. ❖ An oak tree takes root in her heart and branches out into the world. She finds strength in the gifts she gives. I pick up acorns. ❖
Notes:
These short poems are filled with images that hint at a story. The reader is to participate in the creation by making connections between the images, much like reading haiku. Read each poem slowly and let your subconscious make the connections and tell the story.
A single red rose haunts her memory and fills her soul with bitter anguish. She combs her long brown hair for hours, tugging at the roots. I no longer see myself in her eyes. ❖ Her frail face, like an old sidewalk, grows weeds between the crevices. A bald gardener breaks his hoe on a rock. I pay the rent and hope for the best. ❖ Night is a bumblebee of truth buzzing loudly through my dreams. The woman watches from behind the maple, afraid that I might capture her spirit and take it home with me in a glass jar. We each must find the hidden path that will free us from the forest of doubt. ❖
Notes:
Sometimes, these poems are more about what is not said than what is said. Read between the lines to grasp the meaning. Let the poem speak to you. Most of these poems have more than one level of meaning. If you find one that touches you, carry it with you for several days and revisit it as time allows.
Sometimes I sit by the telephone waiting and waiting for God to call. Sometimes I dial His unlisted number and listen to the silences between the rings. ❖ I wish for nothing but to be a child again in a field of yellow dandelions. To feel the hand of God on my shoulder as He pushes me face down in the mud. I live in fear that He will never return. ❖ God, yet again, has found me, hidden this time in a single flake of snow, and I melt from the warmth of his wild and passionate breath. ❖
Notes:
These ten poems, written in the 1990s, are part of my book, Like A Hammer, which includes 102 poems. I recently republished it as an ebook. If you would like a free copy of the book, email or message me, and I will email it.
