OUR EMPTY SEA
Under our empty sea a green world exists
as a sickly changeling beyond
recollection
in trenches, plateau, plain, barrows of schist.
On tossing desert continuum resides
a pacific mind
and in ocean mind there is no drying soil.
Only whales consider the possibility of
a surface
above bright heaven's sky of amethyst.
At the pencil thin ends of falling
daylight beams
in trenches, plateau, plain, barrows of schist;
many a coterie of philosophers gathers to speak
of crossing high oceans under clouds
of full sail.
We may follow the descent of black backed
emperor penguins
from above bright heavenıs sky of amethyst,
into the jaws of unimpressed killer whales who
sing on Ocean floor the prayers
of killer whales.
Do not mourn the passing of sea creatures
into sustenance
crossing high ocean under clouds of full sail
from that unwholesome meat, tossed red
into sponginess
will arise an unknown landscape, undreamt of.
And forever anon and forever anon penguin must
sing on Ocean floor the prayers of
killer whales.
While posed as sailing angels we are tattooed
on high,
and in tomorrowıs gray swelling Pyramids pale
to become now useless as a sinking hull
and arise on unknown landscape, undreamt of.
Weep to be allowed to drink handfuls of
merciless brine
for in ocean mind there is no drying soil.
Fashion scrimshaw as your craft rides on
mumbling heaves
for in tomorrowıs gray swelling Pyramids pale.
Let terran sand dissolve within immemorial sea
for under our empty sea a green world exists.
THE CAGE
Years of living melt like April Fools' Day
ice
a glass of scotch and water reflects
fortunes lost on spilling dice
settling upright in blurred moments of color
and smoke.
What you have cherished will fall from hand
heavy with emptiness, clean with uselessness
no measure of life is visited twice
as years of shanghaied seasons are left
unread
in fortunes lost on spilling dice.
White yellow teeth are white teeth
metamorphosed into age
and hairs followed falling teeth.
No measure of life is visited twice.
Was memory faded in cruel evening as
evening cruel in faded memory was?
Each stone sculpted, words fill every
page
encrypted beyond passing glances.
Youth metamorphosed into age.
Rising from a Bertoia chair, standing
for the last time;
sleep sleeping seer on a pillow of
hands
dexterously knowing that by hand,
stone has been sculpted, words fill
every page.
By hand
years of living melt like April Foolsı Day
ice.
THE YARDBulbs of spring dew pierce temporal eyes, a descending star in morning swaggers immaterial above pine sentinels tenured to yard. The wild rose bush wears thorns of blood, purple crenelation edges its nervy leaves it thrives aside my picket fence. Condensation distilled like sapphire gin boiling over a candle as small and as large as the Moon, moistens tongues to saturate an olivine grassplot that is here painstakingly drenched. Damp cuffs of cloth clothe sallow legs without unfolding any wrinkle of uncurled sanity.
Debbie Simco's Page
Jennifer Simco's Page
Readers' Page
Readers' Page II
NEW Readers' Page III
My Cool Main Page