JD poems & short texts

 

So many openings

so many openings
through which the world
enters,
mingles,
melts into me
only to flow on
into others, world
into self, self into
world
 
like sticks in a stream,
bent by the light, we
pass through a prism
 
rainbowed and scattered
we are not what we
seem

 

Nothing is what it is

like mercury,
but dancing,
river-sea surface,
tide-high, reaches
at rocks, catches
at a low wet
sky
 
mist salves the wounds
of autumned oaks
turning yellow on faded
hills
 
objects are widowed of shape
and essence, nothing is what
it is without its
absence
 
empty mist,
up close,
is a plenitude
of drops, an ocean
of reflected
worlds

 

No matter where

no matter where
we look surprises turn
assumptions to ash,
smoke twisting into
all the shapes we can’t
imagine
 
over there, I can only
guess at what the journey
brings:
               watermeadows
strapped with iris-blades,
meadowsweet sloughing
cream skins in shadows
where oaks lose their fisted
roots
 
nothing is as we
expect it.  Always
our expectations flit
like bats in and
out of what is and
what is not

 

Poems & stones

in a poem
words are thoughts
or images, or
thoughts & images
are words,
compacted
into lines of
stones
 
yet stones are
a reverberation
of atoms
& a pulse of
light

 

Four sheep

four sheep & bent hawthorn
stapled to a windy
hillside
 
*
high tide
low cloud
brief meeting
 
*
among tussocks of sharp grass
crow circles a limping lamb
 
*
heron hunched in flight
mountain hunched
in another time
 
 
What is this?
 
how are we to know
what this is
caught floating on the face
of the pond?
 
what lies here, placid, yet
questioning the night air?
 
the moon is far away, yet 
here it is