The recent poems I published are my first since my surgery.
I find them quite informative to my rambunctious mind.
They jumped up, arms raised, excited small children
who wish the teacher would call on them, thus
sort of birthing them into the soft pure
air of truth, astonished at the blue
blue blue there,
living
when I happened
upon this floating
basket run
aground there, on
the edge of water
and land, the edge
of full and empty
the edge full
of sky and space
I wondered
about who had
taken the child
who laid there in
the basket, in
that place and in
the edge between
those flowers gathered
in the edge
of truth and wonder
Some people think
these boats aren’t real,
are just conjured up
from mid air and
the rare taste
of my desire,
pungent, raw
and sweeter than
pure honey dripping
off the velvet
waters of time
but conjured boats,
the only boats
that float in dream time,
real Behind Time
on the surface
of the waters
in all places,
and all times
in every ever,
every where
the conjured
boats of beauty
like the blossoms
soft and pink
and tender reaching
branches gentle
tracing tender
secrets of the
night and edges
on the glowy
downy silky
milky moon
so limerent, high,
so beautiful…
my fingers crawl
across your cheek
(your sleepy cheek)
kissing
caressing
blessing
in
the still
night air
She walked, head held high
like a servant who pilfered a sweetcake
from the grouchy old cook
(who ruled her kingdom with iron,
a slave who fancied herself sovereign).
She took their glances, their …
Source: Roses out of Ruins
it’s a dark desert to be endured
it’s some kind of bleak mountain
to be climbed, it’s boring and grey
and monotonous but it’s equal parts
beautiful and devastating too
it sees the sorrow in everyday occurrences.
it’s a man drunk at a party because
he doesn’t know anybody and plays the fool.
it’s a woman who tries on a dreamy
dress at a boutique and feels bad for
wanting something nice for herself.
these snapshots of despair
seem so trivial in isolation
but they are oh so meaningful
these moments of weariness
they tell us we’re not alone
they let us feel sad while
they rip our souls to pieces
they are so gorgeously wrought
and exacting at the same time.
this hurts me
I’m not sure if this
is a recommendation
or a confession.
I adore deeply
I have changed my life,
been cut to my core
but these moments
they are bleak
these moments
they hurt
their painful penumbra glows
with sharp, precise clarity
and everything else
before and after
feels like
a fuzzy
dream
it skulks along a snowy New England lane
so beautiful that you hardly even notice
the despair lurking there under the ice
you’ll see what I’m talking about
under the ice and sinking down
into the forever bony grip
of a moment
a moment
of weariness.
I recall writing this in somewhat of a fugue…
Landscape of Disruption and thick Decadence
washing ever over me in those thin emerald waves
teal and deep blue, muddy yellow and tan.
Your streets of light and music,
aimless, drifting bacchanalia…
Source: Oh Brazil! You Never Knew Me!
Charissa's Grace Notes 
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