March 19, 2012

poem 87 of a poem a day for 2012

wading time

we emit these
admissions of wanting
of wishes 
of stilled pieces
of our lives
we cling to spit bits 
that rhyme trumps 
with every reason
not to act
on a shelf 
as accretional dust
 lies near the spill of
another sunrise

the season changes
near the ides 
of this month
each of us is a clock
each of us is in motion
each of us in some way measures  
each of our personal divine
as we dine
the subject of Love
has the last say

every ride peels the road into
chaos and curves a carved surmise
each of us specific to gravity’s rise
each of us bound between
what goes on in the tiniest
spaces the universe
can find and what
each of us drives
a homing tine into when
we've slowed enough to see 
what affords each of us 
all the arcs and climbs 
to where we can nest
on one of the many branches 
trees cover-reach the sky with

each of us sit 
a cradle-bough
looking up at stars
looking up for 
each faded death
of hands winding round
between the blossoming of fingers
near why we linger here or there
as tremble buds wrap and lean
against the fast low clouds
and the new Moon
winking its drawn down well

we drink and
find the worn
afterbirths of
each of our tides 
each of us turning
to begin again
says here
I am

EJR (c)


  1. I was interested in reading some of your work, because the emotion with which you presented tonight at Beat Generation Night was compelling. I wasn't sure where to start first so I began with your latest entry. I realized earlier tonight, and again just now, that sometimes it's hard to distinguish the work of the famous and the virtually unheard of. Even a poem written by, say, a blind man, can occasionally be identified with deeply, and at times with "wading time" that's just what I did. Keep 'em comin'.

    -- Justin from the Artist's Guild

    1. As Winter nears its odd warm end this year,it has become clear that when we love anything we do from the inside to outside to the inside again,there is no beginning to fret about nor an ending to be found with a sad empty hollow sound...much like the pound of the tides or the smell of the sea, things seen with our eyes closed are often better at rebuking the false comfort we steward our humanity to with the chains of mechanical ideas, such as clocks...keep writing and keep reading them aloud...keep hearing the glory of your own radiance...because that light that spills from each of us is what is most needed to be...Gratitude for your comment...and many thanks for sharing your thought provoking, image-filled work...Edward

      PS I really liked the Icarian themes that seemed to run through the pieces you and Nick read tonight...kudos