Beluga III

3rd of 3 poems written in the style of the Filipino Tanaga, as part of an Exquisite Corpse project.    

I heard belugas crying
       Amidst a seascape dying
Their breath diminished slowly
      Until it vanished wholly.

Riptide on the sunken heap
      Popeye's discard rusting deep
Gill net's web of spider floss
      Skeletons of albatross.

Packagings and plastic bags
      Balled up line, designer tags
Sprinkled like a candy rain
      Propelene and urethane.

Crowding up to photic zone
     Sailfish on the tempest flown
Octopod's long fingers eight
      Grasping clouds of acetate.

May we hear their mournful cries
      May we see with unblind eyes
Spurred by dawn of pentinence
      Pacify our violence.

Pilot Whale II

2nd of 3 poems written in the style of the Filipino Tanaga, as part of an Exquisite Corpse project.

Zero's lie: 6 in a pack
       Frozen drinks upon a rack
Filling fourteen voided vats
      Fifteen microhabitats.

Second lie: 12 hubcaps red
      Spun across a crystal bed
Packed in like a crate of eggs
      Standing deep on dozen legs.

Third time lie: red capping white
      Blood topping bone, blue with night
Catalog of winter's teeth
      Each becloaked in plastic sheath.

Tripod footnote: Earth's domain
      Filled to brimming, iced Champaign
Plunged in frigid miles of black
      Cannon iron falling back.

Within these flasks: lungs of time
      Vapours of an ancient clime
Spheres of starlight, silver pearls
      Melting into jeweled whorls.

Blue Whale I

1st of 3 poems written in the style of the Filipino Tanaga, as part of an Exquisite Corpse project.

Tongues of liquid, tasting salt
      Peppered by a frothy malt
Bathe my lungs in frigid broth
     Wrap my limbs in dust of moth.

Ages since I last inhaled
     As my prayer softly cradled
Incantations steeped in brine
     Jelly lanterns' lofted shine.

Now my fingers welling North
     Breath of onion spilling forth
Marbles bobbing on the tide
     Rings of jade adorn my bride.

Heaving gasp of rusted gill
     Vanished whisperings of krill
Staining sea in clouds of blood
     Carcass snow dissolves to mud.

While aloft, the ashen murre
     Skates across the leaning fir
Voices of her sisters drawn
     Far beyond the silver dawn.

Golden Plum of August

 Island View Campground

Over arching peals of laughter
         drape the boughs of August
         sweet grass meadow by the sea.

Swelling pear, blackened berry,
Golden plum, barking Chester,
Thistle's floss, appled branches,
Ladies' bursting breath of smile,
Acrobatics of the tea tabs
                             flutter round my cup
lulling, lulling on my eyes
conjure on my shore of mind
        silently, a man in black
        stroking paddle cross
        the pinkness of the sun
        upon a copper dawn.

[Breathe, it's time to breathe,
 as crickets sing of noon.]

Now lifting under crow's caress,
        perfumed by salt and kelp,
        this blessing drought
        moist fragrance of the strait
        inviting all the raucous lungs of youth
        to wander down
        with box of song
        and mess about for all the after noon.

Come, sweet plum,
        pick a peck of kindness
        by the sea.

Under the Goddess of the Mountain

 Whistler BC

Under the Goddess of the Mountain
          we, with the marmots, pray:
          may this, our only season
                                under the sun
          ripen a harvest of gentle peace,
                                sung in the evening
                                by the humble feathered ones.

This ice has now melted. It has
          become the foaming rapids, the
          white milk, the
          green flow, wasting not
                                an effort to the sea.

And black crowns, augmented by rust
          gather knittings of the cloud, nurture
          some smallest violets
          subsisting on ice melt
          and sky, here
          where the marmot
          basks on granite, where
          mother bear golden brown
          leads her cub so black
          across lush meadow
          encircled by spruce, where
          the shrinking snow,
          pink upon azure,
          white upon cliffs of black
          leaking tears of sunlight
          they moisten meadows
          anointed by secret,
          secret, so still
          we lost it in the
          rustle
          of our rainbow umbrella.

Bones of Summer

Whistler, BC

Skeletons on parade:
                  dressed in meat,   flesh
                 donning exoskeleton
                 adorned by fox.

and they're levering the knee
                 ascending stair
                 hefting all accumulations
                 of their craving
                 which grabs & slacks
                 skeltering
                 wrapping up his wounded wrist
                 leading with the belly
                 Starbucks gript in fingers
                 limping up the concrete
                 wrinkling the ham string
                 sluicing up some
                 symptoms of July.

The couple grasping hands.
The women stroking.
The peddlers clenching dust.
The wheelbarrow fulls of belly.
The second round, infused with grapefruit.
The zip gear falling round his ankles.
The tanned expanse of foreleg.

Imbibing some clean fragrance:
                 pine and deep fry.

We're on an apex
                 cathedrals for the worship:
                 praise to gravity.
                 (Even as the feathers
                                   of the crow
                                   notched by age
                                   scrape the summer roughly
                 suggesting winter stillness
                                   that will paralyze,
                                   and bury us in ice.)

But for today, we sport the
                 tie dye, we
                 strap some loops of
                 webbing, we
                 closet several symbols
                 of our freedom, we
                 bump our frame forward
                 cascading stair
                 slinging carabiners
                 on these hips, we
                 hold our kidneys
                 beneath rayon printed pineapple.

Dearest Mother, with her dearest
                 daughter
                 dresses matching, printed pink
                 joined by hands
                 climb the concrete
                 upbound ski hill under sky.

Ignorant Bliss

Summer Solstice
Montague Harbour
Galiano Island

Lapping fringe of bladderwort
resting on the tide
ripples gently catch a spark of sun.

Motionless like herons,
five vessels of the wealthy
                              nosing north
                              drape the languid breeze
                              in lazy leaves of maple.

Our beach tent from Bahamas Bay
folds round its turquoise shade
feathers in the air's caress
here on this beach of shells.

We're resting on the bones of time
pulverized to sand
where, since forever, since forever,
humankind have gathered for the feast
have sung and danced
and burnt a pyre
                             scented clouds of cedar
                             sacramenting all the sisters
                             bronzing all the brethern
                             of this sun swept land.

They spoke the stories of the sea
long forgot by we
who crawl like ants across the midden
                             impervious to lore
basking below nylon on the shore.