Foreign Hands, Distant Faces

White hands from the ground
Singing soft, silent, imperialism
Thrust up by white faces
Buried beneath the earth
With mouths all agape, waiting
For the rain of milk and honey.

White faces with red teeth,
Black eyes and black sweat
Stained sullen by transgressions,
Washed clean by false tears
Shed in theatrical grief.

Highway Willow-Wisp

Willow-wisp in the sky at night,
Sweet, flickering fire-light.
A pool of orange on sticky black tar
Winking, sighing, sleeping.
Fading to an ember on a rushing brook
of molten metal, roaring in the night
through weary nighttime traveler’s dreams.

Old Word Ice and Fire

Glide softly on blades
With ice beneath your feet
And soar on wings of fire.
Though neither would be nice
Some say either would suffice,
To sear blood and memory.

Old dreams, memories, whispers…
But today I look a different way
Facing a foreign shore,
One foot already out the door,
My palms, hands, fingers stretch
Driving to a new horizon.

Mirrors, Mirrors

Steel mirrors strung together
With breadths of razor wire.
Dull light flashing back and forth
Carries whispers from the mire.
Soft songs, old blood dreams
Memories of faith, fear, and fire.
Remembrance unsullied by time
Caught between steel and wire.

The Fingers of Old Men

Red berries in the white snow,
Pure, pristine, immaculate
Lie along red branches,
Bunched, twisted, and coiled,
Like the gnarled fingers of old men.

Looking Ahead

Looking, looking, but what for?
A whirlwind of faces,
A whisper of dreams.
Laughter, sound, silence,
Blown my way upon the wind.

Old Engine

Dies the fire in the night
Banked for another day.
No longer sweet candle light
Flickering to light my way.

This old engine needs a rest
Tired, worn, and well-used.
Free at last, it served its best
Though the work left it ill-used.

Rest to fight another day
Relaxed, restored, renewed.
A candle keeping night away
When ready to be used.