Thursday, March 23, 2017

Notes to Lady Murasaki - March 23rd, 2017

A mystery of folded time
crossing the wild and careless sea
paper boats sailing safely before
a wind of blue iris
a voice so sustained, so low
          and the murmur of a bamboo flute
caressing your message on silken paper
          covered again and precisely marked
living calligraphy,
Lady Murasaki

                    “I was here; I knew beauty.”

Friday, March 17, 2017

Winter and her Boyfriend

Winter and her boyfriend
locked in an icy tango,
their tight, slow spin
vanquished summer’s
red lust; hard, hard
soft breath gone
to silver

We know it you and I,
sharing this bowl
of compressed
We’ve been around.
We can tell a tiger 
from a lamb.

Sunday, January 29, 2017

savage power

savage power-
each day a morning after
the broken hearts, the longing
where are the kind angels?

yes, yes, “We are all one.”

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Concourse B - Cancelled Flight


down the center                                        moving walkways
on each side                                             free walkers
doubled on chrome ceilings                     again in glass trim, again, chrome edges
passing cyphers, encrypted                      people rushing, or, just not really fast
horizontal intervals, posed                      atonal scores, sporadic citations
playing at getting somewhere                   flowing past each other                
pompoms, baseball caps, ear muffs           annotations in hats
competing flows, chance kids                   grace notes pulling tiny bags
very special dogs in well-made sweaters    a few, au natural

at the lonely still point                               alien in this tube
drained phone                                            sleeping partner
a timed-out sentry                                      stuck in Denver

Tuesday, December 20, 2016

beyond the curtains

beyond the curtains
the snow-laced pull of silence
one broken moon
it must still be Advent
the empty waiting for one

true and holy night

Sunday, December 4, 2016

Cleavage Grain

cleavage grain
the place where diamonds split
if you know where to find it

one broken piece
refracting icy twilight
low bass hallelujah

too cold for an owl
crack of a broken branch
moonless night dirge

a ghost of Leonard Cohen
singing the river of changes
An Age of Oligarchs Has Come

play it on an Irish pipe
No-one move

Lorna Cahall 12/4/'16

Monday, July 11, 2016


not a sound above the breakwater
soaring on motionless wings
    this is the promise

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