Wednesday, March 24, 2010

the rain forest






Here among straight backs,
green shirts and flirting sparks
of light, of feather,

among songs of ancients
the wind, lonely as a stone
tells me something.

It touches the old swing
by the river, begins to push
just enough to capture the eye

and surely there are ghosts
in private conversations
sipping coffee in the earliest sun.

I lost a love here my heart says.
A book of poems, yet unfinished,
traces the path

around and between the giants,
over the moss,
the stone beach.

You tell me, why I was lonely.
And I indeed
was never perfect.

You know where we flew to.
Then I, so tired,
easily frightened in those days,
felt the anchor tear away

from everything.
Touch me, my skin cried.
You were off fighting wars
of your own,

drowning slowly.
I'll tell you a secret, someone
told me the things you were saying

and that
opened the doors
of my going away.





for the past we let go of





Sunday, March 7, 2010

Sparklehorse - Tribute to Mark Linkous



Read a new poem titled "Sparklehorse",
no it's not about a horse at all. Well mostly not.
It's about Mark Linkous of the band Sparklehorse
who took his life after a long battle with depression.
I watched two videos of him performing and was
impressed by the simple, poetic and dark music.
You can read the poem at Flood Water Photography:

http://www.floodwaterphotography.blogspot.com/

Encourage and love those near to you, even those a far way off.

Anonymous

Monday, March 1, 2010

Broken Art



Broken Art
by T.L. Stokes



Here in the grass breast of my mother will I lay my head,
sorrowing for seed and stillness. Here among the wet
breath will I whisper an old thought and dream while she
holds me again. Far from the broken thighs, oh heavy
longing. Our children lost in the rubble. Far
from stones and paintings turned to another form
of art and grave, I will leave my family, they sink
from my heart. I will be pretty on what I think stable.
In dreaming I fly, in sleep I awaken. Here, far
from islands and oceans. Here in the grass breast
of my mother, will I lay my head.




for Chile