picturing you in that blue blouse
true as summer’s noon (now gone grey green)
when life was still morning light
and you slept as beautifully deep
so moon gazed at itself (in you)
before the breaking news

it might have been wind that scooped the story
warning the birds to wing away
towing the last rays of sun behind them
or maybe it was that first soothesong rain
who foolish few becalmed to its notes
and raised hands to those drops eyes closed (and smiled)
whilst beneath your blues capped whites over grey
and their eyes opened to darkness
and it was too late to hide (from her)

She lasted more than a day (who’s to say)
her gales drowned out all knowing
and even the music (which came in sheets) became nothing
more spray in a shattering glass
tossed in a furious barrel of shards
A fiend in life and death
created for chaos’ sake
so cresting mountains could say they collapsed
and the darkest waters of your soul could rise once more
and spit at the sky

Now spilling on shores her name is but gone
only ripples of rumour of yesterthurs’ wrath
in your frothy headlines at headheight its sung
through hollow tubes curling, signaling the end
but hear her there (in the crash)

T.S. Goodrich
 
 
Picture
Freedive

wondrously free in your tight embrace
as old and cold and alone as time
and as omnipotent
lungs breathe (out)
deep as your heart surges (in) rhythm,
accepting your surface pace
syncing with your foamspilled pages
turning ashore where they break stone and shell into spray
authoring new poems in white frothy ink
leaving lines on the beach
high tides of yesterday's news

turning back with jealous eyes
to rest one time more on your face
at so smooth and sure your caress of the Earth
knowing no time or effort as the wind
who but you can copy the heavens
dance with the moon
bounce the sun back
beckon the clouds to build and to laze
and show off endlessly with your poems?
tis true
no blue as you
perilous beautiful
a predator who both betrays and attracts the bait
with glinting eyes (like mine)...

And I am but horizon's prey (and yours)

pulled down by the blue
promised not but the unknown door
may I shed my feet for fins
and fly gazing upways at the forgotten floor
(at last)
venturing down into myself (and you)
my breath will hold us as I dive
where oft the cliffs of my dreams cry out

(for wings)
Stilling still the boiling in my blood
the lure of below

(the terror of behind)
the farewell to the sky
mind’s eye opens wide ears to your song
the press of your kiss

the mood of your speech
(whispering)
this is my breath to the fullest of me
free in this chance to sink in your soul
for I may only get one shot.




T.S. Goodrich