MONUMENT

#2

Three Years - Three Poems

#2.0 Poet Of Gray

I’m a poet of gray
The comforting blanket of steady decay
Old photos of wars that I haven’t fought
And note sheets of music that I haven’t played
Thrown chessboard’s blurry meaningless trace
Of soft woolen patchwork of my unworn suits
The stillness of river’s seasonal cage

I’m a poet of gray
Behind foggy gems hidden rage is compressed
Projecting through blizzard my traveling stare
That climbs up concrete not needing the stairs
And raises above the city’s sharp text
To cover the day with the rest-bearing cloud
In which I am letting my spirit expand

I’m a poet of gray
The dense fog of heavens about to explode
And cover fresh snow with sizzling ink
Of phrases, which steps will mince into dirt.
And echo of now forever gone word
Will travel the land attached to the soles
And leave lasting marks on already scarred soil.

I’m a poet of gray
A shadow that follows mind’s blurry steps
Through puzzles of harrowing narrowing maze
To solemn her being fully embrace
And give Dionysus a long-brewing kiss
Only to find the bleak marble’s ice
With no color left in once gleaming eyes.
And take the deity’s now vacant stance
Shifting the pose to forever repaint
Evening with Night
Autumn with Winter
Gray With Black

2021

#2.1 Down Of Clouds Lays a Tomb

Down of clouds lays a tomb
To the troubles that are gone
Spiky crystals on the glass
Shades of hiding timid stars
They are traveling with us
Through the rays of winter sun

Worried boy asleep he fell
Leaving room for gentle smell
Of vetiver and fresh brew
That all dream from me withdrew
Letting arrows seeking truth
In my chest to freely spin

They have turned the globe around
Crowned the South with Polar Star
So I could reflect my home
Through the prism of planet’s core
Onto foreign ocean’s shore
Where you wait for me my love

Where I know you’re still in bed
Where the night‘s been reigning yet
But I’m carrying on a plane
Morning kiss of a new day
In whose golden bliss we’ll stay
Never to be part again

2020

#2.2 january one seven

i explore boston through the windows of hotel rooms
i look at paintings through the mirrors against the beds
quiet sunlight passing morning snow
light dust filling conditioned air
muted noises three cars a minute
light steps behind the door solo breakfast
sky tired blue dry lips
eyes shut another second
hand moved on my shoulder warm breath
charles moving ice fresh broken
my first spring in new england

2019