Of the stream
Rattling high
Into the sky
Trees rooted up branches
Sticking the sky,
these visitors are
storm struck gashes
is everything always
this upside down? leaves
wrinkle
straight breezes
seeking tranquility in the things
you do, that you picture, seeped
in euphoria,
so that you are as you are, as
others see you as.
AN INTERNET FRIEND
I said how can we
have body to flesh to
body, when
we are rooted
in cyberspace.
Your husband is preparing dinner.
I am easing myself out
for urination, throughout the long dark night
to grass, oh the trepidation
of waiting for our relationship
in fairyland, you ask me
what is due, you
drop it in
and the waters pull it
this way and that, in your
own life
why do you
wipe dirt up
like this?
Being our own wonderments
electrostatically attached
emotionally untouching,
unstintingly unstaining.
FOR ANOTHER DAY
I saw a man
Wandering the lakeshore
Amongst the silvery
Disinterested slaps of waves
Licking high litteral pebbles.
And as I saw his life go past
a little bit of the sun
that shone, went with him.
Soon, items of his being will dissolve
about him, his comfortable quarters,
couch, television and music system,
sturdy kayak and fold-up seat;
he will be gone and nobody will know
this irreducible dissolution of
soul mass and attached material.
But in a moment, the sun gleams weakly
through cotton cloud and the man
glows in it. He will endure
yet another day.
BYGONE LOVER
Like an old car
its motor sobbing.
An aged sensitive.
The modern quantum
dipped yet again
to another out:
No room for a requiem,
your eyes narrow in
unsurmounted sorrow.
What are you:
guessing game,
crushed rabbit
on the road,
rusted carapace, growing
the dream. I do not know
whether you were divine
or devastation, entity, or
exit, but if I knew
what you really were,
you would be all the eyes,
in my mirrors.
SEA FATALITY
She pines for the oceans
and sand, with her
dillusive eyes;
the face in the shroud
wondering in water;
she stalks the light
mist fluttering behind
tree trunks.
She carries a fishing rod.
Now not by name, Elliot,
Helen
whose lives were laid down
in intentions but washed out now on
rocks. You have not caught
anything, you have not caught
each other.
CONVERSATION WITH A TRUCK
Might as well have a conversation
with a truck, Jeannie said.
Next morning we woke up
together, sleeplessly watching
each other.
The cat crawled over the bed
green eyes twitching watchfully
pawing the counterpane
stunned into silence,
then suddenly the earthquake struck
and Elton the cat flew
hairstickingly up
hovvering in the shuddering air, then
after that, silence and the dim rattle
of chimneys, and mad animal
scuttlings.
Jeannie's frightened eyes calm
As the morning dawned, breakfast in
silence, then she said
'talking to you is like
talking to a truck'.
The author, Trevor Reeves, was inspired and vacations in Wanaka, NZ
and is a publisher of the New Zealand Literary EZINE SOR. He may also be contacted directly by:
email
in
Dunedin,
New Zealandor on the web here
~Page 2
