Thursday, April 17, 2008

The eighth fold

All day I have made a meal of my tongue,
tamped pride and dismay as flat as a blacktop.
My thoughts are reined, a team of Spanish Jennets,
gaited, distinguished. Ah, but desire, that gnat
still swarms. Its buzz countermands my mantra.
Perhaps it is the cocktail that stirs me up,
eases my anemic grip on virtue. I drink
nectar from the dandelion, pay homage
to flakes of rust and dole out my benevolence

like sticks of gum; take some please,
I have plenty more. I compose a prayer
for sea and wind, no it should be for damp
and sigh. My expectations wallow as low
as Chico’s Malibu. Ah, The Way is harsh.
I crave baubles and song, something dirty
every now and then. But I am a just a trick,
a sheaf made thick and small. In truth
there is nowhere left to go except within.


michael firewalker said...

Hi, Dale----marvelous poem----am trying to sign in so I can comment...

michael firewalker

michael firewalker said...

okay...this piece blends the colors of being human masterfully----it is alive, and very much a woman's honest song of the inner truths of herself, as she sees herself, at this moment,in this simultaneous multiplicity of awarenesses of places mental, physical, and spiritual...was especially delighted by the team of Spanish Jennets, and your anemic grip on virtue, and your gumsticks of benevolence!----it's been too long a time since michael has read such an honest and genuinely uplifting prayer as this one...


Sea Dream Studio said...

Thank you Michael. I really appreciate your words. You always offer such beautiful response to my work and it is so encouraging.
take care, my friend~dale