Beyond the Night and other poems

Beyond the Night and other poems

Beyond the Night

we will follow
the evidence of the sun
through the last dark crevice,
in voices that rise beyond fire
till no lies haunt the night.

we will reach that distance
where the smallest deceit
will ache
with no more thresholds
to stand on.

and no safe passage open to beauty
till this contorted storm 
stirred with practiced hate
its boastful grandness

to a greater sovereign —
no hunger can devour
no power defeat
no heart turn away from,

we will follow that freedom
beyond the night.

The Wind

see, the wind rising over the earth —
the drums of light
murmur the colour of flowers
so alive, 
that our dreams sometimes
remember a future 
waking up inside.

see, the breeze rustling in the street
where children lie bombed
under leaves that fell and dried
days ago —
as headlines looked away
at more convenient news
air-brushing this fractured day.

see now, the earth changing colours
blood red to blue
as seas wash up
and the sun merges with the sky —
war still does business,
spewing ash over cities and sand
but time nose-dives into a deeper land.

the breeze, this earth, its colours —
a speed at which the sudden day arrives
changing our destinies, shattering our minds
like an unexpected genius 
striding across the earth
miraculous, indestructible, inexplicably divine.

The Fall

when shadows fall
from your face
the hummingbird sings outside.

when doubt falls away
from your mind
beavers sleep together in the moonlight.

when darkness leaves
your eyes at last
deer walk the streets in quiet trot.

when anger drops its guard
inside your blood
gods walk together, hand in praying hand.

and when fear finally falls off the heart
your breath grows to a river
rushing ocean ward.


the day spirals upon a free fulcrum of fire
its wide light calm.

firm footprints, no one sees, crosses our hearts
rapidly out-pacing the dark.

such chaos reigns of mismatched evidence,
of unchecked menace nervous with power —

that the world grows quiet,
quietly picking up not husk, but kernel.


day begins from the rim of night
breaking free from its darkness,
straying far from the bulge of catastrophe
where only words without desire are warm when spoken.

yet a day must have its silence
even as the waterfront clamours for attention.
but when hours begin looping on butterfly wings
magicians fly first class.

today you are a fresh green blade of grass
holding on fast to the ladybird’s feet
till all monsters fly out of existence —
how sweet then the fragrance of stars.

having come as far as your feather carries
watching our footprints rise in the big blue sea
even small liberties you give can fly us far, 
but the greatest one just smiles, sits still.


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