Mornings of Virgin Snow

You are not alone. Your thoughts speak to you and echo in your ears as if they were another person, holding you tightly and breathing from inside your lungs. They speak your language, the sound of your heart beating as words in your mind.

There is something that free-verse poetry simply can’t do. It can’t speak across the vast ages of ancient time into the minds of today’s generations. That is something only possible with traditional poetic forms — the haiku of Japan, the ship of China, the kasa of Korea, the chanda of India.

When you submit to the flow of traditional poetry, it washes over your soul as gentle waves and erodes tension with the pressure of myriad touches. Its simplicity is overwhelming in the detail the single images create with their contrasts.

With the advent of contemporary haiku and tanka, it is no longer necessary to understand Japanese to reach the depths of these ancient forms, until recently only used in English to create basic poetry on the way to free-verse expression. The haiku tradition has been freed from its language barriers and you can now taste its liberty.

Coming Spring 2020

From the book…

memories become you
as hearts are never lost
to the darkness of ash
your voice echoes in forests
if only they chance to listen

creation myths pale
before those of disintegration
words speak not themselves
out of darkness you are become
new moons’ ephemeral light

speak through the daze of morning
to eyes trampled by the night
whisper love into the silence
your touch lives still on my skin
unveiled before dawn’s face

a sanctuary
lives behind my dreams of you
yet i feel unsafe
fleeing from desires to follow
onto the next life’s footpath

i imagine footprints
beneath the surface of virgin snow
burned by your passions
crystals turn to liquid
melted by unshadowed spirits

talk nonsense to me
so in the silence i hear
you whisper my name
skin covered by silk no more
masks the taste of your presence

hold back the morning
so i may feel your touch
burned into my yesterdays
awake i seek to follow
while i cry in my waiting

reincarnation
screams my name in silent rooms
who have you become
in voices i feel your touch
yet my fingers are empty

i kiss my pillow
before i have awakened
unfulfilled alone
yet for an instant i believed
today had not yet come

in eyes blackened by fire
long since rendered sterile
smoke clouds my vision
more than the sum of memories
sensations of your presence