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too far from home skip to main skip to sidebar too far from home the life and times of a nomadic solipsist tuesday february 10 2009 fire and ice fire and ice a poem possess me quickly like high spiced food a flood cold clear water fire sweeping through backdraft like sex like sudden illness down with a fever felled like a tree white pine ax murderer like death a stroke massive heart attack concentrate stick and rub under pressure diamond eap posted by hesperia at tuesday february 10 2009 no comments labels fire and ice photography poem monday february 9 2009 time is a wolf time is a wolf in a cave a few beats away from my heart s twelve where you will be blamed because i was not found your head on my heart stops like a wolf in its cave you swore it was the last time and so did i we both swore the last time i said it s forever and you said it was but we both knew it was a wolf in a cave i want to know will i move past your body when you die or will my own half cells die with you when i was a girl you told me time was forever and still wolves found me in dreams when your teeth are gone will they still eat me or fall from your mouth when you throw up the bones will you leave them to me or will you always need them as weapons for wolves and dreams eap posted by hesperia at monday february 09 2009 no comments labels time is a wolf in a cage photograph poem wednesday november 12 2008 hairline fracture the ribs are a fragile cage for her heart s urgings your boney skullcap hot brain firing nerves eyes brow hands tongue lashings of teeth scarred knuckle muscle control those abs pects the six pack punches through bruised organs she hears their music in her ears and heart s distal pulse your ancient cadence fists face feinting bloodlines traced back to the cave beneath fractured ridges into the bone eap posted by hesperia at wednesday november 12 2008 5 comments friday september 19 2008 sons male of elizabeth for my sons and my grandson not yet born i wake in the morning his voice in my body a language i can t follow a crescendo a leaky instrument he was a boy with a voice that betrayed him a sharp blade for an adam s apple and words that hit the window like sleet he left me remembering the quiet thrum of rain the day he was born the blade that saved him after a dive to grab his waving arms i still tread in that water and blood of the child who was named male of elizabeth the patchwork of our bodies living breathing speaking broken languages photo by sally mann posted by hesperia at friday september 19 2008 no comments labels male of elizabeth eap photo poem poetry sally mann sunday august 17 2008 what they see by the light of candles i was the old woman visible to neighbours only in conversations on front porches at the ends of driveways glancing back to my darkened house where i watched them from windows onto the world unseen because you can t see inside when the lights are out they wonder when there is no garbage on sunday night nor on monday morning when the trucks pass by they ask if i m alive in here or so i imagine i ll be found one day when someone follows a nose to the body disintegration escaping cracks in the mortar when they find me they ll understand something about garbage the heap beside my unmade bed the heap on the dining room table shit overflowing the litter box electricity shut off months before those unopened envelopes in my mailbox i know what they ll ask when the money is found under the mattress no one wants to touch defeat how you can t stop someone intent on not meeting the neighbours under any light but that cast by candles waving shadows on the bedroom wall eap posted by hesperia at sunday august 17 2008 2 comments labels what they see by the light of candles candles light old woman poem saturday august 16 2008 happy with little and still her eyes are cloudy the cataracts she won t have removed because of the scalpel the children won t understand there can be no knives in this life now light has moved from the eye to her face happy with little and still living there the laughter of her children s children rises over the lake and she catches the father of each in the flame of memory every bright hair of them gleaming in the sun eap posted by hesperia at saturday august 16 2008 2 comments thursday august 14 2008 late fragment and did you get what you wanted from this life even so i did and what did you want to call myself beloved to feel myself beloved on the earth raymond carver posted by hesperia at thursday august 14 2008 2 comments older posts home subscribe to posts atom as all historians know the past is a great darkness and filled with echoes voices may reach us from it but what they say to us is imbued with the obscurity of the matrix out of which they come and try as we may we cannot always decipher them precisely in the clearer light of our day margaret atwood my blog list 3 a m helquin wood s lot the fitful tracing of a portal a burning patience alone on a boreal stage annie finch being and writing belladodie bloggamooga book of kells buggeryville cherry pie press dirt and rocks dumbfoundry florescence heaven joy harjo s web log joyland julie r enszer kr blog lemon hound lorcaloca narcissusworks oolichan poetry outside the lines poesy galore poetry hut blog postal poetry raw light reginald shepherd s blog silliman s blog speak softly syntax is a second skin thanal online that shakespeherian rag the buffaloe pen the plural hoe the well nourished moon theriomorph watermark we drank cachaca and smoked the green cheroot woman stirred world class poetry blog blog archive 2009 2 february 2 fire and ice time is a wolf 2008 13 november 1 september 1 august 4 july 4 june 3 about me hesperia view my complete profile