SONGS FOR APACHES

Songs to Apaches

The Athapascan Blues

On contact

Forsaken

By Rue

 

 

Apothecary – Scribe

SaaS

Matyrical

Would not Have

An Remise

 

 

Believer of Prayer

Alms for the Rich

Red, Yellow, and Black

Come Quick

 

 

An Alibi Remedy

Grace of Amber

Gloss Ever After

Alive as a Season

Wild Rice Souffle

 

 

 

Glory to Every Bit Sky

Truth as Blue as the Night

Strewn with Broken Glass

The Shards bearing Shyness

Lamp of a Time Weathered

Round, Spherical

Temple

 

Glad to port Bridges

Too Cul de Sac

Blindness

 

A Stat and a Side Glance

Who calls it?

 

 

 

Take Billiards for Instance

Poem’s a Witness

The Shell of the Canyon

Eclipsed by a Fern

 

Ad Infinitum

 

 

Holy Mile Scepter

The Sun

Acquiesces

Long Song Endear

 

three bands of light

Three bands of light crisscross in the foliage

Chartreuse in seams leaves overlay to blue

Musical notes between fibrous fringed brush

Painted of leather the sun woven brush

Indelicate lace of overgrowth reach

Where the peace of the earth glosses oil

Renewals of early morning hours

Brushed with the tones a far away flower

Growing scattering wavering anxious

The arts of the painting the trees renew

Daily as offering dew bearing mast

The hands of the hour appointed earth.

Hands that the artist has chosen to bend

To the strength that peace has afforded

WILDLY FEVERISHLY

The light of the hour complete with shame

Thinks of what come first and enjoins the earth

Full shaken and molded from the touch first

Fires at its absent remainder in the shade

It is not a time for playing with rhyme

Searching to recommend itself again

Seeing no difference made of shadow’s pain

The same careful tune that it came in alive

Had ventured and vanished to reprise the day

Where has its parting begun but by day

Oh, how its essence pervades and aligns

The fullness of the afternoon gazed

Has not been forgotten nor emanates

As plusses and minuses alert

Nor as the aegis of the self-same fire

But as wildly as feverishly

 

 

 

Where evil awaits bedlam medicine runs

Why wouldn’t science be anxious to be so

No one can appreciate beneficence

Their nature is opposite inference

The sane and the departed can’t hear it

They must form in harmony or veer

That little habit of convenience steers

A way that from nowhere appears a verse

The same that a thought made of glory or mirth

War to the wages of everyday shrines

Art is a vehicle and its driver

Take just one of these as a sample

Words are free until they’re captured by poems.

They may be powerfully old and ashamed

Written by someone for anyone’s name.

A vice grip in the memory of stone.

Far greater is its worth than its damage.

A sonnet in the afternoon, plumage.

DELFIN

El Póstula la Tregua y la Opuesta

Contrarios vientos que soplan y arden

mandatorio pareciéndose toz

hay toque por alguién quien sea bien

del arbolorio esculpario

un fósforo brilla al lado del sien

pocas flores renuncian luzirse

dado el sol que las retiene voz

cantandose vibra perfumenes

las huelo me alientan las capto

en pensarlo se me enfrian, incan,

por el frío que rechaza tinta

en el acto de engendrar a la paz

torna y retumba y encarna

Sun of Echoes

The sunlight has gathered its focus mounts

High in the sky and lowering downward

It acts as though nothing but a tower

Raised as it’s lifted and brought to its force

Gathering its flowers to bloom once more

Yesterday and today the passing ground

a center point hour is draped around

the rolling circumference is bound along

the medium temperate offering

songs of the prayer wizened echoing birth

a chapter of the parchment ascribing

the day for it’s beautiful wandering

alights on the path of the horizon