wandering words

A small sampling of Adrian’s poetry practice

  • I remember maples trees

    And tin-sap-buckets

    Trunk bound

     

    Like metal bird houses

    For growing

    Sweet treats

     

    And the busy beaver

    Always damning something

    Flooding the access road

     

    And the fired-abode

    Wooden through and through

    Feeding and heating us too

     

    And the chickens out back

    Sounding a bit like

    A panic attack

     

    And the orange vested dog

    Wandering forest, home,

    And bog

     

    Yet mostly I remember pancakes

    Burnt and smoked a little too much

    With fresh maple syrup

     

    Ah

    Suchness as such

  • Nothing is something

    We forgot

     

    Air thought to be naught

     

    Displaced space between

    Replaced with pillar and beam

     

    What stitching have we done

     

    Simply to make a seam?

  • I recall rivers red running

    Bloodless and bold

    Pulsing and told

     

    Me of white darkness

    Blinding brilliance that swallows you whole

    Reef to shoal

     

    She swam through the shallows

    Singing of sunbeams and surf

    Enchanting demons with her mirth

     

    Gave birth to mountain and cave

    Lathe of the master in meditation

    Crafting reality in relation

     

    To the lover lost but longing

    To be me

    Can’t you see?

     

    There are rivers red running

  • One day I will name the sky

    Like those chanting birds

    Outside my bedroom window

    And I will fly

     

    One day I will name the moon

    Like those chanting wolfs

    From childhood tales

    And I will cry

     

    One day I will name the water

    Like those chanting frogs

    Nearby getaway cabins

    And I will sigh

     

    One day I will name the earth

    Like those chanting bugs

    In the summer heat

    And I will die

     

    And return to ground

    To name life

    And rebound

  • Write me still

    In your next story

    Glory can wait

     

    Abate my hunger

    A younger me would sate

    Slate me clean

     

    Wean me off that dream

    Of daring deeds

    Needs

     

    Write me in your next story

    Not as the me I am thought to be

    Nor as what you see

     

    Instead

    My plea

    Write me free

  • Is this a prayer?

    Is a poem a prayer?

    Or a dare

     

    To long-forsaken gods

    To show themselves

    In felt experience

     

    Or is it repetition of form and phrase

    By writers and readers

    Leaders and ladders to God

     

    If I roll and burn this page like sage

    Will it temper my rage

    Will ghosts flee before me

     

    If I sing this in verse

    Will these words cease to be terse

    And ascend to god’s ear

     

    Is this poem a prayer?

    Or am I simply meant

    To share