stories

for c.m.p.
There were stories I would have told
of sand held in hands trembling cold
of two outlined, city fountain between,
exchanging rings in a church square.
These are stories I would have told,
of then, of now, castles I don’t remember, kings I do,
of the shadow, of the days where shadow only
scrapes beneath footprint waiting soil.
There were stories I [...]

Filed under: verse | Posted on July 11th, 2005 by palmer

Cold Night in June

for j.j.b.
I cry, sometimes –
they ask — frown the wrong question.
tear drops out, wanders
warm touch down the cheek
leaving itself behind
cold trail.
ah the touch, the illusion — someone else?
not there, but was.
Reminder brings another.
I only try then,
rare touch, the wander –
moving, part of me.
the airflow, fan in my window
moving tiny hairs on my leg.
I will never [...]

Filed under: verse | Posted on June 21st, 2003 by palmer

the milkpool warden

for t.a.b.
He came, the milkpool warden
brushing snow off shoulders,
black eyes to cut water
fingertips speaking
in warm runes on my forearm.
He danced in my closed eyes
I saw kingdoms, firelit gemstones,
songs in his low words,
the prince of all wonder
I heard his secrets –
He left at moonset, unspoken,
the music fell, spent fireworks.
I ran, trail faded, trees pressed in.
I bled, [...]

Filed under: verse | Posted on November 18th, 2002 by palmer

boom

for i.l.c.
Whisper wanting under thunderstorm bower, shout –
candleflame flickers in the gale wary
green outside overturned in upfalling rain
cold wet warm power at fingertips — crackling.
and there I told you light in eye
there I thought to have you know.
shudder first, spring cold wind, clouds curl,
raindrops drop drumming humming on canvas
high rage, mortal, life’s thirst with life [...]

Filed under: verse | Posted on July 18th, 2002 by palmer

the mayor

for j.t.
There is rain tonight, that once fell
in patterned rivers starred on edge
with covered torches, silver roads,
but this cold dirt drinks it, and
I sleep tonight with a different name.
Each marble was in green mortar
mayflies bounce on chipped drywall
and the hallway filled with stereos
blaring guitars and heavy drumstick - and
I sleep tonight with a different name.
The [...]

Filed under: verse | Posted on April 24th, 1997 by palmer

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