Hierophany

Coal porter can’t sing

but he brings us

barges of energy

from the dermis of Earth

& that sounds good to me.

This entry posted by J Rand : 07:41

Southeastern summer
Star chart took us miles away.
Unlit road brought us back
To sleep the sleep of myths.
In our dreams we spoke
to the after-image.
O, brightest star,
O, distant bug of lightning,
You’re a dying pinprick,
Poised to explode
First Then
And then Now.
You were in all of our dreams
That night.
You swallowed us
Like a drop of fuel
On your colorless voyage
To nowhere.
You became your own constellation.
The end of the light,
The beginning.

This entry posted by J Rand : 19:07

6
I’d take out a loan
to get at those nachos—
yes to jalapeños.


7
Out-of-town scoreboard
illuminates the moon—
pennant race deepens.


8
Only one of these teams
will see October—
nighthawks catch flies under lights.


9
Oh, why couldn’t we
have scored some runs earlier—
closer warming.


10
Father and son speechless
at a game in June.
Pitcher comes up lame again.

This entry posted by J Rand : 16:04

6
Pure black
laced with violets—
nothingness.


7
Stop
forest fires, fight
lightning—


8
My robes torn,
slowly I descend
the mountain.


9
Even God laughed
when the preacher
told us jokes.


10
No-one can resist
gossip in your cafés—
oh, Paris.

This entry posted by J Rand : 22:03

A fish jumped and
I remembered
what it was like
jumping off
the low-dive and
landing on my belly.

Over yonder a tree
on its side
that the beaver hauled down.

A bird.
Until it drops,
until it alights silently
in the extended arms
of the willow.

A thousand lightning bugs
once invisible sting the
twilight like branding irons.

Soon it will be dark,
though the moon
(I’m sure)
grows brighter.

This entry posted by J Rand : 12:24

1
The distant percussion
of a woodpecker—
Let’s make ice cream!


2
Asleep on the edge
of the bed,
marriage is not for cynics.


3
Sitting here waiting
for the coming disease,
smoking my cigarette.


4
Moon bright enough
to read your poems by,
the yard aglow with dew.


5
Sunflowers
break the cloudbank,
feeding eagles.

This entry posted by J Rand : 15:59

once, we children
set out     together on the golden road
across big prairie…

among the stalks of goldenrod
& queen anne’s lace,
hands rose:     pale  & insipid,
menacing our flanks

swiftly along to the mother
tree haven      on thin soil
fallen
          branches caressing
being consumed
by buttery         toadstools

we climbed to breathe…
                       a potion of
beard hair and fresh blood
nursed the       wounded

she provides the finest relief,
but never from the scathing wind.
so provoked     we came down

in the maple grove, home-work called:
the frame
was brittle       silver poles
frapped with hemp &
                 slick orange twine

nearby,            growling nihilists
with GIGANTIC scissors
                      had severed
piles of young       cedar
perfect for to thatch our fort.

bare hands         heaving
to burst the gin-flavoured tangle
the shelter         emerging
                        a nook for
stashing treasure


but something treasured was lost…
the despair was instantaneous.
                        on hands and knees
skimming the duff
scanning through tears
for a precious ring of bone

we had faith, but no hope.
& just then,       the hound
                        loped in
from a chase…
he has a head for such things

so the dreadful condition was spoken.
he panted,
ostensibly motionless:
                        a lazy eye
happened to glance over his spine…

there it lay!
                        on the ground
atop countless lifetimes of
shadows           seldom considered:

a bleached but glowing circle,
rediscovered
& ready to go home.

This entry posted by J Rand : 12:46