coverts
wind kicks up feather dust
on sinewy branch tips
writing dotted story patterns
on pencil-bough perches
sheltered by gone leaves
shingling the garden
bed beneath
the window sill
with
strong hollow bones
drenched in coverts
where they hide
water kicks up mushroom clouds
of sand
when feet sweep, landing
from torpedo motions in attempted laminar flow
through salty fish water
visible with my head
submerged
and seen through
sunglass-impregnated plastic
rims tight to your face
I can’t fly out of dust
I try floating over these clouds
swimming in ground-bedded liquid
keeping the sting of water trickles
out of sight
exerting onto the day
or surviving unnoticed
Land-breathing
coughs up dust
there is still more daylight
before darkness makes endeavors hard
even so, i’m not sure I can effect much
and it’s just early morning
Your Eyes Up (you rise up) (for S.)
I see you raise again
your eyes
up, gaining vision
of the underside
of intermittent waves
thawed and under sized
recent tides
pollute, there’s crap everywhere
but this year rising
from your funk
baggage of your ice sheet burial
melted icecaps, passive float
their scrap
i see you, you rise up
like plant life
earthed and
irises, blue and
soulful windows
between seaweed
flotsam, rotting
our eyes, disarming ingénue
disowned
by passive aggressive
jealous would be heroes
disingenuous micro-aggressions
you absorb in passively veiled secrecy
a show for their eyes
shedding evil, the sour sprinkling as they rise
to step on you, stepped on a seed
but have they crushed or planted
growing you at will
exceeding in this hour
what you’re adept at seeing
try, to climb what can’t succeed
but the seed
of the blessing, essentially expressed that
had you risen from where they placed
you, the underworld
of forced depression, oppressed and made out
a certain way
character assassinated
a tempted murder of crows
we flew in with
a hope
agreed
in time
insinuated sin but just
egregiously, it didn’t please, nor did it aim to please
double cross
one for you and one for your friend
wings burdened
arise half angel,
we raised you,
after those bitches buried you
for being who you are
but you’re bruised
lying, dais
the casket door’s open, your eyes
rise sunward dazed but they’re closed
insipidly you rise apart
from the crowd, trying not to look
too flashy, but there’s
no crown if you’re in pieces
how you descend
crowded, lost
will
i see you rise again
we are here for you
it is not real
death
but I know they killed some part of you and I’m sorry
truly sorry for you.
ABOUT:
Sam Kaspar was born in Canada, and lives in the US as a retired physician & part-time writer. He enjoys rowing, hiking, tennis, amateur photography, jeeps, reading, writing, travel, Oxford commas, and especially family. He's had over 50 publications so far of his poetry & short prose, plus several scientific articles. Preferred topics include nature, existence, social justice, emotion, heritage... He’s been a finalist in writing contests from Vallum, Iron Horse, Sand Hills, Cairde Sligo Arts Festival, and others. Facebook readings: Sam Kaspar the writer @MightySamster.
EDITOR'S SONG PAIRING: Mystxrivl — Going Undxr (slow)