Sunday, March 22, 2015

Picasso's Eye

Picasso's eye is lodged
in the sugar maple,
like a scuttled vessel
brooding in the limbs.

It no longer dispenses
late night wisdom,
early morning insight,
from the perch outside my room.

The all-knowing stare
becomes reluctant
under chlorophyll eyelids,
dark spring rain.

My psyche's new caretaker
scries wet kisses in leaves,
with flop of roses,
gentle thrust of trees.

tk/March 2015 

Sumptuous read by R.A.D. ...

Sunday, March 15, 2015


R.A.D. Stainforth on the City Walls, York, UK  (photo by Tess Kincaid)

Like the city, your grip is strong.
You guide me in quiet stride. 

Minster rises distant in paper-gray sky.  
We step the same medieval stones.

Wool-jacketed school children swarm the crossroad,
laughing.  The Ouse laps and sighs "Camelot!"

Creamy limestone becomes mildewed churches.
Rose windows.  Gothic curves.  Human efforts.

You point to chimney pots from station road walls.
I look up, hold tight against the cobbles.  

Our feet touch.  Suddenly, you are an ancient king,
noble as a chess piece, handsome among the yew trees. 

tk/March 2015 

Beautifully reminiscent read by R.A.D. ... 

York City Walls, March 5, 2015, photo by Tess Kincaid

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