an articleexcerpt:
by Lauren B. Davis
Soft dry gray dust ankle deep
covers my feet.
Stars in a thick blanket
fill my sight.
Rainbows after rainfalls
paint my imagination.
Chinook winds like magic
warm me.
The brustling of the tall grass swaying on the prairie;
the humming of solar winds lighting up the northern sky,
their whispered rush down the heavens;
the drumming of thunder gathering in the foothills,
its long stampede to a sudden sharp and shaking crash;
the scattering of raindrops tapping on the ground,
converging to a torrent slapping down;
the rustling of wind-blown cottonwood and poplar,
revive my soul.
Garnet Robbie © 2009
Yesterday:
Today's shadow cast
under tomorrow's light.
Garnet Robbie © 2008
This pen
has a universe
trapped within it
There are suns and moons
Planets filled with life
And barren rocks
Floating in space
It wants to write
To the music of the spheres
But the author
Is a buffoon
Garnet Robbie © 2007
A lighted lantern
suspended from a willow branch
hangs low over the snow;
snowflakes' whispers
sift through the branches.
The breath of winter
encircling this moment
brings Your Name to my lips;
the rhythm of my heart
dances quietly
Garnet Robbie © 2010
I need a moment...
poetry,
from anywhere
with rhythms perfectly balanced.
stanzas
that linger on my tongue,
and leave trails of meaning behind.
silence
in the aftermath of tastes
as the poet walks silently off-stage
tables
where fools never dine
and angels hold discourse instead
goblets
of intoxicating wines
that warm the depths of my soul
Garnet Robbie © 2010
When I meet angels
My heart rises
Higher than I am
Lifted, as they near,
So it seems
Like iron to lodestone
When I meet angels
I remember
What I can be
And I hold my breath
Lest my breathing
Startle them away
When I meet angels
My pulse quickens
Faster than it should
And my mind is lost
With my weeping,
And laughing, and all
Garnet Robbie © 2003
News of another lover
of unspecified gender
(a generational glitch
in the ecclectic dreams
of ageless cappuccino debutantes
and aromatic swashbucklers)
and barely hidden terms
of infatuous agreements,
under the guise
of open-mindedness,
are dealt out over a table
in a double-handed trist,
while nutmeg and cinnamon,
nestled together
in frothy delight,
conceal incantations
wafted into fetid air
of diametric oppositions,
and social commentary
acquires a neon glow,
reflected in panes
of hard-boiled silicon,
marking the outer limit
against the primitive fringe:
out there;
out
here,
where hands
beat drums
to frighten Pharoah,
where tongues
chant prayers
to raise the dead,
where feet
move dust
upon the earth.
Garnet Robbie © 2000
Siddartha, I know you.
I have known your pain.
I have heard the laughter
And I have touched the rain.
The road you are descending
Is a mirror of my own.
The scars upon your temple,
Not shared by you alone.
The voices in your river,
The ending that never comes,
Our symphonies go onward
In our universal home.
So, if you take a wrong road
And think you've lost your way,
Come warm inside my mansion-
All mine is yours, the same.
Garnet Robbie © 1972
