Sea, Sometimes Sky, Lord (1/24/2020). -M.Weisgerber

The lay of land beyond this window love
above the very oilspot of me this eve,
it shimmers; it seems ever twisting
as it rides outward, up onward
toward that dividing line of sea (sometimes sky).

It was to this scene that I remain pulled,
Never realizing it was but the rain that splits the two,
not shuddering, barely weeping over us.
trying to quit that booze, the scratchy flavor of
sometimes drying eyes adding their own mesmer.

For its iris season out there, as we chase the last drippings of sun,
some solar curiosity that draws us, still winking fast
(how it pulls up, up - my soul going there too.)
Remaining flustered on how to cross this hot sand,
on if its feet, or a hand, or stammer calling onward.

I swear I saw tears upon that water
a slowing of the sharp view of the head,
so deceived as to need a new locale, new destination
No name, no time, no me to list.
The fall upon this world of scandal, that, a scoundrel

I swear I saw that sky ripped in twain,
I swear I felt a heart so pulled,
I swear I came around.
One that could be better met.

Leave your goods out there for better gods to pillage, I

only rest here in the blame.  

Death March (3/29/19). -M.Weisgerber

On that beach (which one?)
the one that matters, the one you won my heart on
Over, as the waves crashed,
on, as the waves smashed.
I there died, and yet was so oft reborn.

I would carry you tomorrow, I would, all the Seattle sunrise fine,
take and make you, that Sound woman I always knew and ever thought you'd be.
I can't spell, I can't make that woman understand (or myself)
Instead upon another island, another beachside nearing.

I matched them fine,
I felt the long lanes till Diamond Head,
There was a chapel there,
Fake sand, imported from elsewhere

I walked and walked and walked.
I died along that long hike,
didn't I tell you?
didn't you notice, as I neared?

How did I know she chased?
How did I know that she would always love,
until she didn't, until I
oh, stupid I, foolish I, until I died.

Just kill the part inside, just take that part that I,
would have to offer,
have offered evermore.

Take me love, until I keel over,
surfside.

There Will Come a Point (3/27/2020). -M.Weisgerber

There will come a point, where I have lived here longer than there,
than with you and that large house, and all the heat festering on the outside.

The crows that wake me here every morn, it was
the thick of the treated air, the cold you desired that shook me

the lack of traffic and the utter stillness at your place,
the utter loveliness by which you in mornings did do up your face.

Your gentle kindness, always being a reminder
that something more approaches, it was always coming. 

Down the aisle, up the drive - it was always something seen
by you, sometimes I (not always I). 

For it was, is, still will remain a sweltering climate,
All brambles, and twigs, and an occasionally unkempt yard.

I wish I had accomplished more, for my mind now dwells
in the roaming litany of your halls, the walls too all an echo

of the many things that contain us.

Imagine me, traveling salesman that I, coming up that same drive,
Looking to sell, another number on a chart, when that door opens

The one seeming up high, with windows, and the many creatures looking down,
One girl, now behind me, who was taking out the trash,

just a solitary wife, looking thin, looking
as if all the world is in front of her. 

There is love in that house, and though neither I nor her yet know it,
that door did not open for her, nor me - only best sometimes for the leaving,

I prowling around the basement, her, keeping the same old shop
she ever was and used to be. 

I love those days, though I have had to make them up for myself, I love
the many ways the words now flow out and around to greet you.

May they be a cautionary tale, of a lovestruck man -
this salesman wandering by, if only just to occasionally hold her. 

You're Doing Fine. -Charlotte Eriksson

The stars are brilliant at this time of night
and I wander these streets like that ritual I don’t dare to break
for darling, these times are quite glorious.

I left him by the water’s edge,
still waving long after the ship was gone
and if someone would have screamed my name I wouldn’t have heard for I’ve said goodbye so many times in my short life that farewells are just a muscular task and I’ve taught them all well.
There’s a place by the side of the railway near the lake where I grew up and I used to go there to bury things and start anew.
I used to go there sometimes to say goodbye.
I was young and did not know many people but I had hidden things inside that I never dared to show and in silence I tried to kill them,
murder one way or the other,
leaving sin on my body
scrubbing tears off with salt
and I built my rituals in such farewells.
Endings I still cling to.

So I go to the ocean to say goodbye.
Like I always do.

I turned away from that blue pit
as not to fall for its plea
for it used to seduce and consume me
and there was this one night
a few years back and I was not yet accustomed to farewells
and just like now I stood waving long after the ship was gone.
But I was younger then and easily fooled
and the ocean was deep and dark and blue
and I took my shoes off to let the water freeze the smallness of my bones.
I waded until I could no longer walk and it was too cold to swim but still I kept on walking at the bottom of the sea for I could not tell the difference between the ocean and the lack of someone I loved and I had not yet learned how the task of moving on is as necessary as survival.

Then days passed by and I spent them with my work
and now I’m writing letters I will never dare to send.
But there is this one day every year or so
when the burden gets too heavy
and I collect my belongings I no longer need
and make my way to the ocean to burn and drown and start anew
drown baby drown
and it is quite wonderful, setting fire to my chains and flames on written words
and I stand there, starring deep into the heat until they’re all gone.
Nothing left to hold me back.

You kissed me that morning as if you’d never done it before and never would again and now I write another letter that I will never dare to send, collecting memories of loss
like chains wrapped around my veins,
and if you see a fire from the shore tonight
it’s my chains going up in flames.

The time of the moon is quite glorious.
Babe, we could have been so glorious.

In Darkness. -Haley Yanti

In darkness we can taste the stars and other light
emanating outwards, opalescent, sparkling,
somewhere warm calling from beyond.

We reach our ephemeral tongues outward,
bodies floating, flowing  up, up, as if our hearts are
iron, drawn towards the pole of sky.

Space, so drenched in its indigo, we taste vapor left by the bright
bless every bud, the taste - planting seeds of pure radiance,
of consciousness, awareness; of life ever growing.

If darkness is friend and moonbows exist, then rainbows too can be born from Her too.

Do Not Congregate on the Playground (3/24/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Before they lock you in, before

all the churches reach to you (oh lovlies),

we shown - we sparkled in that midnight sun, we

fell in love with movements, and meetups, and

all the little things we.

I am a magnet to your midlife flair, a

calling card, left in a tin handed to you, by

all the kinding ones who wish us well.

Soon they will open the doors, and

the sun will still be bright, the

dogs will still wag their tales the

children will still offer their hugs.

Its love, dear babe, and

no matter how hard we try to shut it in,

it still sneaks in through the beauty of the open window.

Will still find us, even as we wander.

Life in the Time of Covid (3/23/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Madness----
Life in the Time of Covid
When the heart continues to break, it is
a watching of the high bright mountain people,
the light upon those remembered eyes,
the fact that spring is coming,
without such love to seal it.

Diseased----
Sure love, last year I was a mess,
no sunshine in the sky
No warmth upon the bed,
that we continued to share.
Yes love, I didn't know how to
love again, but you hammered it out fast and deep.

Bruised-----
Hard love, but we learned
to try again.  At least I did, caught here,
in this strange place, waiting patiently as
a storm that slowly passes, a
madness that quickly lashes, 40 strikes to the soft back
of my own skin, by which to best learn. 

Yearning----
So what is this high mountain pass,
where I wish to cast a body down?  What is,
this thicker love, infecting my veins,
draining the last drop of breath for the words I have to you.
It is a time for singing, a time of healing, love.
But all seems to fail in the time of Covid.