October 27, 2009

lake taal,

ready to blow,

like her mom . . .

without a mirror,

trembling water

hollow log . . .

knowing it's his

last winter

fragile,

the nets holding

together

manila de

bay's fish farms?

costly drinks

under a canopy . . .

colored lights

a whore, the

teenage madonna

feeding her

baby without an inn,

under christmas lights?

toad sits down

to a christmas dinner

of horse flies

she thinks she

can make it go

away with

a kiss and a smile

that hides her feelings

how rare,

the morning sky

set free!

i fall

asleep with her hand

on my shaft . . .

dreams of rainbows

cresting on waves

still winter?

will madness continue

her journey?

she asks me

to stop, to sleep

instead

inside a briar

moistened with hope

remove me

i beg you, from

winter's grasp

journey

inside your mind . . .

see hell and

heaven, the dragon

sleeping between mirrors

ptsd . . .

you ask me to wear

your sandals?

stuck between

seasons, my reflection

plastered with

help wanted signs

spitting neon

dark winter . . .

a paper clip clasping

himself

humid air

i need a breather

from the

madness the mad

define as normal

burning coals . . .

the poor smear ashes

on their cheeks

when a stone

thinks it's a boulder,

toss it

into the river

and watch it roil

robert d. wilson

©2009




*Taal is a caldera volcano that is the most active
volcano in he world located in Tagaytay, Philippines.

October 26, 2009

may i

slowly undress more

than your clothes?

thoughts of you in

an opera, dancing

your body,

like a jasmine petal . . .

folding

this night with

out stars or moon, invites

us to walk

through each other's brain

without a bathrobe

late noon . . .

talking hammer

to hammer

i only

think you're waving

at me, those

limbs, the synapsis of

my mind shorting out

what was

winter thawing . . .

those legs

how can i

interpret you are

there for me,

when anyone else

would cut my balls off

sun, why

do flee from the

sum at dusk,

on my bed

at dawn, blossoms

repeating

a yesterday

with chocolate eyes

the mayhem

of twilight dawn . . .

shaking limbs

orion

chases stars between

legs, moistened

with tomorrow . . .

winter deepens

chasing neon

the checker board floor of

cold winters

i don't

even know the who,

let alone

the 'you are' pulling

me out of madness

the cement

angel on top of

the strip mall

watches a tricycle

driver pick his nose

did he find

gold or was he

picking his

nose, the tricycle

driver deep in thought

she bowed

giving me her headband . . .

ichi ban;

her tears, petals

falling from heaven

restless sea

i too can draw light

from the moon

shy, the

waitress giving me

her headband . . .

'it's dirty,' she

whispered to my wife

sleep pulls me                                                                                                                                                                                                       into a world of cut-up

paper moons

close-eyed

under a tree singing

water,their

energy becomes oner

composing tonight

she asked me

if i'd kissed her . . .

winter haze

how sad,

the monkey with

emphesema

staring at the black

and white checkered floor

i danced with

a fast food hero,

sharing spring

stay with me

now, even if we

both fall

into an abyss

with sharpened teeth

robert d.  wilson

©2009

October 21, 2009

winter dawn . . .

the coldness of an

empty bed

a jail

to haunt me, the

belly of

the dragon bathing me

in dark nightmares?

another storm?

the quiet we shared

for seconds

i'm tired

of magic sailing ships

traveling

through time in pirated

seas made in china

i wept

feeling the collapse

of your wings

i'm sorry

for loving you

at a time

when carelessness

could have killed you

to fragile

the dancer wearing

autumn

what is and

isn't it grand you called

us to say

we shouldn't be

on the road tonight?

an arched back . . .

and not from sowing

rice in mirrors

guilt? checkmate?

anger seething

inside of

a labyrinth i built

and lost the map to

where else

can we meet when dreams

are not enough?

i hope you

don't blame me for

the hope we

shared when castles

erased our minds

dance inside

your tears tonight,

plucking stars

i wish i

could pull you out of

a top hat

and make the rest

of the world disappear

those words fired

at you this morning . . .

blue thistles

spider, set

me free from the web . . .

or am i

you, wearing a bathrobe

weaving me own surmise?

robert d. wilson

©2009

October 20, 2009

strange brew . . .

the froth of winter

thickening

the monk's resolve

to keep each candle it

a few stars

tonight,  beneath caterpillar's

blanket

i lost the

foot race when i

woke up . . .

my wife beating

me with her fists

the sun's heart

beat in winter . .

missing

i can't

deny the emptiness

i feel tonight

knowing your words

are no longer

under my

blanket a few stars

to wrestle

between my

my teeth, pieces

of seaweed

waiting for their

hearts to explode

is it winter,

a dream, the moon

sipping coffee?

if only i

could seize the anger

i have for

you and hurl it

back into the sea

like every

night, star's without

a blanket

by robert d. wilson

© 2009

October 19, 2009

one, now

another, a three-fold

terminal

of miscreant moths

drawn from light to light

the boom boom

boom of workers racing

the rain

search the sun,

the moon, the ripples

of streams . . .

a thousand monks

vending mantras

cock fighting . . .

spilling blood

after church

the fire

coming from the

dragon's mouth

is oddly wet . . .

a tulip in winter

she gives her

two young boys the love

spring denied her

a friend of

mine died this morning . . .

tired, with too

much to do and a

heart that couldn't keep pace

half mast . . .

even the moon tonight

weeps for you

overwhelmed?

the sun sets in the

east, instead

of the west, the

moon eating butterflies

deep morning . . .

a laborer chats

with the stars . .

fate, the four

letter word hanging from

talismans

no one wears anymore,

at flea markets

think of the

ox tonight when winter

wakens you

robert d. wilson
©2009

October 18, 2009

that old

rooster really did

crow three times

while peter slept in a

stained glass window

quick note . . .

the flower's blossom

shuttering

where was i

when you needed me . . .

my picture

staring out of a

post office window?

day lilies . . .

muffling the song's

of koi

words dance

across your forehead

carrying the

same lilies diego

rivera planted

your songs

gecko, guide me

through winter

playing chess

with four persons,

in a mind

that thinks too much . . .

a kin to brother moth?

you forget

to follow through . . .

then winter

words are more

than barkers calling

people to

watch the circus . . .

or a banana split

dusty wind . . .

brown placards with

out words

i'm tired of

jigsaw puzzles and

carousels . . .

twirling me in circles

on empty lots

winter . . .

waiting for last year's

blossoms

as usual,

you play me for

the fool

i am, and think of

me as a wind-up toy

...........................................................

* The following seven poems are
   dedicated to my friend, Hui Na.

i saw a

star fly past me

into spring

a chinese

dancer asked me if

i wanted

to dance with her in

a basket of lilies

how can i

refuse the spring

i prayed for

hearing you

giggle reminds

me to

let my inner

child out to play

still winter . . .

the quiet of a

nursing whale

nesting on

on a crescent moon . . .

a thunderbird

eating sushi

topped with stars

swim into

the whale's womb . . .

lover's lane

----------------

lay there . . .

send me away

thinking

i won't know how

good it's feeling

one, two, three . . .

a tree line with

big smiles

robert d. wilson

©2009

October 17, 2009

'

winter's been

here too long, woman . . .

barren limbs!

pack up and

find someone else you

can treat like

shit, i'm tired of the

stale air that bred you

rainbow,

sing me to sleep . . .

the wind!

one day, you

too will endure winter

without clothing

winter?

up early lighting

lanterns

what i'd give

to be an egret

moored in mud

i can't be

the mirror no one

can be . . .

the cost of a

good seat, too costly

sail with me

into a black hole . . .

winter dusk

i refuse to

be a crucifix

again

for someone who could

be my daughter

i cause a

friend grief, feed her

winter

she surprised

me last night, saying

she wanted

us to share a room . . .

day moon in traction

another

dream spewing blossoms

towards dawn                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

this morning

a photo of the

river told

me to send a text

to my wife carefully

dragon,

any night but tonight . . .

jack fruit moon!

will you,

dragon, fly out of

my discharge

papers, like a comic book

character and eat me ?

burnt leaves . . .

it rains every

day here

how can i

be in too many

dreams at once?

a dragon pretending

to be a lamb?

a lunatic,

this leaf, riding the

rapids?

like mount

pinatubo, i'm

ready to

blow! the nerve of her

to think i'm blind!

she tosses a

noose, telling me to

hang the moon

morning . . .

when the crows of

roosters and

clouds merge into a

mass calling plato

your chatter,

bamboo, swallowed

by trikes

stay, mars!

place your arrows

beside your

bed and dream of a

world between wedges

cry, roosters!

dream your final

dream at dawn

morning mist . . .

makiling's dream

blanket . . .

her lover, banished?

dead? in hiding?

and the tide . . .

drawing trees into a

pauper's dreams?

she storms

into a mall store

fishing for

a fish that doesn't

exist . . . a fire fly

clouds scatter . . .

she loves to see girls

run from her!

why the

theater, the circus,

the mirror that

that stretches shapes

in a dawn of words?

by robert d. wilson

©2009