soul I tear

 

these days my brain
is incessant solitaire…
it flips present moment
into bits and pieces
through a shuffled time

no matter…luck of the draw…
my flimsy card slip apprehension
plays sequential consequence of now
with all time wasted…scattered to a table
where a three dimensioned plane
is littered with distraction

oh…there is no damnation…none

somewhere beyond this sphere
that pulls upon me…holds me down
spreads immensity of space
where stars collapse and recombine
in chaos of a deep design
I cannot think to think

 

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork by Salvador Dali

there is a ritual for waking

 

there is a ritual for waking

as dreaming traces disappear

like misty steam upon a shower

wall…involving cotton plush

then cloth petal layering

for naked bodyness

there are burnt berry aromatics

poured in a thick white cup

a scratch of knife on toast

news brash of voices, and

the purring of a cat…

then gathering of encumbrances

an instant catch of breath…before

the opening…and closing of

a door

Bonnie Marshall

Art: Richard Diebenkorn

 

green grazing pastures

keep silent…silent…and listen
listen…to these words…sieve
for wisdom like your need for breathing air,
then, when you speak…sing arias of words
with silver clarity like the ringing of a coin

dance meaning with your hands arms shoulders
for they’re the angels of your mind…they’re the
touching and the pinching and the caressing reach
for a human amplitude

pace the walking of your days for new risk
to follow comfort paths to exploration
where stepping is tentative to bold with
the going and the coming of a rich intent

bless the beating of your heart…touch
its stroking in your pulse…note its rippling
under the dear marvel of your skin

engage more life aware…splash cool water
on your face…your arms…your neck…
from the kitchen faucet, from the garden hose,
from the river, from the lake, from the sea…
to feel brisk…awake

Bonnie Marshall

Poem Reading: Permission of Kenneth Brauchler

Artwork by Richard Diebenkorn

Prompting of the Now

 

I think in portioned harvest
gleaned from sustaining waves
of teemed fish-ed sea and stiff
stem seed-ed fields of now’s
swift  impression…all…all image
destined straightaway for decline
in my tissued memory.

I touch instants with my fingers,
hold the seconds of encounter
with dimensional perception
of rough smooth…warm chill,
and I calibrate distinction without
looking for some vast dimension…
for I seek a sensate knowing now
acquaintance with my world.

I command the moment…adjust
choirs of sound…salt sweet sour the
taste within my mouth…and withdraw
to dream sleep quietus until morning’s
promptings of the now.

 

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork by Salvador Dali