shadowlands
and hinter thoughts
poetry, in chilly moss-touched slumber
like long wet grass
unmowable on cold June morns

air and time they say
prods me towards another day
time too has its bluster, wind-like rustle
breeze-swept ways that move more than dew drops
and insect notions

what multitudes we live among

delving wildly towards certitudes
that drift ghost-like
through the margins of those walls
we built to contain
our most vision-cherished thoughts

I have long since left my comfy chair
my tea-brewed breath
my well combed hair

today I'll forgive the sky for such pause
all manner of openness
gathers what is not seen

'tis but to wait
it will

yes
it will in time
precipitate

©C.L.B. Callender 2009

life
light or heavy?
live it?
let it?
leave it alone?

we clothe ourselves
in life
don the garb laid out before us
embellish the shell
dense and weighty
feel with blind hands
the gravity
on the inside
think we know the skin
(ephemeral)
dance and spin
when we dare
(ah but that's not fair)

for the truth in life
is like a circus parade
a spinning cacophony
pleasantly held
on the head of a pin
half imagined
(or more
than half)

for it, the heavy cloak
shoulders engaged
and a train to catch
(catch and catch)
metal fierce
those tracks, those wheels

and there is beauty
(there is)
call it the flow of destiny
or
call to it through the wind in winter
or
call where it laps the soul,
like the tones of bells move the hair on your neck
marking milestones with moving air

we live, to find
what we have lost


© 2009 C.L.B. Callender

tones
the wire metal of sleepless things
bejewelled and polished
paper bits
and settled dust
holding holding
riddles, rhymes
remembering

standing
stocking feet
just one step, beyond

there is no time
there is no space
no time and space
is there a place, no time and space

a hearty laugh
science in a velvet robe
glass in hand
sky inked black, milkywayed
with it, a tingling hunger
a tingling hunger
on a night near winter

and the ground frosts
freezes
wild heaves
grass, fresh sculpted
has yet to be trampled

tempo tempo
to travel tempestuous breaths
the very air
bids sound to carry
to come
to fly
long

long long longing
move move
moving

jocular life moves with fluid curves
blood and tears
roll inside
or out
the electric edge
demarks what is vascular
transcends
the sweet, vessel comforts

the glimpse is long
the counterbalance of forceful fury

and fades with night
or day
or sleep
or springtime

sinks like a sigh
just under the surface

to soften the skin
of silence

© 2008 C.L.B. Callender

Here are some Collages I made on Picnik.com

Was a lot of fun, and I thought I would share them here.
(I have a photo blog on Flickr.)

moister air
longer views
a gap

a game

mirrors
with movement
the glint
once there
to sit, to stare

and life
a trick
a trick of time, versed in vision

a yawn
long drawn
extra air
in memories, they scamper
unmodulated
mostly mumbled

monosyllabic

thus the mountain goat
(the mountain goat?)
of treks and trails
rocks and rigors
reels, ever regally
a symphony, silent sidesteps
quickly given
then gone

and I am atop
the second rise
on Smith Street

the second one
(on the way down)

if I were to draw
maps and lines
arrows
tracing the edges

a palm pressed key
small and metal
warm from touching
hand-hidden
smile burnished

long cold months
sleeping and waking
closed eyes peeking
at Smith street
(Almost missed)

over Smith street
(With the right blinker on)

on Smith street
I stopped
I turned

the other way

© 2008 C.L.B. Callender

the dirt path in summer
sips the insect silence
reclines, resides
reflects, delves deeper
and though
the soil is tough
no blade of grass can cut
it sighs softly, to my tiptoed dance

and the foghorn at dawn
long toned, low mournful
an OM without the bend
the curves
the turn

with dice in hand
I journey
(I journey)
and choose
to think I'm choosing
for I turn my head now
my legs take direction
sometimes fast
sometimes slow
in little attentions
plays of tension
in make-pretend
there is no end
to what we think we can control

white clouds crenelate
gather wide, blow, commingle
for a moment, I am the sky
I am the sky
both dressed and naked
the sun speaks of hunger
the air has hue
before the storm comes
there is but little to do
little to do
but hold the wonder
of a ball in flight
trajectory, gravity, spin
lose their seriousness
in the moment
the moment

for the moment
time is but a question
how is not an answer
now is round and simple
round and simple
now is round and simple

(and where is goes)
(is where it goes)

©2008 C. L. B. Callender

we owe a debt
to the sea that crests
how in liquid calm it soothes
we rest
but there is nothing false in fear
or fury
forceful is the fight
and freedom
yes, freedom
too
is fraught
full fraught
with rasping edges

and the song
the singing
it gives, it gasps
unsettled
unsettled

unsettled is the passion
of mounting waves
in the bite of bitter air
the questions come
they come
they come and stay
and there
how do shutters know
what power
what depth

they wield when open
they wield when closed

the sea that crests
holds us all
holds us all

©2008 C.L.B. Callender

ah the night with it’s velvet breath
fragrant, empty-scented
whisper-combed
half hinting
wind wishing
a lucid
quiet
tempered sweetness

and in the open
the open
I will stand
will admire this night
this moment
curved and flexing
night laid bare, unencumbered
nestle my brow
in its wide, dark shoulders

the harp
time’s strings moving
chords hovering
finger tips, tender
to the touch
of the touch
lids, lips, lashes
eyelashes raking the heavens
and sleepless
strums
sleepless strums
sleepless strums
and I wrap myself
in its fabric
in its strings

for its song
long ago written
is a song
with a price
(yes)
a song with no purpose
(true)
but it has come now
comes now

and slowly
it bears its gifts

©2008 C.L.B. Callender

I’ve a winter soul
winter soul
with winter skin, paper pale
(not paper thin)

and days
and days
where color hides
through icy wind
straight, clear

and dry

it takes its time
to shift
to sort
to move the layers
that resist
half stiff

half stiff, half empty
half forgotten

half of half
of half of half

halving the silence
each time I laugh

yea, briskness
you trumpeter of unknown causes
sweet wrapped morsel
singing
to my tingling hands
painter
of both cheeks and noses
joker, lover
hidden drummer
willing waiter
with one cocked brow

winter beats along
with winter flavor
where winter only wants
to want
and asks each day
anew
anew now
what want you?
what want you?

and only everything will suffice

and only nothing seems the price
of time and place and rules and labor

I will not concur
though I might
were it summer

I cannot concur
concurrence lays

too deeply
buried

in winter
in winter
in winter, one can only
can only
will only

accept

©2008 C. L. B. Callender

what we touch
what touches us
in temperature
of temperament
the entails of nature
the shape, fed on planes and spheres
the shiver of texture
the resistance requisite for roughness
the slide of sweetness in smoothness
the laughter of liquid, winking, blinking
as all tales told in that glint
swift is the story
light leads in us
leads us to draw, define
but the truth of the canvas
relies on wind (or on paint)
or on stitching, were it a sack
for we live in our metaphors
they beg us
to know them
dare us
to show them
exactly where does allusion slip into illusion
and intuition will have to do
when inexpression leaves the impression
that what must be said
is simply
silence

©2007 C.L.B. Callender