the sieve and the sand » night

Fallen Snow at Evening on a Plastic Playground

beighartman — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 01:24:09 +0000

Vantage from the park bench surveys fallen snow like manna from heaven, raining frozen stars in promenade.
Sparks of spirits springing into step; orbiting fires spell majesty in constellations.
Grated clouds in the cold bring warmth, and a silence that I eschew and do not quite yet understand.
It adorns, gowns every vista in panoramic pageant, the bride made without stain or blemish presented to her groom.
But this bride of cold feet, indecision and logic soon tatters herself.
Countless footsteps in snow unknowing, tracking innumerable roads to sanguine eternities bending backwards to vaults and beds, stages and beakers finding steps to stairways, up mountains, ziggurats, podiums, passageways, pyramids; zenith ascensions and tombs.
Bare trees pronging branches like upside down octopuses, arching tines; a million fingers stretching heavenward;
One-hundred thousand forks spoking to the skies, waiting to taste paradise.
Every atom yearning upward, gravity shackles in opposition and the snow descends to cover us.
The Bible I read says you made all this, but how?
The scope to see is inconceivable, if only I could understand why? But who would you be then?
The demand for attention is indomitable; I’m jumping off the edge of me and falling into you.
The plastic playground, a Lincoln log cabin made life size:
with green plastic tiled roof, with red plastic cross beams, with yellow plastic fencing, with swirling blue plastic slide, with brown plastic walls; a menagerie of color.
And a bridge, bowing to the most tentative of pressure, connecting plastic palace to another plastic palace.
Swing sets: here, gripping tangible yes! almost, slipping BACK! there, gone, distant, lost! nothing.
Rings, rings, links of promises looped together, groaning to stay fast, afloat, and hold on to their terms of words and actions.
Built wrapped around one another, the weight of integrity, the dismay of compromise.
Whine chinking, frictioned, shrieking like witches cackling over cauldrons foretelling prophecies of fallacy; moving, but always stuck.
Higher! So much, not enough! Enough! When? Too high! Too high! The chain slags, snags, jumps, rattles, can anyone withstand?
He curses him, the air curses him, slaps cracked lips.
Snow soggied foundations, rubber and woodchips loosed on disillusioned endeavor unmatched by fallen snow covering hills in white stitches.
Every blade of grass illuminated in whited pencil pricks, competes with hungry moon.
Frozen in white, Lethe has forgotten itself: petrified waves, streak rippled statues, apocalyptic landscapes. Oblivion pauses.
The snowflakes smile, slide beyond, absorb sound, render me unto solitude and silence where all is holy.
The brave beauty of heaven stands naked; shades of ash transmute to linen white; transient, poised and everlasting.

gorgeous

David X. Hugo — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 03:50:32 +0000

only when lonely men
howl at the impostors
does the world spin justly
and thrustly it shall be
when on nights like this
i swerve and weave
through the traffic claim
a mailbox or two on this
evening of leaving and
solitude
thinking of leaving mount
pleasant, soon.
at night i rise to grip her
thighs the dark’s supple
trouble stirring my coffee
and ready to fornicate
with this nighttime i am
holding and riding the
best that i can like a madman
howling away at impostors
making the world spin
proper.

the next five minutes

rcribay — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 03:40:55 +0000

we look outside
because
rain is suddenly falling
at night
and in the windows of apartments
across the parking lot
silhouettes appear–
skeptical of the sound –
draw back curtains–
and suddenly
we are collectively admiring
this minor miracle
for the next five minutes.

this asphyxiated night sky

rcribay — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 00:45:51 +0000

every night there seems
one less star
in this
asphyxiated
nig
ht
s
k
y
.

Confusion

Tucker J. Collins — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 15:23:51 +0000

People ask
“How do you feel?”
I say “Fine”
But do I really?
Am I to know
If I can not cry?
If I lie awake at night
Thinking without control
But not of my mother?

haiku

rcribay — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 21:07:44 +0000

at night we count
not stars but gunshots–
five two days ago.

switch

rcribay — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 20:49:32 +0000

imagine a switch that you could
flip to turn day into
night—
shutting the sun off like
a halogen lamp dissipating blue to
black revealing blinking
stars and emptying streets of
people and cars

gone, will be all signs of life
(or at least, into hiding:

beneath rooftops and cotton
Sheets—where i’d really rather
be
with you)

at the flip
of a switch.

haiku

rcribay — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 20:33:28 +0000

storefronts close
clenching like teeth
against the night.

darkness caught me

rcribay — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 01:31:54 +0000

darkness caught me
by surprise the other night
outside–a lonesome
firefly brought it
to my attention.