enso poems

Clouds

marlowe — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 02:00:03 +0000

the enso

"Clouds" by marlowe

the poem

The clouds? They have
been everywhere. Listen
to those stories as they
interweave, bend,
and mix. They can
tell you where to go.
Hear them whisper
in wisps, follow
their rumblings before
lightning strikes.
No, this is not mere
fluff, some cushy
puff to soften
your day. This
is the chronicle
of your time, how
the hours churn
and evaporate, like rain,
into the sky, sliding
from one end to the next.
This is the miracle you
have been waiting for.

Your Burnt Edges

marlowe — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 02:00:17 +0000

the enso

"Scorched" by marlowe

the poem

They say a scorched moth is later
quite shy but you continue still,
brave because you have no choice
but to rise from the coals,
not like a phoenix
but more like a spine
standing amid the blitz
as though these bombs
are the least of your worries. Your trunk
is charred, its past unrecognizable, brittle,
old rings forgotten by new growth.
Your green tips reveal hope, forever
reaching for the future, the sky, you will
not pause for survivor’s guilt
or speculation. Here comes
another storm.

Golden Feather

marlowe — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 01:15:45 +0000

the enso

"Golden Feather" by Jodi Roberts

the poem

a bright sail unfurled
lost dreams to exhume
a luminous pearl
to lift my fortune
you & I dance whirl
sing when opportune
no ordinary girl
comes here to commune

At the American Indian War Memorial in Santa Fe

marlowe — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 01:45:30 +0000

the enso

"It Boils Down To This" by marlowe

the poem

Your efforts — voluntary or conscripted —
have been reduced like a soup’s broth
to this rod of stone piercing
through the center of a plaza. You are
memorialized, the destiny manifested,
and each subsequent settlement,
every march Westward,
is now a roadside plaque, a whisper.
Do you care? Did you
believe in the cause as you drank
water from cracked pueblo pottery
or did you bend to obligation, either way
succumbing to someone else’s
yoke. Was your family given
gold or a legua of land in payment
for your service? Do you sit
with the pigeons when you visit
this site? Do your descendants recognize
your sacrifice, so duly noted? Do they stop
to read the names or see the birth
of an empire later reduced to etchings
and artifacts, set aside as another
opportunity opened?