Outside the Window Today

It is cold.
Dubi­ous rain of gold cast­ing its fall
Over eyes that first fall to stone and shade
Until no more

Light is seen.
Against its fur’s dull sheen the very earth
Shim­mers, each claw on earth care­fully laid
While black eyes keen

Search for prey.
Beneath crag hard and grey in fear I hide
That night would cover hide and scent to fade,
And in this way

Hope for morn.
Hold!—with fury silence torn—a mourn­ful voice
A most ter­ri­ble voice of ter­ror bayed;
All hope shorn

I must run.
All attempt at escape is shunned with hunger bred
Across nights of want, bred in sleep­ful days:
My will is done

June 3, 2011 – 11:36 am | By eremacausis | Posted in Poetry | Comments (0)

Of a Girl in Mizque

Lit­tle fledg­ling, Plush-feathered inno­cent, Pushed resis­tant from her nest— Bet­ter bro­ken neck been gifted than land on this supay’s ledge. Now, blood-lusty Doors open behind which hor­rors worst imag­ined He steps out to hush and gasp and her barely Mature wings and tips shroud­ing still Soft plumage. In death’s black eye Mother and daugh­ter become …

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June 2, 2011 – 2:53 pm | By eremacausis | Posted in Poetry | Comments (0)

Under the street lamps of my park.

It must be lib­er­at­ing to be up at this hour, run­ning about in rags through the park, kick­ing at phan­toms and flies, stretch­ing under the watch­ful gaze of the few still func­tion­ing street lamps. I look down from behind glass and over the wall and long to steal a bit of his free­dom. What would …

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April 12, 2011 – 4:30 pm | By eremacausis | Posted in Prose, Words | Comments (0)

I forget.

We are made up of our expe­ri­ences, what hap­pens to us, what we hap­pen. That is why mem­ory is a door. We enter, we exit. The mur­derer, who can for­get his acts of vio­lence, is no longer a mur­derer. When I see her stand­ing there weep­ing, paint­ing her young face caged, I walk over and …

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April 11, 2011 – 1:35 pm | By eremacausis | Posted in Reflection, Words | Comments (0)

fault line

There is a fault line run­ning between my shoul­ders and the base of my skull. This would not be a prob­lem, it is not active; except for the many peo­ple liv­ing alongs its invis­i­ble divide, set­ting up homes, plant­ing trees, play­ing coop­er­a­tive games; except for those times I stomp from this place to another, hand …

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April 11, 2011 – 8:48 am | By eremacausis | Posted in Reflection, Words | Comments (0)

Incomplete…March 9 2011

A stair­case always goes down, never up. Winged bats and books snatch­ing up dreams as they pass by And you would think it was a hunt But it’s not. Acci­den­tal destruc­tion, we have to make up sto­ries To tell us oth­er­wise. Sto­ries, fic­tion, blurry tapes­try on blank walls all around. I hear the huat huat of …

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March 9, 2011 – 4:32 pm | By eremacausis | Posted in Poetry, Words | Comments (0)

No Snow

Those crys­talline orna­ments I knew as a child Don’t cover up any­thing in this dry, hate­ful heat; No merry-lolling in these streets— Some­where, a deep-throated war­bler, insa­tiate, sighs. This is what I was told would hap­pen —har­bin­ger Of clogged cloaca and those unfin­ished night­mares That dis­ap­point and leave one bare Before new day’s start and …

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December 22, 2010 – 12:07 pm | By eremacausis | Posted in Poetry, Words | Comments (0)

Thoughts from a Convent in Sucre

All of these reli­gious men hang­ing upon walls. With­out words, lines, splashes of colour what legacy, what great­ness is theirs? We err. Impacted by the loud, the colour­ful, the lumi­nous; stone­flies; we have no say. A philoso­pher is a harp lulling us to sleep. A priest, a splin­ter of flax. And I, well, what am I? I …

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December 18, 2010 – 11:25 am | By eremacausis | Posted in Reflection, Words | Comments (0)

Character Sketching

As a man, I can­not com­pare the rev­e­la­tion of a char­ac­ter to the giv­ing of birth. As a father, how­ever, I can speak of the joy and pain of watch­ing these char­ac­ters grow up, a piece of myself woven into each one. The seed of the world around me, the peo­ple close and far that I …

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December 8, 2010 – 7:09 am | By eremacausis | Posted in Reflection, Words | Comments (0)

Better I be silent

This desk is an amal­gam of children’s wishes, per­sonal reminders, lit­er­ary moti­va­tors and reli­gious tra­di­tion. Like its clut­tered draw­ers and scat­tered shelves, these four com­po­nents attempt to pro­vide orga­ni­za­tion and sep­a­ra­tion to ele­ments of life that are insep­a­ra­ble. My life is a study in sep­a­ra­tion, divi­sion, secrecy. Beneath the clut­ter is a sim­plic­ity that, with …

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December 7, 2010 – 6:04 pm | By eremacausis | Posted in Reflection, Words | Comments (0)