Spice Trade

Spice Trade
by Timothy Reed

they say I am to voyage
and that explains
the way my roots have been cut
my leaves stripped
my stems tied

I feel myself shrivel from inside
a spice
a grain
a husk

I am pickled, preserved
I breathe ether
in salt, vinegar, water


and the dark, rocking parenthesis around me -
the dull hope that throbs through dying veins

once I die and we make port
perhaps I am the spice the new world lacks

Atlantic Taunt

Atlantic Taunt
by Timothy Reed

Go on, chirp at me
cricket in a jar
why do you let yourself be tamed so?
Atlantic, Atlantic

why, even a Pacific harbor
Speaks more dread 
than your shoreline

I see your gulls
have adopted your lethargy
as they glide voicelessly
o’er your placid face

If you hadn’t learned to
farm out your fear
to another face, that evil eye
you would surely have been forgotten

when did you give up your fire, 
water?

I can hardly even smell your breath

Terrible Strength

Terrible Strength
by Timothy Reed


it is a terrible strength
when a soldier's heart
shrinks not for blood and fire

it is a terrible strength
when, after stillbirth,
a mother's eyes grow drier

it is a terrible strength
when we part again
sans tears or ire

it is a terrible strength

yes, terrible.
but strong.

Hindsight

Hindsight
by Timothy Reed


"hindsight is twenty-twenty"

but memory is a Cubist
that cannot record fact
without interpretation

Dali's clock melts for, of course,
time has lost its good name

Hindsight is something,
but the perfection of memory
has betrayed us.

the facade has fallen.
tidy Grecian lines
give way to tangled ink
fubsy, basal fingerprints

time, life, the mind
favor those who begin again

He 

favors those who 
trust, trust, trust

Monochrome

Monochrome

by Timothy Reed

I am surveilled by

dour dames and dukes

(self-ascribed titles)

forever an alien -

societal, perpetual peasant

wondering when life 

was stripped of color,

flavor,

and why thirst for these qualities

has made me a pariah

Yet....

I will not beg monochrome bread.

Let me die an urchin

but a lover of life,

and spite that shell of mankind

entombed in pristine manors

dining on preserved dreams

(dry as bones)

and diluted, dishwasher tea

Eden

Eden 

by Timothy Reed

to say we live is a farce.

we wait with borrowed breath

a stone's throw from Eden

Thought-paths

Thought-paths

by Timothy Reed

“Say what you’re thinking “

But how could I?

Now miles stretch long

and cliff-hands drag paths

Down, down, down

dead ends and detours. 

cliffs may as well be kings

Distance ever grows

Between head and heart

my mouth is a faraway moon

destinations are not always intended.

There. I said it. 

Moonlighting

Moonlighting

by Timothy Reed

I have cast two shadows

below icy lamp and moon

one long, pale, weak

(public)

the other, short and strong

black as coal

(private)

my greatest hope - to be seen

my greatest fear - to be seen partially 

Noblesse Oblige

Noblesse Oblige
by Timothy Reed

the cold, crisp night is an old foe
that presses and presses

as dying men see life in stark relief
the stars come into focus
he has hacked the moon to a steel sliver
but his blade has not yet touched our veins 

imminent

the final meal
the final rites
the final requests
before the final breath

there is an autumnal noblesse oblige to it 
as he grants color to each leaf
'ere it is cast to a common grave

What Time Does Not Heal

What Time Does Not Heal
by Tim Reed


last night, I dreamed of you
- it seemed so real
yet, I awoke to darkness
a lone castaway on this bed
sailing a thousand moonless nights


there is a famine not of food
there is a drought not of water
I am consumed inside-out
you have sailed past the horizon
your laugh is a dying star

Storm Sonnet

Storm Sonnet
by Tim Reed

all 'round the cold wind howled
as day shunned to share its light
and brute-beast bolts, they growled
as Smithy forged thru Hades' night

the rain quenched such glowing steel
as time ne'er saw nor shall again
and hammer struck such anvil peal
that spark-stars remain, remain

and on the dawn, he honed the edge
and by the tide, he whet the blade 
then he laid it aside with a pledge
and until full-time there it stayed
'til we ourselves wrath-fire fed
- then it clove the living from the dead 

My Home

My Home
by Tim Reed

earth steeped in morning and evening rains
brews a chill sweetness, rich and subtle
unappreciated by those who can only see and have forgotten
to smell, taste, feel, and hear
(the yellow sun is such a paltry bauble)
gentle light, softened by downy cloud-batting
kindly wakens
grey, green, blue, brown
I sleep on mossbed 'neath a fir chapel

there is something different about a train horn
when it passes through the fog
it is like a secret lullaby
as you are held in your mother's lap
intimacy

earth, water, tree, and stone
convene, commune
family

Untitled

Untitled

by Timothy Reed

Southern Cathedral

Southern Cathedral
by Timothy Reed

stained glass hangs in leafy curtains
green, green, green
between brown columns

sawblade cicadas
sing sacred choruses

a dog-bark pulpiteer
musters staccato sermons

the blood of Christ
colors the clay crimson
we walk on the covenant

the holy water has been
strewn in the air
to breathe is to be baptized

creation cries out praise
and a breeze hovers overhead
bestowing tongues of fire

Feet & Fangs

feet & fangs

by Timothy Reed

the home of love

does not allow

will not suffer

both adders and infants

feet and fangs

to share the shelter

of its roof

In the Forest

In the Forest

by Timothy Reed

feet creep

 forest of legs

trunks

arms

hands - branches

cell phone birds, roosting

chirping, blinking

asking to be fed

worshipped

so much talking

so little communion

so much motion

so little accomplished

tomorrow slips by in

 pixel combinations

tap, tap, tap

bits and bytes rot the forest

from roots up

inside out

we forget the sun amidst lesser lights

Greatest Omissions

Greatest Omissions

by Timothy Reed

the gap

the hole for the key

silence transmutes noise to music

darkness gives voice to stars

breathlessness makes breath alive

empty hands bring bread

but

we are

filling, filling

talking, talking

building, building

we always abort silence.

"enough!" cries the blind beggar

empty cup swaying in the air

blind, indeed

may we not commit

the sin of sufficiency

may we not shy away from

greatest omissions 

Word Painting of the Columbia at Night

Word Painting of the Columbia at Night

by Tim Reed

Night scatters day’s ashes

From east to west

the Heron flattens her wings

greyblue on whispering water

lullaby of Rail and River

harmonize with night rhymes 

emeralds, rubies, and amber 

escape on vitreous ripples

we gaze above as winged Hermes

usurps Polaris’ throne

as my roots turn upward

the Heron launches towards Dawn

Trampling Death by Death

Trampling Death by Death

by Timothy Reed

I have known joy

but am more at home with sorrow

in memory of a long night

my eyes squint, suspicious of dawn

as I remember you

you breathed your last - gave your spirit

(saturday)

then you took life as a crown

and snapped the neck of death

but on the day between

I visit her grave, and weep

 (for this parenthesis)

while my mother is but ash 

caged in stone

Sunday is coming

(saturday dwindles daily)

Sunday is coming

Underfoot

Underfoot

by Tim Reed 

let him rest

let him lie

let him sleep

till he die

'neath grass

'neath foot

'neath flower

'neath root

Cyclops

Smaug

Atlas

Og

Demise.

little mice

little mice

fie! 

fie!

gnawing

prancing

tickling

say

"come play, come play"

they shout all day

vermin! 

vermin!

pretty little feet

nasty weasel eye

spry as spring

bitter as a lie

let him sleep

let him lie

let him rest

'till he die

let him snore

lest he roar

and may time 

spin his cord

spin, dole, and cut

spin, dole, and cut

when he last draws his breath

and descends to his death

 the mice all mourn

and I them scorn

picador!
picador! 

let me live

let me walk

free from mice

free from talk

free from ropes

free from chains

free from guilt

free from blames

let him rest

let him lie

let him sleep

till he die

let him stay

far from eyes

let him rot

ne'er to rise! 

*Picador - a bullfighter on horseback who pricks the bull with a lance to goad it