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

The Watched Pot

The Watched Pot

by Timothy Reed

a watched pot never boils

well, I suppose that depends

on who is watching

where, and when

unseen flame keeps bubbles breaking

rising, rising, rising

silent until

the hissing and sputtering raises hell

to the surface

to the ear

to the eye

and the scalding liquid

sloshes and spills over every edge

the pot boils

the pot is always boiling

nowadays

Shame's Epitaph

Shame's Epitaph

by Timothy Reed

in the garden today

no leaf is sewn

no fur is worn

as we celebrate

embrace

affirm

any and all nakedness

shame itself has died

the trees blush, but it is not fall

Flux

Flux

by Timothy Reed

“hold fast the lubber line”

white knuckles clutch a heading

but no tears, sweat, or blood

could make the needle swing or sway

no willpower could define,

no third eye divine

the way back home

the way back home

on this sea, dark as sin

mad as hell

grey as doubt

waves white-frothed with pride

no sun nor moon could ever shine

Polaris lies bound and gagged

behind a curtain, blueblack

and the cross of the South

shudders under Golgotha’s weight

no titan will guide

no hero will rise

"only hold fast the lubber line"

compass speaks

with quiet tongue

and humble words

“they are not mine”

“they are not mine” 

“but give me grace to find

and emptiness to align

with the source

and the flux will guide

the way back home 

the way back home”

“hold fast the lubber line” 

Clinic

Clinic

by Timothy Reed

The cupboards stood in ranks

Symmetrical 

White as death-faces

Pegged eyes staring

in vacant malice

The table is flat and white

Like an unwritten book

Feigning innocence, charity 

Blank scroll stretches smooth as snow 

before a foot says “no more”

Soap, soap, soap

Scrubbing the scars, scabs

It loves raw things, open things

no warm, unsanitary memories will be left,

tolerated - all are effaced, eroded

And I smile and say something polite

Signing, smiling, signing again 

I would run, but for these wretched pink walls

Pink as cotton candy

Flat as a pressed shirt

My stomach turns

But my feet cannot

escape the white halls

the white faces

the white walls

and that pink - mocking pink

reeling me in like some hooked fish

Night Walk

Night Walk

by Timothy Reed

I

would have cleared my mind

but for that

yellow toenail in the sky

It 

wavered and wandered

still watching

while I trod and trod and trod

My

feeble heart wound down

like a clock

but I found no key to twist

look away

look away

Eye

dipped below the rim

and my mind

cleared, now free from that dull gaze

Anathema

Anathema 

by Timothy Reed

through dusty centuries

men's tongues have wagged indefatigable

trying to divine the sin by which man is

irrevocably damned

I rather think I know

the anathema:

staleness

Hansel's Lament

Hansel's Lament

by Timothy Reed

they say sleeping is rest

well, tonight it is work

 jumping gaps from minute to minute

following sandman's 

meager breadcrumbs

through fevered forests: journey decaying

birds feast on hopes

filling their bellies with

 moon silver that was to be mine

earth spins to a halt

and heaven's bread spoils

when night drones on, overlong

the spire

the spire
by Timothy Reed

the spire smiled

smugly

at commonplace

concrete

and basic

brick

(to say nothing of its

foundation forefathers)

refusing to acknowledge its

smudged patrons of

loftiness 

Contend

Contend

by Timothy Reed

it was only the other day

I passed a small garden

asleep for the winter, barren

and above saw a mother and child

locked in heated contention

and I thought to myself, "It is good

that our days are numbered

marred as they are by discord 

and warring wills."

Creation groans.

Amuse Me

Amuse Me

by Timothy Reed

In swaths of grass

tail twitching like a dying snake

"Amuse me, amuse me"

Eyes lit by wanton instinct

of feline forebears

Into sea-green glass you looked

fixated

(also admiring your coat, impeccably cleaned)

waiting for a scaled offering

to enter your display case

and suddenly

a glint beneath

and claws flash

water crumples like cloth

confused gills furiously working the air

(like a spider, run out of silk

madly spinning old Solutions)

shocked, you stare

at the fruit of your hunting

no longer so appealing

and so you trot off

meowing,

back to the certainty of your

daily milk saucer

but in the grass, caprice is no option

in this present immutability

"Amuse me, amuse me"

Timex

Timex

by Timothy Reed

on my wrist rests

dead man's watch face

hawk eyes watching

this unproven successor 

so far my only inheritance 

is that these hands,

blunt-tipped and elephant-grained,

begin to resemble his

perhaps I will someday 

deserve this legacy

Ode to Jemma

Ode to Jemma

by Timothy Reed

every day my

collie dog shoots

like a marksman's

arrow into 

blackness, caring 

not a moment

 for the unknown

 of the hallway

Book release! "My Window Faces South" is available!

BIG NEWS! I'm really excited to be able to tell you about my NEW BOOK - "My Window Faces South", now available on Amazon. I've spent the last few months compiling, editing, and arranging around 50 of my favorite poems to put in this collection. I hope you enjoy it! 

Shoutout to Bethany René Mark​ for the incredible coverart! Make sure to drop over and subscribe to her blog "With Favor & Fight​"

 if you haven't already! 

Head over to Amazon to order a copy - they're only $7.50! 

https://www.amazon.com/Window-Faces-South-Timothy-Reed/dp/197334243X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1513267511&sr=8-1&keywords=my+window+faces+south+timothy+reed

safe

safe
by Timothy Reed




t'was nigh unto sundown

when I passed your lane

indigo and crimson

warring for celestial dominance

in cloudy battlegrounds

and I saw your white-picket house,

like a movie-screen

alive with the glory above

smirking, smiling

the windows shuttered

the doors thrice-barred

the very model of security

and all round the yard, the baby's breath

whispered

"safe, safe"

it was only then that I

happened to notice a small

pocket of shadow by your stoop

a pocket no larger than a forgotten memory

and indeed it was

or it had been 

(and sunset suggested "will be again")

and there, dressed to the nines

stood a man with fair form

soft features and kind eyes

who, all the while

was breathing words

"charity, comfort"

but whose feet

lived in puddles of

bones

blood

carnage

blackest death

and I marveled at this

essential dissonance

and I wondered what
violence
debauchery
or hatred
that man must 
espouse - evangelize

and so I craned my neck
turned my ear
to hear what he muttered
beside your doorstep


"did he really say?"

"will he keep his word?" 

"am I his keeper?"

"does it make sense?"

and there he 
waited, watched
never loud, never loud
until sun died

and you
unlatched, unfastened
undid, unbarred
lifting locks, latches 
and bade him enter
and dine
dine
dine

and all round the yard, the baby's breath

whispered

"safe, safe"

Cortez

Cortez

by Tim Reed

red on black

red on blue

dense

smoke pluming

salt

water hissing

leaving no recourse

but Progress

Trust, Trust

Trust, Trust

by Tim Reed

Trust, Trust

it's all I hear

but your hands

are beat bloody

with backup plans

I rather think the earth

rests on turtle-back