Deep blue like my daughter’s eyes, With drops of sunlight.

A goose

Lowering its body into the slow

Rise of waves,

To drink the cool sun

Reflecting in



The soft sand

Sinks under feet,


Clinging to skin.



J. Hamilton

Giving Time

O at the Edges


Giving Time

The supplicant’s desire:

mornings sliced into perfect pieces, afternoons
dipped in honey, evenings freed.

A gift of absence.

To gather and bear, shaping
the resultant minutes,

she takes yeast from the air, adds
flour, water and salt.

Matched with the ripening

hour and the sweetened bitter taste,
I recall how blood
seeped through the towel, and

observe on the table the
cheese, plums, the harvested day.

* * *
This originally appeared on Bonnie Mcclellan’s International Poetry Month website. A recording is also available there: https://bonniemcclellan.wordpress.com/2015/02/17/giving-time-by-robert-okaji/


View original post

your secret language

Where do I begin

To describe the beginnings

Of our unique relationship?

When I was a child

Your secret language

Stole me away

For hours

-words that comforted me

-that became bigger than life

And would eventually

Make me fall in love.


And imagination

-worlds of quiet landscapes.

You were there

On the pages of of a journal,

A notebook.

Inside a story

Or the carefully crafted words of a poem.

Even as night draws me in

I still become surrounded

By the mystique of you.

Words more potent

Than any perfume

Or poison.

And the pause between them,

A breath

That releases everything

And becomes

The noise

And the silence


The garden from which we return to

Every time

We are compelled

To find

The words

That create our landscape.

By J. Hamilton