Gravity

I had envisioned if I wandered along those lush paths, through the forest alive with rejuvenating silence, I would find peace in solitude.
After an arduous trek, an uphill climb it seemed, and absorbed in my own thoughts, I realized I was in the midst of a clearing. Looking backward I could barely discern the path I had taken- and ahead- a virtually unmarked expanse.
I had made it thus far alone, and though the thought of completing the journey in solitude now terrifies me… the solitude still beckons from the shadows.

Patience

As summers go,
    so do springs..
yet winter's all swathed
    and wrapped...warm.
It stays,and calls to welcome
    the drifts that envelope,
        in one fall, these walls.
Four on a side,
    three months and counting
in silence some pass unheard,
    hunger mounting.
Seasons of change, they say.
But what of winter,
that frozen flaw,
waiting on the sun?
and so...we draw on.

Awe

I fall in love a thousand times a day,
the infinite faces of nature smile upon me.
Perhaps if I strolled aimlessly more often,
she would smile more often.

Her perfect beauty enthralls me.
Unimpressed by my actions,
 yet watching every move.
 I think I’d wither
should we be kept apart.

The Mist

Is a dream a gurgling brook, reflecting prisms of sunlight
into the eyes of a circling hawk?
Or maybe a field of goldenrod and purple blossoms
teeming with monarchs?
Or maybe an immaculate snow covered alp
circled by a majestic eagle?
Or maybe the fluttering of two
lovebirds on the wing?
Or maybe it’s just a perhaps
floating through the mist of the mind....

The Light

Old age creeping up behind my eyes too young
Too soon clouding up the memories.
And the taste of life in my mouth
Once so sweet is now too bitter ...too bitter.
Young lust ...now so trite , so empty
Too primal and solid, too soft
The want perverted and lost among
Needs too strong and convoluted.
Old age treading lightly on the boards
Of a play too soon over,
Too short, too abstract, too pointless,
Too purposeless.
Could I step back into youth too soon ended it would be too little...
Much too little to cut the acerbic wit of life too long.
The cloud too soon overtaken, the fog too great, the murkiness
Much too deep...ohh so deep.
The light though.....the light.
Such clarity and purpose in the light .
Just so soft and understanding....just so bright.

Insight

A man is one who can walk away from dares
and affairs of the heart, unscathed.
And turn a cheek to a provoking slap
and battles that cant be won, well behaved.
He can turn his back on a woman who
would rather live without him, un-depraved
His travels lead to truth, love, and happiness
when he follows his cause.
His friends and family give him purpose,
his children give him pause.
When all life falls around him
he remains proud and strong because,
He has already found himself behind his flaws.

Hollow

A dream echoes inside your head
in fascinating sounds,
the image whirls around
bouncing and careening for too long
until the echo loses it’s own beginning,
it’s own end and all that is left
is the hollow core of an idea.

The Storm

Winds blow hard and fast,
                       whirling storms of passion and fire
                                          and all that pains us so.
They cause chaos and concern
                       in the same unnerving sigh of pent-up emotion
                                           and static searching wildly for an upright tree
                                                                     standing lonesome in a forest.
Stems and stalks wave in panic
                       on the verge of collapse
                                           awaiting only the thunder.
Winds blow cold and lonely,
                       as thorns on roses, pricking dainty hands against a fair breast,
                                           shatter the halo atop an angels brow, and down it comes, Sparkling bits of ice and snow, spiraling in the wind,
                      dancing through gusts
                                            and pelting the heart of the howling gale.
Winds blow heavy, and in an instant
                       retreat back to the corner of natures heart.
In a niche carved out in the last storm,
                       a frightened animal  pokes out its disheveled head
                                             from within the heartwood of a lone tree
                                                                      standing amid a forest of seeds.

The Embrace

With what awe do we wait for darkness to fall upon us.
Each shade of twilight a deeper bluish hue.
Colors not visible to the unconcerned eye are marked
only by the emptiness after each has gone.
A melody of lullabyes call out from corners black with night,
full of patient shadows huddled close, awaiting a careless blink.
They slink out unheard, enveloping us in unseen arms.

Lightning

 Almost lulled by the ceaseless rumble of thunder with my eyes wide open,
dreaming wistful sleep to come, tired of trudging through the mires of the mind, impatient for the electric passage to fantasy.
Would that I could bask in the light, the rays burning off the haze on my mind.
Eyes wide open, lazily ignoring the dusk, the twilight.
Lightning sputters, dreaming of tension and static, taking up the whole of my senses, looming in the passageway,
I see it with open eyes in my mind.

Bread and wine

You worship the stone aside from me.
You worship the word aside from me.
You worship the bread, the wine
and the vine, all aside from me.
Thoughts greater than I exist, and they do so in spite of me,
In sight of me and my ineptitude, my inability.
In sight of me greatness abounds,
And a chorus, or a requiem resounds.
I am not what you think, not what you wish.
I am not the food, the course, nor the dish.
Bigger things have been, larger things have eluded most,
But those that choose, those that wish, those that host,
All find in me a sense of contentment.
They find no sense of resentment,
Because to worship the stone, the host, the most,
Is no substitute for worship of the spirit within.

All Hallows

All Hallows


A cowl over the moon
makes trickery of the white wisp shadows,
chasing to Kingdom Come
the coward in the street.
Clinging to the fog, an eerie despair,
borne of desolation,
works deeds of apparition
on unclaimed souls. 
In the minds of maverick travelers
‘tis a fen ne’er to be forgotten.
For what magic deeds be done- remain,
not to be undone.
The clock strikes twelve
but once in a thousand moons
and then grows ominously quiet
for many moons to come. 
If by chance , by some stroke of evil luck,
you happen upon this warlock bog,
grab thee demons by the chains
and shake their rotting corpses
‘til dust be their name
and walk without shame
through this swamp with no name.

A single rose

A single rose


The blossoms of a rose are finer
than any flower by far,
save the rose you are.
The petals of a rosewood tree
are finer than any other tree,
save the rose you’ve been to me.
The memories of roses in bloom
outshine many others too,
save the rose I’ve given you.
For beauty is in the heart you see,
not in silken downy bouquets,
but in every living thing we share,
in so many different ways.

Dawn

Dawn


It is a dawn of beauty, I know,
because the fresh dew on the rosebuds says so,
because the hummingbirds in the peach blossoms say so,
     and I awoke with you in my heart.
It is a morning of splendor, I know,
because the sun warms the grass under my feet,
because the berries on the vine smelled sweet,
because the roses waved at the breeze,
     and I strolled with you in my heart.
It is an afternoon if inspiration I know,
as the sun roamed across the sky,
as the crickets started singing a lullabye,
and the honeybees sculpted an apple pie, and yes,
I still had you in my heart.
An adorable evening, enchanting you know,
said the clouds as they rolled in,
said the lightning, sparking in air,
and I was told by the rain starting to fall
that I was lucky to have you in my heart.
Day fades fast from my eyes like so,
as water ran down my face,
but when I close them I know,
always I know, still I know,
I have you to hold in my heart.

Stone

Stone



In a field a thousand years ago, I am a stone.
My heart pure and well-intentioned, I am steel,
Pounded a thousand fold, I am hard as stone.
In a time long ago, when hearts were less
pure than my own, I was stone.
When deeds were done and duels were won
I was stone.
When tempers flared and war declared, I was stone.
 Helmet to shield, many would yield,
Yet still I was stone.
Dead to dying a hundred fold, none would grow old,
still I am stone.
Now wheat and rye and goldenrod grow,
Covering old bones, still I am stone.
Moss on my side, sun on my back.
Alone and sedentary.
Cold and cemetery.
I am a stone.

Healinghttps://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dcM3svMNXOg/XyzaAQxT2XI/AAAAAAAAAUI/fRRWhjBr7p8pdkr0rEQlzVhxzSNhRMhBQCLcBGAsYHQ/s0/one-tree-hill-domain-59610.jpg

 

 

Healing

No longer stone, I am dust
Distempered by fire,
Crushed by oppressive weight.
When I settled here
In my quiet corner,
I had dreams of peace.
Not so- life...
Life is a plan undone
My unmarked face is now pocked and scarred
by fingers intent to Impress upon me their name.

And for what purpose...
Is not my sanctity equal to their own.
At what price closure comes,
And at the expense of whom.
The winds of time smooth me
And again, may sometime move me.
But for now I dream of peace-
And restful hope, my pillow.

Don’t blink

Don’t blink



A roar like the surf pounds in my ears...
Filtered light becomes a glare...
A blurry dream, there are noises, the words, then phrases...
Candles burn, first one, then two, then three...
Walking past the end table, through the door a bus appears...
Children with books and pigtails fill the world...
Classrooms become lecture halls, cafes turn to bistros...
A child crosses the path and the crash of glass rings in my ears...
A toast to the bride and groom...
Shimmering faces gleam through the tears.
In the doorway a child is waving goodbye...My grandson, I think....
What time does not pass so quickly that a blink seems an eternity.

Freefall

Freefall


How far would an eagle fall
With its wings folded back and its beak to the ground
At almost the speed of sound.
Piercing eyes painted black, reflections off the rock wall,
Would it ever give up at all?
Every crisp clear day more perfect than the last
It soars through empty air, how could it possibly fare,
Each day as unmarked as the last, with nothing ever to say.
How far would an eagle fall.
Would it hit the ground, or would it ever give up at all?

Passion

Passion




Passion belies the instinct of man
Where it embodies that of woman.
Tender the touch, the breath, the look,
Soft and piercing, a dagger to the heart,
A cry, a scream to the senses, love me or set me free.
Unleashed passion tames all that is wild in a lonely beast.
Loneliness belies the passion of man.
No rose can bring the scent to fill the emptiness.
No kiss can still the desire of an unseen vision.
Yet when finally the void is filled
It becomes the envy of ones own misery.
Discontent belies the comfort of man,
Always looking for things we have
Chasing the look, the dagger, the piercing scream.
Crying out in the darkness for desire,
the only friend we let close enough
to truly know us.

Loss of faith

Loss of faith

I am like no god I know, no god I have seen to have vision,
No god unto which you have bent on one knee
I am large and small. I think like the masses
And doubt like the minions.
In your head I am incomprehensible, when I cannot-
When I will not act...
I analyze, I re-circumspect.
I castrate thought and circumnavigate logic. 
For all sense is made little, small and retrospective
No sense made of idiocy,
Never unto human mind has less than worldly alighted.
No opiate numbs one to the world,
No fire becomes one with pain,
No pain excuses, nor surpasses belief, and yet...
No belief persecutes, no tenet excuses,
No opinion is the mass opiate,
No reason becomes the faith, and still...
I had a sermon, a speech so resounding in alliteration,
So serene in condescension, so lacking
In consolation and redemption-
That I found, and not for the first time,
So lacking in provocation,
So lacking vocation, so lacking in invocation
That I heard a voice within me say...enough, stop!
Enough with the ashes,
Enough with the corpses, the fires of atonement,
See that my visions and decisions, my faults and fallacies
are not of those that follow me, but of those that lead.
I pray to thou, to thee, to me.
Though not a religious man, not a man of faith,
I know what hope should be.
Though thou be not in the slightest realm of god,
May god be in you, build a house in you to nest,
To rest to build for the future, to provide and create.
If in this you feel misled, then you are in the right
If in this you feel waylaid, than you are righteous
If in this you feel- imagine, just imagine, you are god

Night Story

Night Story



The story the night tells is more versed than any other tale.
It lies out there, with its covers spread wide, so vast and open,
whispering to us of thoughts and deeds long past.
The night tells of toil and peace, a tale of death, beauty and death.
By love, by passion and sacrifice, sorrowful death as well.
Murderous greed and hate and evil.
The night sidles up close, wraps its arms around you and shares its vision,
the imagery only sharpened by the faint light of the moon.
The saga, tragic and terrifying, will frighten you, then comfort you with murmurs.
Cast and witness in one, the story is never done.
Each close of evening it continues.
Yet with the vaguest hint of knowledge we could possibly glean;
that of survival, of trust, of hope,
we can never know the end.

Summer moon

                                       Summer moon



                                   Summer moons
                                            back away slowly,
                      you can watch them go.
                                   Silently crossing the sky,
                                            cautious, almost wary
                      to turn around and flee.
                                   No they never blink an eye
                                             Or crack a smile
                     and you hardly see them move,
                                    But they do,
                                             ever so slowly they do,
                      they leave you, pale and lonely.
                                    They fade even so,
                                             imperceptibly so,
                      growing fainter as they go.
                                    And quiet, oh,
                                             they never utter a sound.
                      All the same,
                                    They never fail to say goodbye.