Writer philosophers birth idea volumes
defeat defiance despair existential disparity
Artists brushes soak in toxins
life cycle depiction or candid canvas prediction
Pleased to meet you, reality
Now it’s back to horses and dusty horse riders
Street battles wasting time
Stele entries forgotten or faded
No honoured heros names to add
Inspiration waits for the revival
Sipping tea in the wings
into amber light
butterfly while I stumble
ready from deep woods
found your declaration
sprayed passion on stone
wondered as i passed
hands in pockets
if you scrawled that one
below
before or after
If you listen
you can hear it soft in the distance
a harp or a flutter of wings
song of wind against fragile leaves
whisper of velvet rain in trees
light as breath
clear as waterdrops
of icicles in spring.
From this rock
worshippers say
One Hundred Years past
Tom’s vision transcended
earthly bondage
Or was it just
he could paint in silence here
conjure colour from wings of passing loons
interrupted only by subtle
changes in the wind?
You see now, don’t you?
Home is where you come from
Of course it is
But Home is also
where you are now.
I saw deer
snowfield shadows grazing
sunset purple
mountains as backdrop
my camera my camera—
They lingered stop motion soft
while I stood quiet.
Watching.
Two trees
blocked my path today
stopped me on my precious way
put my whole life on hold
when did trees become so bold
all great things I might have done or thought
would not now be forever lost and forgot
had I not met them standing there
had I just simply stepped aside
had I not paused to stop and stare
had I just slowly closed my eyes
I had only to turn away and run
to have escaped tall trees and sun
Oh I could still be swift walking oblivion
had I never stopped for trees.
Warning beep
dog crouches low
all motor life
exiting.
I strike one match
lay my candle down
still light calm
rain.
Footsteps
to the window
green forest thunder
I go I go.
In the woods, now
listening to bird calls
squirrel flutterings
butterfly wings.
Lucky me.
In fearless privilege
the presence of
such ordinary things.
