Winter earth
Hints of Spring
Ice sings a ripple song
Winter earth
Hints of Spring
Ice sings a ripple song
In the corner of the room, a desk
On the corner of the desk, a microwave
On top of the microwave, a coffee pot
There is a lamp
There is a chair
There is a drawer and I slide it open
There are specks of something, marks of age
There is no paper
There is no need now for it I suppose
People shout their words in their own minds
Tap their concerns by rapid thumb code
Release complaints into social media clouds
Fold their lists into threads of like thinkers
Yet a pencil in hand scratches a road map
A fine point pen follows a river of story
A fury may be transformed to understanding
Fire and rant invited to reason, new passage
Some hold steady the significance of tools
Language and words yearn for expression
Without keys our luggage becomes burden
Or too much a mystery to be discovered
Tunnels of discovery dark and foreboding
We invest in explosives ensuring no passage
Someone stirs Poet
imagining her a steamy soup made from river water
He only need stir and wait stir and wait
Boiling sends germs skyward
or so Someone has come to believe
Chains without locks unsteady his focus
but the jingling is comforting, a burden endured willingly for the prize
Red-winged blackbird alights in the hemlock’s shade
his song urging shuffling, then a reluctant stumble of a dance step
Oh distraction! Someone sways in reverie
disturbing the balance of malcontent
Poet escapes while Someone shakes a wooden spoon
that is not a spoon but a rattle with a song
Someone lifts a heavy head of grey anger
resisting the fragility of whispering clouds
Not yet has awareness opened wide enough
to notice Poet has taken the chains
Not yet Someone notices new lightness
Possibility in steps
With each step you draw ever near Wind whispers come on lean into your edges Filtered light leads you along this one way path Hum your melancholy melody in a minor key You are not lost just drifting through This place is everywhere and nowhere Cross that emerald pond to another side Your horse with wings waits there for you to ride
Who calls it Winter
Maybe not anyone
Maybe Winter ought be Wither
an unsettling in becoming undone
Through our adventure cycle we endure
So much unknown ready yet still unsure
We are not captains of our own journeys
until we’ve sailed far and long vast seas
Rejected perfection abandoned second looks
How fortunate the few among many
Who discover knowledge secreted in books
As vision grows blurred our steps grow slow
As thin petals yellow our music hums low
May your withering come easy
May your wisdom stay well hid
May your death pass swift and unexpected
like your brief illustrious lifetime did.
Dear Child,
You look to me
with clear trusting eyes
believing with your infant mind heart soul
in the blood between your bones
I am wisdom strength and bold
all answers to all questions I hold
and one day soon
I will gift all clarity
to you.
I was huff running on a treadmill in the utilitarian grey zone
one of many in a row monitoring heart rates and breathing hard
listening to Hayden or Taj Mahal or maybe The Tragically Hip
who can remember when the setting is permanently on shuffle?
I was repeating a mantra something about the importance of anti-heroism
visualizing myself not a speed sprinter for speed is not in vocabulary here
but an enduring ego long distance never surrender steady on medium paced trotter
Light-footed I do not like the sound of a heavy stomp landing
I was watching through myopic eyes the silent stealth of the fit and semi fit and average
listening for the underbeat of a motivating cue and aware of free flowing thoughts
You you you holographs suspended in the ether I know you or knew you
Dormant for one hundred years but alive and well dancing in your effect
I cannot run forever going nowhere while staring straight ahead into the blur
Nor can I thank you now from this distance and with my voice grown so weak
Unless I believe you present for this fragment next to me after and through time
Yes maybe that’s all there is or what must do, good after gratitude is still gratitude
Where are you where am I scrolling light years between faces and half dreams
I welcome your resurfacing to remind me of all the memories hovering beyond reach
randomly appearing unbidden as I forget about trying to remember your names
You whose temporary life collisions held the keys unlocking doors of obstruction
gifted generously so I might pass this far intact. Cumulative and barely panting.
Filling pages
places I have passed this way before.
Closing windows leaves an open door.
Call me when you come upon
the perfect photo play.