Tag Archives: passages

Photography, Poetry

The Riders

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We are behind our masks

but recognize humanity next to us

Eyes tell stories, sagas and series in shades

darkness makes reading more difficult

She asks me which number

I’m waiting for so I awaken to focus

We are travellers here and back

drawn to stand together in this littered space

I read the graffiti yesterday

or the day before but tonight I read it again

Which number are you waiting for

the woman asks as if I know

I listen to her story as stories needs telling

maybe it’s worse or better

I listen for hints of breakdown or sorrow

but she is factual despite

Tomorrow she will ride again she says

ride every day for eternity and her grandson

We are the riders of the bus

grateful for mundane recurring schedules

We are the quiet constant vigil keepers

careful not to wish for a break in the pattern

Poetry

There Is No Paper

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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

Photography, Poetry

Opening the Cage

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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

Photography, Poetry

Ageing Ungracefully

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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.

Poetry

Silent Ghosts of Abundance

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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.