Not completely happy with this – may re-visit later

perspective is a wondrous thing
all wrapped up with silver string
assured we have the truth pinned down
we clutch it tight with certain claws
we move ahead with scarce a pause
until the wheel of time spins round
and now we see in different light
the thing that gave us such a fright
has worked to make us sing

we cannot see the ship in full
but only glimpse a piece of hull
a fish leaps off the starboard bow
we run and point, we see it all
then sure we know entire sky
a single billowed cloud our thrall
we puff ourselves so knowledge filled
the dragon sleeps, the monster killed
the anchor weighed, a gentle lull

the anchor holds us stuck in place
secure and safe, we rule our space
a nod to the horizon far
we smugly turn our vision in
and close our ears to worldly din
as though sealed in a jar
but circumstance can punch a hole
that motivates the grounded soul
again to join the race

though there are valleys deep and dark
and pain and sorrow oft abound
the sweetest music can’t begin
until we learn to make a sound

Last years’ finery still in style
The classics never fade you know
Elevated fashion of a higher call
The dawning steals the evenings’ show

Photo courtesy of Tommy Stone

In stinging cold of falling dark
skyward icy finger flames
claim space and all the firmament
as theirs and paint with broader strokes
as even clouds of crystal feather
creep across the blazing canvas
bowing to the ebon shadows
mirrored on the burning pond
never giving up it’s secrets
deeper than the darkest night
burned into my awestruck sight
even branch tips seek to hold
left grieving loss of winter light

Photograph by Tommy Stone

Peace seeps in through pores
through doors of twilight
last light when royal purple
spreads in soft strokes
across the earth
silhouettes of trees
as profiles turned to feel
the last of warmth
wrung dry of blue and so
in deepest blackened shadow
shades in glades of
pine and scrub oak
pond lies still in wait
as evening evens out the sharper
lines and finds it’s way into
my mind and I am calmed
and still as surface ripple
where an insect skips
and slips into the weedy
reedy edges sing the frogs
the dusky chorus
whip-or-will joins harmony
and says it for us
says what we can never say
goodnight
goodnight
goodbye to light
now sleep you people
sleep til day

Beautiful photo by Tommy Stone

waiting for a meeting to start and had my notebook handy.

A collision
of collusion
a dark and deep intrusion
of past and present

corridor of jumbled
up confusion

of melancholy gathering
of memorable clamoring

attention oft divided
wandering unguided,
swimming in a starry pool
I flounder with no shore in sight

Mistaking wisdom for a fool
I close my eyes, turn from the light
but find I’m not alone the sea
is filled with all
the fools like me

thirsty dirt drinks
gulps and gallons of drips
and drops that draw
the clouds down low
and slow to ground
below and plaster hair
to heads and leads me
in and out in boots and hats
and fancy dances through
my mind as cloud stares
flash the eye lash dripping
ripping dreams from grey skies
time flies for the rainy
grainy black and white
film pictures on my mind
my time spent watching through
the window pane as sleepy
lazy Sunday rainy afternoon
turns night and moon hid
clouds slide down the darkness
softly into sleep as blue sounds
rain songs say goodnight
goodnight

soft rains fall
with showers of leaves
as though an inner timer
tells them
it is time to let go

Image taken by Tommy Stone

every season
has the right of it
the colors lead us
harbingers of inward turning
preparation for walls and roof
a fire and a cup of tea
we light the lights
and start the process
of huddling in
but linger for a few last looks
glimpses to carry us through
the dark and drear
until the earth can open up
and feed us again
the grasses wave
reminding us what waits
underneath future snow
as we gather
and tend the hearth
it’s sun-like glow
the smell of bread
the cycle carries memory
we will see dreams in flames
and sleep in flannel
old bones know the chill
that comes after a fall
that follows a walk
through fields of grass

It has been quiet here for so long – I know. The summer was busy – we are still finishing up projects we began before school started. Now I am back at work so it is weekends (until I get adjusted to not having an afternoon nap I am not worth much in the evenings!) Writing is a habit and once out of it, it becomes increasingly difficult to return. thank you to my friend for this photo that inspired me to write. Thank you Tommy Stone.

I will be the sun
rolling the darkness
out of my way as I climb
to take my place
I will bring warmth
and light
clouds may hide me
for a time
but I will wait
and I will shine again

I will teach the rainbow
where color rules
are made to be broken
and artistry can be pastels
setting fire to the sky
and delicate brushstrokes
can bring tears
to the coldest eyes
lift the saddest heart
spark hope in the hopeless

I will end the day softly
easing my way into darkness
dancing last steps across
a watercolor sky
slowly turning on soft lights
as I sleep under a deep blue blanket
sharing cloudy dreams
until my time comes round
again

It jars and scars the brain
I cannot wrap my thoughts around the shame
of mansions high and hovels
by the side of roads
reality is virtual (not virtuous as we would hope)
where industry has power and might
just use it we could choose
for good but don’t always
solutions simplified to sound bites
billboards, powerpoints
calm me, balm me
entertain me but for God’s sake
don’t make me think!
I want it snack sized, fun sized
super-duper-fat and sweet sized
wait a minute no! Eat healthy
will the next coin be the water
be the heirloom seeds for real food
real thought, real moods
not those drug-induced ones
chemically altered food stays fresher longer
well preserved we are, but
hurricanes and droughts will come
and some will alter all
we can’t control a wall
of water washes over
washes under, wash away
the days of neighbors knowing
neighbors gone but we can talk
on facebook, twitter, email
bitter pills we swallow daily
facial spatial recognition
we can’t recognize our own
our faces in the mirror clearer
than the mud we sink in
time to think before we blast off
cast off from the sinking ship
we have become spectators in our own
lives spouting aphorisms mystically
sophisticated syncopated biorhythmic
lest we take the time to really be
there be where
we are living giving everything to
every moment affluenza
breeds contempt for people
they are throw away like styrofoam
to-go box passion chasing fashion
like we know the outcome
be the first is the new curse
liberals blame conservatives
turn right or left you still won’t get there
be ensnared by pride of sides
are you a Christian if you are
you’ll buy this product
vote your conscience if you have one
we can cure whatever ails you
even as our help impales you
on the poverty sword of you ain’t good enough
your house, your car, you won’t get far
but what’s the point
there is nowhere that you can go
the milk of human kindness now
is poisoned filled with BPA but don’t you worry
hurry scurry all you scientific pundits
fix it, mix it, give it to us
cheap and easy that’s the ticket
like a deer comes to a salt lick
you will have us in your sights
you feed on greed we have a barrel full
belly full, heart full, leaving room for nothing else
I cannot see the future answers
tomorrow is now for some and time is
warped and jagged those who lagged
behind the headlines
lost in deadlines, stand in bread lines
waiting for a bite, the loaves and fishes
ran out hours ago and nothing left
but broken dishes
vessels of laconic postures
don’t give me love
we are above it all it is
is tattooed on the back of
children we have shortchanged
thinking we were giving more
and now we shake our heads in wonder
how they do not appreciate
the things we did, the time we spent,
the money sent (that check will never come)
we bitch and moan and feign
a careless attitude while underneath
the fear runs deep and mighty
that somewhere a clock still ticks
and spits and sputters
hide the clutter, close the shutters
survivalistic hoarding gimme shelter
helter skelter used to be anomaly
now random shooting is the norm
we are assaulted in our homes
the breaking news takes form
within commercial framework
couched in terms opinionated
huddled in an easy chair
we get to share in others sorrow
shake our heads
no need to borrow trouble
I say just stay here
it’s safer, no one ever comes
to knock except the Church of Latter
Day Saints and even they
are scarcer these days
got no answers just a sandpile
buried head to stop
insane smiles
this ranting has no ending
just a time is bending round and round
I hear the sound and fury
but it’s signifying nothing
that I comprehend I spend my time
just marking disembarking from
this earth a dirge is playing
for the life of me I cannot see
except to think the sandwich sign
the guy was wearing we were swearing
he was crazy (maybe lazy) but I think
that chicken little had it right
he knew it and we disavowed
the answer in the words he spoke
the world is ending, sky is falling
fire and ice, well both are nice
but far to neat and clean
we’ve seen the signs but slowly
like a cancer, growing colder, older
molding ourselves into something
we can’t comprehend and why
I just don’t know, I sigh

A quote from William Gibson had my mind going “The future is already here – it’s just not very evenly distributed.”

I carry my cup
with me always
gathering as I move
through the world
filling it with things
named and waiting to be named
described width and breadth
scent of memory
like a scar that still
aches when it rains
raking my fingers through
as details fall from the tips
like drops of water

and if you were to look
you would shake your head
why would anyone
keep those things
why does this make me sing
and that leave me
feeling as though a cold wind
has blown through
leaving me hollowed out
and crumbling at the edges
how can I hold that feeling
of standing on a mountaintop
ready to fly in starlight

it never overflows
no matter how much I pack in
heaping one shiny thought
on top of another
nor leaks though crazed and cracked
when the world turns dark and ugly
and words are sharp and bloodied
I turn to my cup and sift
through the river rocks
and polished glass
rubbing them between my
hands til warm
as though they live
and in my mind
they do

Florida needs her roots touched up
and her foundation is sinking
into deep wrinkles of time
warm flesh has shifted and the thin
veneer of beauty is scraped away
revealing bleached bones
and a fondness for money
biting the hand she eats from
her poverty of spirit leaks
like the rusted vehicle she has become
and she wears her age like a shroud
walls keep ocean waves
from washing her clean
as she tries to stop time
but the sand has already run out