fright.
Was it not but new evidence
of my personal contact,
with possibly,
circling,
continuous life?
Drops
Formless drops,
weighted with sand,
drift aimlessly,
crushing their neighbors,
in hapless style
blending their substance on mindless concrete,
leveling to perfection on any horizontal mass
until, recalled for rebirth.
Then,
recycled,
each begins anew,
within a most personal, enclosed circle.
Places
The bay
The bay,
horizontal along its southern rim,
arched across its northern fringe,
concealed from my view,
(with noon’s high manners,)
the life contained within its bounds
Then,
though the bay was under shielded by a granite sufferance,
and immersed in a molecular mass of two for one
Suddenly,
I was allowed a moment's penetration
Before, randomly
All was withdrawn
And I was there
At the very surface,
Back into fullest light.
The shore
Laddered by the tides,
the ochre sand scaled into dunes,
breached the ridge,
then allowed the winds to cross the height
through the new gaps,
ever more primitively irregular.
until,
coarsened and alone,
the dunes fronted the coiling sea.
The city
Early morning.
Sooted streets.
The city stands gray and still.
The air,
unable to bear the weight,
languishes on every line
of building, curb and sign,
bending the poles,
warping the square,
ellipsing the light,
holding all the pigeons
from their early morning flight.
Oblivious, the sleeping citizens
suck in the invisible visible,
that seeps through, everywhere.
Further out,
a farmer,
set to start his day,(cont'd)
rejoices in the early day
of God's so promised light.
Beyond his fields,
trucks bring in paradise,
containered in,
recycled slime.
In the precambrian elevation
a lone man stretches out
and quietly breathes in.
Country view
From the bottom land came
the discordant sounds of
the untuned bells.
As the herd slowly filed
along the threadbare path,
the settling dew
brought relief to them all,
from the intimidating flies,
Leaving them,
without thought,
Contented to ruminate
on their second coming;
Blocking all things
so known by us,
with the sound of
their own mastication.
Eventide
As eventide arched
across the silvered landscape,
the wind was broken
on the anvil of the granite hills
leaving wisps without substance.
Time decayed, suddenly,
the strength
of the other primary elements.
The graying cows
paced step by step.
Cloned to forget the day
they chewed their cud,
rhythmically,
at one with their digestion.
Thomas,
in a parlor chair,
too tired to contemplate,(cont'd)
let the day slip away
before his memory had its way.
His wife,
before the tv set,
reiterated, vicariously,
the rosary of her discontent.
The sound of the moment's media hype,
filled the sleeping rooms
with the government's new,
inspired, obsolescence.
Moments
The kettle
The kettle discos upon the plate,
breathing clouds on the elements.
the fridge chuckles,
the washer rocks,
the plates all rest upon the rack
beside the cups,
who do have a tendency to drool.
the furniture,
all cracked and worn,
stands,
upon the old barn board.
Did I bring the barn spirits
into this room
with the old planking I tore
from the walls of the ancient barn,
now leaning over its tenentless floors?
Glass
Slithering rain deflects the glass
Into countless caves of silver and white
where my glassed eyes cannot take me
to see the intricacies of,
this sudden new event,
of five dimensional light
in a three layered world.
Where I live
I live on this high plain
As plain as I can be
Breathing deep to wash my soul
In all Nature’s reality.
My Children and I
My children and I allowed the boat
to sift the river, up to it's mouth,
where we anchored
just before a darkened spot
that seemed to frame static things,
with living weeds and shadows.
then we began to fish
through the malleable surface
and tried to watch our invisible lines;
until we came to rest within the cradle
of the moment's single chime.
Greening
Greening the paths
that laid stretched
and silent
in the summer’s heat
the summered rain gently
pushed the blades of grass aside
and entered the scattered capillaries,
gasping there, below the skin of the earth.
Inside them, turning again and yet again
the liquid traveled down,
even the smallest of the veins,
and replenished the foundation reservoirs,
so needed to uphold continuing life
as a witness for
the promise of tomorrow’s reality
to be seen,
later,
by sentient things
soon to tread the greened way.
The winds
The winds marched in columns, four.
Human spoor was rescinded.
Light etched its fingers’ paths,
delighting the primeval rock.
The snow lay in windrows of pure light.
Solar power stood high,
proud of its natural renewal.
All the visible earth trembled,
with a sensuality long forgotten.
For a moment,
all of this,
Until from the left,
Mush-rooming in,
came an ever-growing shadow.
The Rivers
The rivers met
and tested their strength,
then mutually agreed to give way, but,
unable to withstand their manic phase,
they struggled and overlapped their desires.
Their greened waters,
fleeing to decay,
stumbled into a depression, unknown,
where their balm aw
aited
but was denied,
allowing suffering to stalk
their salvation.
Peace
May I Ask
Is Peace a negative thing
If parametered by human law or creed?
Can it be restrained or explained,
Fenced or framed
With things of humanity?
Is Peace beyond all this?
extended past and around all human desires
beyond the plow, beyond the fire.
No place can it hold,
No word enfold?
No thought can be sought,
No tool inscribe?
Or,
Is Peace part of the first sun, on the first morn,
A tangible entity always here
Although we see it not
Through all our so deserved tears?
Can Peace Come…
Can Peace come to each of us
behind the consuming light that signals our day
before our day begins,
even in advance of our wildest surmise.
Will we note this signaling query from beyond
even before our conscious state reacts?
Will our sight confirm,
or our ears attention to identify,
before the event passes and is gone,
leaving us here to wait for, when,
like a stringed comet,
Peace will come again
as is known,
from within the collective memory of the species
in time with some future clock
according to some distant and destined chronology
beyond our most temporary prime?
Until then, must we spiral our hope and remind ourselves
to leave evidence for those yet to come
so we can help them identify, in time,
the next event of Peace.
And while we wait, can we try
to be aware of all the possibilities,
yearn and reach and be eager to pass on all we glean,
be ever alert to pass on our hope
in the eventual surprise of some distant kin
when the evented signal comes
to more alert ears
and ushers in
our most desired friend,
recognized and identified,
suitably greeted,
dimensioned in all totality,
sufficient to eternalize
each future, sentient, quivering life,
finally free,totally alive?
May, I again ask
Will Peace be here, now there
within the minds of those committed to
a forward view beyond those things
we can sense or imagine?
will Peace be a state of mind wherein resides
some nebulous construct
perhaps tailored, perhaps not,
to fit the shape of everything
unsolvable, unresolved?
Or is Peace but a mirrored image
of things seen backwards or upside down
maybe pushed out of shape
by all the effort of a single mind
in concert with other singularities,
trying to frame intangible results
accumulated and unsortable
that rest within the foreshortened span
of each mind's limited time?
However it may be,
in truth, can we not know
because our time of singularity is too brief
as is that of all things that grow?
Perhaps,
it is best to account for our personal stats
on things that live within our control
and be ready