Thoughts that cast their way,
Crossing the chasms between
Then and now...
Will at long last lay to rest
Upon the collectors’ brass tray.
Seemingly worth vast riches in good deeds.
Yet, in dearth of will, driven by past
regret
And whereas, vanquished verses weigh
Heavily in amassed rhyme -
The muse will last ‘ever time -
Between the chasms of then and now.
The black sign in white roman font
Read like a lone favored star,
“Last Oasis on the Toll’s Way”.
Counting the change on the loose
Holding out for salvation’s pay
And dreading a bankrupt soul.
The road cares for neither side
Poor and rich will pass this way
All the same; cold.
A beautiful old church stands firm
Over the ugly; the strong; the weak -
Her empty arms welcome all.
At the last oasis along the toll way.
Hold on to Daddy’s hand
Precious one in willowy stand -
For here we go
Down life’s path
Up and beyond
The mighty mountain’s face.
Hang on tight
Young son with busy might-
The ride will get us there
Eventually without a past;
Nor a present tense
to contain us in the race.
Don’t let go of your visions
Curious scholar with big reasons -
Learning will provide a lifetime
To gather stones and sticks
That will someday build a house
And that will keep you.
Embrace your family and friends -
Grasp, with both hands,
The ideas and notions of self
Close - very close in arms
For they all share glory and defeat
equally
And if not in life - then, certainly in death.
Master your desires
‘For they concur with perdition’s fires -
Control instincts to own & covet
They are both false and fatal
To the free spirit
Whose nature is naked and without root.
Surrender to the muse’s fire
Give in to the urgings of inspire
Release to the edge
And then jump unto the abyss -
Allow thyself to evolve
To nothingness; to everything.
Who dwells amongst the firmaments
Of gelid elysian ‘scapes of blue?
Golden touch rises and falls
Without term nor will-
While owning sovereignty
Yet and still another face
Worships passion’s rule
And in finality - ultimate demise.
Thrice I kept face that allowed
Death’s hand a new life.
Of Sappho – I love.
Infinite bed of black velvet
Frames the multitudes of sperm light
Twinkling with expanding desires
Focused upon the radiant primordial ovum
While the primal dancers idolize
The moonlight and the fire consummation.
The crystal angel who flew the heavens
Fell from grace to earth and broke to
shatters-
Shards and pieces scattered along the
garden’s path...
Whence came the young maiden with golden
hair
To find the splintered glass without form
or design
And only she could see the whole of the
true cast
of the fallen crystal angel and that his heart was hers...
She gathered all the glass and with years
of care and love
Created frame where each piece a
different hue
Shaping into a beautiful glass sculpture
Of stain glass colors that chime in the
breeze of life
With musical notes dancing into the
garden
And forever in revelry of a long life together.
As the days of Autumn fell upon the
Ouachita Mountains,
The chilled nights summoned down from the
mighty Oaks in waves of storms
The invading forces, dressed in burnt
coats like silhouetted jagged forms,
Landed and conquered all the lands of
bereft fields now blanketed in decaying leaves...
When then stepped forth General G. Border
and called out:
“...there is no yard field ready for war
if even one yard tool exists that doesn’t give all sake to rake!”
A once private, who served at the Battle
of Noffs, stepped to the front and reported,
“Corporal Wyre Rake, at all sake and at
ready - Sir!”
The General commanded:
“Corporal, go forth and scrape the
southern flank;
Drive the northern rear; occupy the
eastern front
for the enemy has overcome with massed echelon
hold of the garage door and driveway
entries”
The Corporal Wyre Rake confronted the
troops massed at Sierra Drive; overwhelming the cavalry legions at Watershed
Gulch and devastating the armies of the Backyard Wing;
winning the Battle of the southwest field
of “Don’tfeedem” cemetery ridge.
And finally, a truce was called between
the forces of eternal leaves and the forces of annual
beliefs.
Pray Peace was won for the moment, as the
question between leaving and springing,
Remain to Mother Nature’s whim.
A lifetime of old papers and special
rocks cannot be wrapped into any one box
Nor possibly find a single face in any
one place –
Today in a garage full of memories - I
discovered a father’s reveries -
The old wood handled rasp - that repaired
a company party’s mishap;
The all-in-one ratchet set - that ruled
over bolts and nuts beset;
The rusted wrench - that stopped big
leaks and fixed little squeaks;
An old television set - that does not
fully understand infinity’s cabled fete;
The antique RCA turn table - whose belts
are no longer able;
The old floor lamp with blue shading – it
tilts slightly, with a dim light fading;
The ancient NCR adding machine’s throw -
with mechanical keys slow;
The projector slide player - with bad
bulb and no prayer;
The upright piano standing still - whose
notes still yearn fill.
A full lifetime will not - cannot find
reason in any contain
For thoughts dance full with time and play in refrain.
The workshop’s pegboard matrix a dry
pocked face
Holding each work tool carefully to its
assigned place.
The hammer’s steel head set at a 45-degree
slant;
No longer concerned about a loose board
or a wayward nail.
The family of screwdrivers in parade upon
a wire base
Each waiting father’s old hands to reach
out in hail!
Will it be a Philip or a straight end’s
turn
To fasten down a screw’s lose rant?
The jigsaw’s teeth are ready - sharpened
and clean of all debris
however, today there will be no wood or
metal cuts to recant.
For dear Father’s work was done precisely
and not misbegotten.
The workshop clock’s hands stilled too; though his time will
never be forgotten.
To some, the feeling of impermanence
is submerged in enigmatic questions,
hidden under waves of doubt.
These circular propositions have held in
my thoughts
lying awake, ceased by the resonant
sounds of my silent bedroom,
waiting for the waning moments of the
night
to find the dawn and me – one more time.
A river flows to its eventuality the sea,
seeking to commune with self and all that
may arrive
in given time;
evolving perpetually back to the origin
spring
that will then seek again the rivers’
wend to the waiting of her Mother Sea.
A marble shaped
by cylindrical fabric
rolls away from now
and towards its place
between a past
on a string
to a future
lest chaos and entropy
where relative
time
exists
in impermanence
without
a single moment
and with infinite
connection
to existential
dimensions
of all realities.
