Words

 

 

Words...


They come with the power of the ocean’s waves

Striking along the long beach front

As the sand’s regressions and egressions change

View and in a wider sense - they remain unchanged

 

They fill the skies in unfathomable numbers

Sparkling and twinkling a sense of time

The long past and by inversed position – the unknown future

Points that are at once inspiring grace and too, humbling truths

 

They describe nature’s palette renderings at each horizon

when light finds and ends the day

schemes of blue with swirls of reds, yellows and patched in stained clouds

while life and death meet at black

 

They celebrate the newborn at dawn’s new day

They gather at the pew’s line to honor death’s path

The words fill pages and books with human frailty using prose and poetry

To explain the impermanence - in a permanent way

 

 

 

 

The Cutting Edge

 

 

There’s a certain gentleness

When a finely sharpened edge

Breaks the skin’s presence

Penetrating, with particular incisiveness,

The covers that are the mirror’s essence

And the humor flows over the ledge

Unto the fields of divest

the claret imbues;  stains.

 

There’s passion in the cutting’s gentleness

As mortality frees away though the open veins.

 

 

 

 

Ware and Piece – A Backyard Epic

 

 

The lawn’s appearance has become a spectacle

The hedges have evolved many an unsightly tentacle

The black locust trees need their defunct limbs removed

The dandelion’s yellow flowers must be disproved

The fence lines are stained in colors of moss and algae

The gutters are filled with debris and so it be...

 

That weekend warriors must arm once again.

Let power tools surface from their proper keep

Rip those chords and let the roar of mighty engines begin

Their right angle trimmings;

their symmetrical cuttings;

their sculpted hedging;

their magic-wand power washing.

 

I love the smell of two-cycle engine oil in the morning!

 

The conquest is real – let the beer flow and the grilling reap

Garlic roasted tomatoes, marinated asparagus and big steaks that leap!

 

 

 

 

Edge

At the edge between the finite physical tense

And the infinite metaphysical suspense

 

One must muse causation

Of chance conception

 

As finality is basis in a each moment

Of creation or destruction

 

Life evolves at the brim of the first contraction

Where a primordial voice cries out its existence

 

Listen:  a newborn’s suckling subsistence

Turns into adolescent insistence

 

Maturing through the stages of presence

Diminishing upon itself at the verge

 

In brink before the forces of contradiction

Balancing the congruent lines of salvation and perdition

 

 

Planes set at the fringe of a tormenting descent

While in parallel dimension with a harmonious ascent

Until the moment when the rattling cage walls collapse

And disappear unto the edge;   eternity,  perhaps...

 

 

 

 

A Set With No Set

A symmetry within the jagged life lines

Even as the pulse beats in unconformity

A set with no set signs

Man with a parrot on shoulder leans uneven

while the bird balances set in uniformity 

together alone - they must believe in

Set of horses lying upon a lush green field

One white; one black - in an odd deformity

While life continues by - yet, death has a yield

Stooped man carrying life’s heavy load

walking a wrong way along mountain highway

seeking his set back to the levee’s lode

Man monitoring for ailed riders

To set upon an empty therapy trail’s way

Where harrows are filled with spiders 

Vexing men walking holding hands in contrast

One youthful dressed in a rainbow suit of play

The other, an old worn vet; a set in miscast

Silhouetted men running towards the opaque

Tall and imposing figures chasing a quickened day

While a poet tracks and waits to set view upon daybreak

Woman with empty eyes

Wondering around in set of pajamas tied in enmity;

Lost presence - she has no more replies  

 A broken wooden sign, with the word “Home”

Faded and missing the letter “e”,

Was once set to stop those who roam.



 

La Noche En Rondo

 

 

The door was never really closed

 

Nor was it ever wide open - in anyway,

 

Each angle and position merely held

 

 

A  juxtaposition;

 

A countering point

 

between the enlighten view

 

Of calm and contentment

 

 

And the confusion of darkness

 

 

Where fears scoped out the mind

 

 

While pain ate away at purpose

 

 

 

 

The ashen bedroom walls

 

Painted a watchtower’s isolation

 

Waiting a young prince

 

Runnings - round and round and round

 

 

At the night’s silence;

 

 

Evanescing into moonlight

 

 

And out the tower’s portals

 

 

With the flying lace curtains;

 

 

Waving standards of remorse

 

 

 

And conquest...