Lost and Found

Lost  and Found

His darken sockets seem to make a perfect  canvass

featuring the sallow colors of the corneas

and deep blue pupils focused into a demonic  stare

although, it was also clear - no real thought dwell there.

The blank gaze had obviously disconnected

from sanity and no longer recognized his humanity .

His painful fragility waiting some final sadness

to complete the fall unto the oblivion of madness.

Some say he had lost his way

after many years of wondering in and out the nightmares

that haunted his sleep - to awaken to a tormented match

with demons that he would rather not catch.

Others thought that he was locked into the young boy’s mind

who hid, with closed eyes and covered ears,

from the threatening screams at the door

And from the blood flowing across the wooden floor.

While many figured that the tattered military coat he wore

with the medals counting the killings that he witnessed

and that were carried out in efficient and unemotional aim,

now festered into poisons and acids that burned away his name.

Hard to know where he had come from

or why he was here now.

The moment held evident that he owned all his fears

And too, the moment found reasons for tears.

In One Moment a Lifetime

The shutter snaps at a sixtieth of a second

capturing movement to infinite stillness;

the trigger’s click executes sound

to permanent silence.

The light is perfect and the lens angle

does not fail to frame the scene

into the context of a timeless wait

focusing on a vanishing point.

The moment fixes into a play

of many random acts

that must exist together

Incoherently and in ambiguity.

The two women walking together

or perhaps merely passing each other

and a man in black racing to save

or was he running away...

The birds hiding in the dark woods -

Did they call to shelter

or was it the alarm of the preyed;

are those the peering eyes of a predator.

The ground is frozen.

The fields are covered in blankets.

An old water pump sits stark

its black form a contrast against the formless white.

The tall amber grasses strain and bend

from the unrelenting will of the north wind;

the umber shade colored by death’s hand

their dry brittle texture belies their beauty.

The moment an instance

Standing within the flow

of perpetual experience

in the consciousness of universe.

One or Two - True

One or Two - True

a heart beat - noting a single of I

then two patterns - explaining a pair

along a lone path of solitary air

walking an awakening stair

way to the ultimate lie -

being together - as a pair

feeds the alone  - to the tiger’s wry

La Pajarita En El Azul

La Pajarita En El Azul

Oh, Dark night!

Do not keep away the morning light.

For eyes are blind with fear

and ears cannot hear.

The music in the air that falls

underneath the railway stalls

along streets of life that abounds

yet, abandons the muted sounds

of the blue bird’s callings as it flies away across the  sky

singing “it’s time to make these wings fly”

For tomorrow

Knows no sorrow.

En el azul - la pajarita

Es el cielo y la carita.

Sonnet 1501:

Time - It Stands to Reason

The mighty oak stands because it is old

Or - is it old because it stands alone

Against the storms of ice and bitter cold

Surviving; droughts and the river banks thrown

Over by raging floods;  bite of stihl ’s teeth.

It stands to reason that the tree survives

Beyond time and grace of generations

That pervade unto the skies above reach

And effuse into tales of the long lives

That visited vowing affirmations

As forever lovers - engraving each

Other’s name “until death do part us ‘neath”.

For everything there is a time; season

That transcends the oak...  it stands to reason. 

A Winter’s Discontent

The winter’s bitter coldness brings wraith

And sorrow that bends arms into layers

Closer around the heart’s place

As we come together at the hearth’s space

To remember and to celebrate, within our tears,

That we are never truly alone to face fears

If we remain true to our faith

That we live on forever within our prayers

So that a winter’s discontent may fade into spring’s lovely face.

In Memory of Haley Marie Lichter

Winter’s Breath

The feeders hanging outside are full

in contrast to the lorn winter scape -

dozens of birds, of all sorts, gathering

to partake frantically, as they dart in; perch

and then fly off again - unto the freezing air;

a depot of visitors arriving and departing

at the cold station stop.

The white coverings are an alluring premise

against the alarming howl of the north winds -

that chill the very life out of the tree limbs

and the grayness across the low horizon

dims the light away from  the eye's demure;

as each heart beat lengthens in-between the minutes

for winter’s breath wrests at the hearth;  the aging bear must sleep.