Glint of a Hint

 

 

The night’s gripping

seconds relent quietly –

 

As glints of primeval presence

smooth away the mares

 

Into caressing tints

of blues and subtler prints

 

Against the curtain’s folds

where hints of shadows,

found outside in the woods, 

 

 Are specters running upon

a minted carousel

of flinted moods

 

As dawn’s light sparkles

in a glint of a hint...

Finding Silent Harmony

 

time is infinite

futile to hold it

 

it is in silence

 where life makes most sense

 

wordless thoughts maintain

calm context of sane

 

 assessing time’s hold

burdens young and old

 

fear’s source therein lies

 within blinded eyes

 

light needs the darkness

peace needs openness

 

flying needs strong wings

joy needs voice that sings

 

 

 

Primordial Sense

A primordial sense

 

awakens realizing a presence 

A gentle ray cascades

Down and across the bough

And the moment is - now

 

Whispers of Light

Demure whispers of the ebbing light

 

 

As a good day exhausts itself

And submits to the sweetness of the cold night

 

 

 

If Inertia

 

 

If a lifetime is found

in a moment

Then how can lost

Have so much time

To dwell in the darkness

 

If a challenge is met

At every turn

Then will the twists

Have tensile strength

To sustain the weakness

 

If profound fear

Is the nurture of doubts

Then why is isolation

Such a charming place

For abject blindness

 

 

 

Inside the Outside

 

 

As light quanta

exerts stimulation

and applies attraction

a gravitational

tie exists...

 

As falling drops of water

stream in mighty magnitude

upon the arid ground

gathering with self import

a  river will rage...

 

As ceaseless thoughts

consume the silence

and promote calm

to the very edge of insanity

ego will prevail...

 

As the brightness

is lowered to a dimness-

then connection is broken-

ocean deep waters retain a timelessness-

and presence - finds infinity.

 

 

 

Ice Ghosts

 

 

Etched against a glass pane

winter’s freezing rain

 

 

 

Flocks racing across the blue

Crystal tints upon a plane

 

Ice ghosts hint momentarily true

As are the places of pain. 

 

 

 

  

Ode To A Red Barn

 

The weathered barn -

once wore new

coats of old red...

 

An idea as sensible

as it was a principle

of long practical standing

 

Built with hard timbers

hewn by even heavier traditions

and sealed

with life’s viscid contradictions.

 

A rural edifice...

an icon to benevolence

filled from fields of green;

 

Gilded with fierce independence

and scarred by time’s isolation

 

As counted by the trans lines

of old technology strung out

along the diserted dirt route 

 

Far from connection

With romantic scenes of time.

 

The splintered doors hang loosely

Upon hinges compromised by rust

and the bare hay bins are choked in dust.

 

The house is empty; the horse is dead

and the old barn has lost its red.

A lost memory hints in a glint ahead.

 

 

 

Addicted to Pain

The tattered sign read: VACANT.

A dirty light grasped at the diming rays of intention

And emptiness invited the vagrant

Thoughts of hope & despair to commiserate

 

Upon the loss of worldly enterprise;

Of wealth, of riches and of material possession

For instead, escaping into the flight of blank eyes

Feathered by dullness and veils of  inebriate.

 

 

 The  women in the room are not;

The men in the place can be either; or neither

 A flame that yearns to flee beyond all vanities.

For this sick and ill time leaves its stain and blot.

 

Look at the garish faces peering out the windowed frames-

Their bodies are based on abusing and failing

Of all norms and expectations lost to the endless nights

When reason and sanity take on oddly strange names.

 

Synecdoche

Bring me the waters that hath me drown

In the seas for all depths

Fly me through the heavens

I fall Out of...    the sky for all heights

 

Come sleep that so alludes me

For nothing...    shall hold me a wake.