Lines

The lines of life 

are interwoven with doubt;

Uncertain strings

connecting possibilities

And consequences

that may ring

or sting.

Yet, the end points 

are undeniable

Silence is the endless line

And the tones?

They are the hues

of change.

Tarmac Plaque

 

Tarmac Plaque

 

Upon a black tarmac a disfigure

Lying cold in a disquiet

Way. Dismembered; torn

By disgust; dismissed

As a wretched life; born

In disfavor

And to human scorn,

Fear and distrust.

For all goodness is forlorn

Of the disgraced

Beast; dead, without a mourn.

All the Many Days

 

 

 

All The Many Days

 

Though birthdays seem to come and go,

like a clock's pendulum swaying to and fro,

I ponder why then time does not

allow the ease to reset the last dot.

 

Standing at the door’s way

a form, holding a white candle,

a flickering silhouette against the dark;

the posture neither enters nor exits;

 

Nor does it say

why it passes this way

or whether it will stay

or go.

 

The imposing figure does not move nor sway,

merely a form furrowing the white light;

a presence radiating forth

to name each frame hanging on the wall.

 

A whispering voice, in trembling dismay,

neither mortal nor specter, seeks a breath’s last stand

and demands the account of me

and all things hidden by so many wondered years.

 

"How have all the many days

come to this one moment now

and why did you not sleep?"

the voice asked.

 

I replied, "The time and years did sway

and through dance and song

I laughed and cried – for I was once

to be that or this. And so now, after all - life is still.

 

Will you tear at my fay

when you strike at my name?

Speak words of comfort

that I shan’t soon be a dearly departed!"

 

"Only after I leave will words say

that which was saved from last pray;

wish upon the candles so to live another day."

an echo was the last sounding answer.

 

And thus, another year was my play

as I took each candle and wished

to find many more a day -

where have I come to now - who will say.

 

On the Kindred Ship

 

 

 

On the Kindred Ship

 

When is it proper to welcome time;

Is it when it sails in

And becomes – present;

Or perhaps when it is passed

And glancing at its wake – past

 

Should one; can one see either view

As neither an old tale to be retold

Nor as the indomitable now -

Where every moment was never

And will never be – forever

 

What is found in life’s seas;

Is it what one knows or what one sees;

Where what we are; is what we were

And what we were; is what we will be –

Which dimension is real if there is no - time

 

And, if all the oceans are but one

Pool where life and death are currents

That flow and swirl in endless time

So that all futures are as all pasts

Then the one thing; the only thing

is the empty vase holding nothing – that is left.

Dying of the Light

 

As with the dying rays of the late day

Flowing through the thinning boughs

Of the Maples, the Oaks and the Birch

A glimmering sense of introspection

Sparks longings and passions

Desiring the pleasures of autumn’s color

To sustain the affair and yet,

Understanding that nothing remains

Unchanged nor will it be requited by a wistful wish.

The waning days of Fall gradually concede

Their hold of the sunlight and her warmth -

One must forget the urgencies of spring

And the swoons of summer so to leave

Their precious moments to romance

For the stoic says, ‘bring in the wood

And prepare the fireplace and hearth

To keep the cold at bay”.

 

As November’s falling days

Slip away into the gray somber skies

Filled with galleons of menacing clouds

Driven by the biting gales off the cold waters

Of the mighty lake -

A candle light dances along the walls

As hot ginger tea simmers a winter’s plea:

What must we be to see - another bee?

Let's Go There

 Let’s Go There

Shall we climb the mountain

where clouds roam the blue

so that I catch one just for you-

and we can hold it in certain?

Shall we walk the paths of the dale

to where gardens are full in flowers

and we can dance and sing for hours

of our time together in rejoice and in hale?

Come, hold my hand dear, 

say where can we go from here

that finds a place without a care.

I know, I see – let’s go there.

Dedicated to Ron and Joyce 2008

Time in Place

Time in Place

What time have these roads lost?

Two remote paths

Along a distant cottonwood grove; crossed.

Frome where have these beginnings come?

To walk a shelters' long crossway

Where a refuge exists for souls that keep their private drum

And for the flock of migrating questions seeking life's reason;

To sit a moment and set aside all the pains

Into a welling salve upon the scars of treason.

Now the unknown circles in the sky have exposure

As collateral passages must continue

Along their separate ways to closure

From old to new stories

That tell of change; a fresh novel

A new song; a hopeful day's glories!

Where familiar pains

Rest in the hot sun

Waiting for refreshing rains.

Threading On

 

Threading On

 

Threading a needle can test the eye

As well as sewing what is torn

As years and years have their worn -

Mending a soul with all its wry

Repairs the mind; calms the heart’s lorn.

 

 

Finding Loss

 

Finding Loss

 

 

When we first know the beginning of loss -

Is it at child’s last grasp at fantasy?

Or perhaps when discipline is a cause

To follow in harrowed lunacy?

 

When is loss the first and last infancy

To still the pained soul into a dark place?

And years and more years of cold dormancy

Become crying eyes of a pained blank face.

 

This then; a heart calloused beyond a trace

And meanings transcend a life’s final truth:

That a day is no more than just one lace

That ties age; loss to a fanciful youth.

 

This then - shall not be taken as uncouth

Nor as discordant notes to a love song

But instead - meditations for kind ruth:

That all is forgiven. Life is not long.

Fleeting

 

Upon an azure sea came the splendored brigantines

Filled with promise and yet, always a chance of loss

From Aurora came Thalassa the ship of Hemera

(As mariners conjured warning or delight of a rubicund sky)

And from the closing horizon

Came the Hespera, the ship of Atlas.

Each galleon escorted by their looming armadas

Through the gales of endless time;

Temporary fleets in their fleeting moment

High above the seemingly indefectible

and stationary annotations 

Placed upon the face of Mother earth.

That there is no gravity finds peaceful

The kissing of these clouds.

Photograph by Donna Hass

Sentiment on Valley View

 

Sentiment on Valley View

 

Across the old woods

The path mimics the old stream flows

That have enticed so many childhoods

And, my soul cannot resist; it goes

Where the lush trees cover the hill

And calls the chants of the whippoorwill

 

To a secret place where unicorns fly

Along the rainbow’s arc

As my voice sings out and my heart sighs

For all that is there is my youthful heart

That keeps safe my imagination’s play

With my special friends to return my way!

Where has my green forest gone?

Instead, now only forms made from their lumber.

As I stand alone on this asphalt path; wishing dawn’s

Magic to re-awaken my familiar from its slumber -

I wonder, when did we become so old -

It cannot be told.

Painting by: Emily Calvillo

Just a Line

 

 

Just a Line

 

A line begins with a touch

And continues upon a plane

That paint storms

On a pastoral scene.

 

Draw me a line

And I will find

The symmetries

In the abstract-

 

Give me a line

And I will write

The histories

That compel and distract-

 

Throw me a line

That I might not drown

In the synergy of reveries

That both repulse and attract.

What is the last line...