I
the last leaves
on a barren tree,
doggedly hang
II
green to red,
the leaves grow, stop,
then fall off
III
the rain tree
limbs spiral skyward
all leaves out
IV
a tree shape
stands atop a mountain
cactus ruse
A sight enflames my consciousness,
and the world blurs away.
And nothing vibrant or golden
can hold my mind in sway.
A simple beauty does the trick —
no gemstones are needed —
to ensure the cosmos beyond
lies wholly unheeded.
I never know what simple sight
will capture my focus —
perhaps, a cloud, or just a curve,
a creature, or a crocus.
Baby owl in a tree
you may lack your elders’ sagacity,
but for cuteness, they ain’t got nothing on you —
And
yuh blend.
Neon-fired
Rippling lights,
churning & flashing,
colors dancing off the walls,
pooling & spinning into each other
Oh, how the colors glisten on wet pavement
smooth boulders
dragged ever so slowly,
tumbling in floods,
sitting so far from the river
that they seem untouchable
The little “e” epiphany
strikes me in
the middle of the night.
Enveloped in darkness, I lie,
contemplating
the bold stories the world has told.
I think upon slapped cheeks
and
grand strategy
and
the universe outside my door.
I wonder whether one can
be change
and
change one’s being,
or
whether there’s a choice to be made.
I feel at peace —
though not enough
to drift back to sleep.
Surely, I have misunderstood,
“Put my head where, you say?”
“But I have bones, don’t you know?”
“I wish I could obey.”
“Now, you say, my feet are too wide?”
“Really, what the heck!”
“You said put my head ‘tween my feet,
have you seen my frickin’ neck?”
“I wasn’t built to stand on my head!”
“What do you mean, ‘We’ll see?'”
“I’m not sure that you’re acquainted
with a thing called gravity.”
I
a gray day,
low dreary clouds hang down;
smoky air
clings to the earth —
all is close; nothing moves
II
tall puffy clouds
drift across the sky
like ship’s bridges,
moving in armada
through skies, calm & blue
III
a blue dome,
unblemished by clouds
if not for birds
looking to the sky
would stop the world
The clouds are on the mountain.
The world feels faint and fading.
I look out in the distance,
but my eyes can’t focus.
I believe the world is out there,
but I can never say for sure.
What’s beyond the shape of
that distant line of trees, there?
Is it something good, or
nothing of the kind?
There’s something in the cave that one can’t know.
It’s scary, but still the mystery becomes
a force that pulls one like an undertow.
One first looks about for a rock to throw
to see if one can loosen the beast’s tongue.
There’s something in that cave that one can’t know.
One baits the beast by moving to-and-fro —
an imagined sound triggers heart’s PUM! PUM!
A force; it pulls one like an undertow.
At the cave’s mouth there lands a big, black crow,
and now one ‘s sure the cave’s depth must be plumbed.
There’s something in the cave that one can’t know.
Then one sees a red eye begin to glow —
the product of a mind that’s overrun
by forces that pull it like an undertow.
Uh-oh, your mind ‘s the cave, that much I know,
and I hear nothing but a steady hum.
There’s nothing in the cave that we can’t know —
just fear that pulls one like an undertow.
