There’s a face
peeks out from a parka
Snow day
Crossing street
Side glance, sees me, smiles shyly
Then
Head down,
Mukluk trudge
I wonder to where,
and assign a word
Angelic.
Category Archives: thoughts
From afar.
I’ve seen how the animals trust you.
Like a shepherd with her flock.
Their spirits are simple and pure,
and they know you are gentle, firm, and never nervous.
They take their pleasure from your understanding,
and from your acceptance of their gifts.
And me?
I am for home now.
Backyard
Be it rolling green,
white water falls,
carbon jungle,
tenement of tin,
or house of hallways
stolid and immovable,
this, your yard of Earth,
held a story.
Some would keep theirs and laugh.
Others would trade theirs for life.
And the poor in spirit, for death
Please hold
metaphor
simile
synonym
what is best
when the thing wells up
inside of you
and breath wants to be shallow
and heart feels to burst
laying down’s no cure
just be here
be here now
mine friend
mine friend
and be held
time, out of mind
Skull and muscle
Searching eye
Operate these bones
Live in the godly force of spin
Walk to a purpose
All held together
by might
Night is certain
Bright day is not granted
One watches the great story.
Whistler’s Brother
Do you even realize you’re doing it?
some say.
I say wut?
The whistling! The whistling!
They are peeved.
Somewhere else, I hear
I love it!
I say pardon?
and get red.
I’ll whistle your language
whatever it be
to pipe you up closer
or farther from me.
Hero
A scene of old develops and sharpens.
It’s the start of some chapter
in a boy’s learning.
This memory is of being ten.
It has cold misty rains at a train station.
The buying of a ticket
with nickels and quarters and wide eyes.
He is going to see El Cid in Montreal
by himself, with given permission,
maybe implied good riddance,
and certainly a flight to something
contrived, but noble.
It’s a way to forestall fear for the future.
To puzzle out why close people fight
and bury the fallout;
to feel the budding of self-assurance
and, finally, to admire a hero
whom all would love and despair.
Yes, he wanted to be
someone’s hero.
Bone yard
She had a liking
for bones of old
for calcified houseplants
rooted in dryness
for the toothless cat
buried beneath the midnight maple
Would that their wasted stories
could be exhumed
and augur well for resurrection.
something to cry about
what is relax
is it Peace
how can do
is it a leaving
is it resignation
giving up
losing grip
is it trusting
retiring
is it bought
and
is it something
to cry about
yes, i think.
Ungrown
Lord of somethings,
How does one who fixes us
find a way in?
Past facades,
careful constructs,
ego and id,
scar tissue and regret,
to bind an ungrown soul?
Aremyfeetofftheground 