Aching Limbs

Clover still grows during this…the first hard frost.

I have always envied this walk…to clear the air.

Drudgery and all its beauty strewn about in wild fanfare.

The perpetual futility of earth’s aching limbs.

A healthy canvas for the unknowing eye, is all one will see.

Progress and perfection…languishing in antiquity.

You Do Not Have to Be Good

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

-Mary Oliver

Lilac by the Barn

I am but a bystander who has praised words of woe and purity. And, I have tried tampering at the landscape! And, I am unwilling to give up on a valiant fight.

These Lilacs that espouse only once a year. These Periwinkles of cascading yearly trials. These Lavenders, offspring to the garish New Hampshire late winter weather, confuse and excite all the same.

I wish to only hold these thoughts but once a year. As a Lilac comes slowly, leaves quickly. Its romance lingers on aesthetics and colorful fear.

Plotting and potting, the toil, I say this quickly. For with earnest steps the springtime will go.

Learn to breathe again…

and…

never hold love against the old stables and fresher flora.

In the depths of all vanity intertwined, such as, vines to a tree…

I promise to embrace your beauty as fleeting as it may be.

Boulevards of Attrition

Blame for the blameless, one could suppose

cats in trees

fish in a barrel

akin to ‘train-wreck’ dogs.

Descendants of, ‘I am sorry.’

Boulevards of attrition.

Dare I cross the alley?

Tripping over fault lines, should I make a fair-haired decision

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What of these…

fruitless linear revisions…

two squirrels for one dove

a common bird for a cardinal’s love

Comeliness beholds beauty in a rainbow’s spectrum

Essence travels on in its constitution.

 

Jealous is the Journey

Dug deep in the contrast of maple and mud, life is simply a country lane,

not often remembered, as frost heaves discourage thoughts of beauty.

Repeatedly sullied by abuse and neglect.

Ancient the way…to easier lost than found.

If a traveler does not want for much…they won’t be discouraged..

A dirt road can be a jealous journey when traveled alone.

How self-induced echos offer wicked ways to a lonely destination.