Backwoods

farmhouse by the side of the road

dogs loved and lost

sumac fading to rose

where have you been?

what have you been told?

a warm rain dribbles on my mountain pained skin

alerting me…simplicity must come around again

there has been no shame to the backroads, traveled from within

lost in the wandering towards autumn’s color

reminds me of the hot touch of sun on cotton

have I traveled so far that there maybe a rejection of nature’s law

or, is there possibility that I can wait until spring’s thaw?

Helping Turtles Across the Road

It is a worry

I know

the circling of many a crow

I cannot avoid the chaos maneuvering…

just below the surface

and

well underground

Vast, mingling, elements casting spells seamlessly

or…

without a sound

Though my actions be deliberate and quiet

Most observations are eager

So much so,

I yearn for the simplicity of a clown

Why is it…

I cannot scratch a basic itch when no evidence found

And, still be invoked to chewing gum while helping turtles destined to go…

where they are bound

How to Count the Trinkets

How such,

the trinkets that clutter my path?

What others find useless?

Abhorrent items of dimming demise?

These treasures, placed alone,

but not lonely, discarded by the wise.

How often,

my impediments to grasp?

Behold the brass and trashy ring.

Whilst the melee be over

seemingly rudimentary things?

I suppose, a cherish to all, would-be, the surmise.

Perhaps, a charm had been given to another.

And, with little esteem or commotion

found the acreage below my feet.

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A sense of awe omits to find a boulder among the sandpit.

What sort of apparition gather here?

Laying the yesterdays at my stand.

Laying the given ever so near.

Sketchy Indulgence

Restraint by a shaft of evidence.

Captivity…

Not conclusive to ideals.

A melancholy orange…peeled.

Is it  vanity that brings me here?

For every indulgence that tells me, no.

For all the voices that fill an empty village and clutter the soul.

In the belly below a need arises from reflective window.

Such visions of clarity when I ‘cannot see myself as others do.’

Just snippets of what I used to do.

Sketched among the floundering breeze.

Simple recollections not made to appease.

 

Keep it Simple

 

Best to be part of the world…than just in it!

lily 2
It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it’s the pebble in your shoe!  -Ali