I Am Kept

 

In Mother’s Nature…

She keeps me gentle

She keeps me sapient

She keeps me legitimate

She keeps me with timeless tests

She keeps me with flesh

She keeps me with dignity

She keeps me shady

She keeps me with chemistry

She keeps me with fragile, breakable reverie

She keeps me

And, I am kept.

she keeps me 4

 

…a most indulgent mother, has placed her best gifts out in the open, like air, water and the earth itself; vain and unprofitable things she has hidden away in remote places.
##Thomas More

 

 

Northern Confinement

I am looking for a barefoot intervention but the snow between my toes tells me,

that is not how this story goes.

To dream of warmth only makes me weak.

Screaming tree tops warn,

“This life is not for the meek.

Within the northern confinement…little room for shadows of doubt.”

The Weight of Night

The weight of desperation to leave…an elephant’s foot.

A heft of which… a granite wall…immortal, lifeless.

Little runaway, I tried, I tried.

Ravaged by midday hours…late twilight had been my hour.

I tumble as a result of…my own fall.imageedit_4_4797812923

Darting, dodging, I could only take the route practiced and untamed.

Stuffed animals in the trees…dangling echos…all about.

Deep in a true vault of pine and birch…both shedding onto my perch.

I tumbled…as a result of my own fall.

 

Naturalist Christmas

 

 

No way to know these woods well, to assume, they are my friends.

No way to examine sacrificed buildings,

to know if they have a hand to lend.

While routine holds fast to my wandering eye.

The purist in me believes, it is my love for recanted beauty that will get me by.

Long lasting and languid, as a lover’s kiss.

A slumbering, lumbering, shine.

Such as coffee, in my morning cup.

So, what of devotion offering a look up?

Freedom of thought.

Offerings mature in shredded leaf.

Matted frost prints, two feet, several precious paws.

Hints of frankincense from a misguided thaw.

There is no ambiguity between the rock and dust that is chilled in a worn path.

The floating heavens did not force my hand.

It is but grace that brought me here.

It is with grace I hope to hold that affinity dear.

 

 

 

 

 

Looking In with Outside Eyes

I look at the faces of those I have yet to meet…

and, with their sheltered glance back.

100_1215I wonder what it is they see.

Solitary in this chilled climate.

My greeting of gratitude have loss their appeal.

The slow melt of morning’s snow.

These ‘one size’ fits all deceits…are all mine.

Looking in with outside eyes.

I have no time for a complacent mind.