not So Plain

You see, here, along the northeast…

a mile is forever on a country lane

In the arm’s of nature, Mother’s face, prolongs my existence.

Her silhouette disheveled, fetal and beyond my wandering.

I felt that one step forward and one step back only released my defects.

This lonely, disparaged pond and her trail praises those that are rampant, quiet and egotistically…frail.

So, I come back down (always) a downy lane.

Snowy, horizontally.

Bluster and sustain-ably sane.

Still a history still….not so plain.

the Skin of Frost

There is an act of self preservation in the first snow.

The way it comes, harsh and plentiful.

The way it goes, minus song and repose.

I had begun to think these times were not for me.

Melted moments of yesteryear’s atrocities.

Now I ponder upon granite stone.

Blowing in the wind of unknown.

To never find kindness in the bitter and caressing skin of frost.

Will be just another loss.

Leaves of Brown

To think of it as anything more…would be absurd.

Justified gifts bestowed upon the earth.

Pungent, musky, society, woven into the fabric of our lives.

Tantalizing temples of shades and hues.

A touch of the silky skin.

Wintered petals.

Disgraced leaves.

Simple mid-season delicacies…Nothing more… than it needs to be.

Dark Room

misconduct-5

He had an eye for these things.

But I had the soul.

The art of the moment, wasted with lies.

With all the chatter of aperture and metered light.

Exposures in a dark room.

You, looking for that idyllic covered bridge.

Me, searching for meaning to the words, ‘just live.’

As your dark room comes into contrast with my life.

The question still remains,

‘what of the devil you tried to tame?’

With a generation, come and gone,

I will right your wrong.

Teacher,

with all your attempts to school me…

All your photographed Rockwell ideology…

The shuttering speed of Americana.

All this and more, such great expectations.

Not a single tutored self-portrait.

Yet,

a guild full of

artistic misconduct.