Drained of Your City Ways

Dark the wood aching for sun

So many conversations we have had

Derelicts of the times, both good and bad

You and I, cloaked in a nasty game of hide and seek

In this, warring courtyard, curves and cushions of fodder

In this, crumbled down streets, forks and flexure and fixtures

I bend to breathe

Hollow becomes my rasp

Sharp is my bath water

Obstructed is my throat…

I quarrel with the words I say

Naked and ravenous, I take to the sodden road

drained of your city ways

Cedar Chips and All It Delights

Moist the air that brings to light…cedar chips and all it delights

While cantankerous fowl sweet-talk to be gods of the sky

imageedit_1_3165514651Eyes open wide while I release the shutters of months left behind

This passage of rites, fool hardy?

Nudged, I arise to this transformation of movement

So, when it stirs, I stir

When it darkens I lament

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Last Fall’s Harvest

Placing a lid on every little thing –

Had this been what I have been waiting for?

Tans and brown…earth’s tone… in a tussle with last fall’s harvest…blowing, blowing, away.

Rock bed thirsty for nourishment’s flow.

god’s Third Eye could not see the creation that I hear.

Swallows and finches all singing for their pride.imageedit_8_7750910572-e1552588018535.jpg

Fringe elements at play when spring and winter collide.

To steal away from our barns…untended?

To tuck away the surface of things?

To forsake seasons in the midst of battle?

Only a January joke.

barn 1

 

 

 

Clouds in the Puddles

Hanging head low.

Such as a bully bull and a retiring bovine would.

Oh, if I could only be…

As lax, as relax can be.

Faults in the pavement…could they be any less obtuse?

Subtracting and murky with no roots to withstand the decay.

Unfortunately, I am not four-legged and constantly at ease with my indifference.

I lack luster amid the earth that surrounds.

In a calf’s eyes from what can be deduced…

Ambivalence, the grandest prize.

If only to witness the reflection of clouds in puddles passing by.

 

Poetry on a Cloudy Day

In the shadow of an October morn…imageedit_5_8432239376

leaves are becoming…vagrants, radiant, fragrant.

So basic…a life…final justice in falling degrees.

I could wander endlessly, in the ages.

Admiring the poetry of a cloudy day.

Orange hues suffering…

thus, no room for beauty’s blue.

There is poetry in October’s showers.

Towering timbers telling stories…each and every hour.

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