The Pains of Neutral

There are eccentricities about time that many… will never get.

Similar to chasing the family pet.

imageedit_8_2028553240There is a mortal need to have it all around.

Thou, it is injured and too tightly wound.

 

It may surface that there are brisk critics regaled  for being too passionately black.

And, those willing to make the ‘devil’s pact.’

 

As followed, before, the ache arrived, minutes filled the air.

As original as, the snowflakes in which we place our grateful cares.

Mind over the matters of time.

The pain of neutral.

No joy from fast forward or rewind.

 

For myself, revelations, on a dusky December day,

That, I too, conceded,

from the comfort of living in the in between.

 

There had been a frozen dust to the air.

It covered my tracks…

Or, considerate me…

I found myself not lost…for I never looked back.imageedit_6_4922132711

Apples in the Snow

 

“Catastrophic and immobile.  Delicate and nomadic.  Impaled in blue hue.  Red distended light.  Black shafts that invade plight.  White shards that lay pictured in radiance.  Reflections grazing in the slide show of my mind.  Elemental homage to photos of time.”

Hunting Season

hunting-1

It will be clear.

Those trolls listening both far and near.

Indefinitely indebted but still, I cannot go.

Chivalry in a voice.

These demons up on mountains made by moles…

‘Are not your choice.’

Though, the air I breath is not free.

If I walk away now,

I can own my own feet.

Villains and angels…abound.

Holes in the wall.

Furnace on stall.

There is not enough room on the ark for us all.

I will not choose to take what I need and leave the rest.

Cannot adhere to the father knows best.

hunting-2

White on White

I can feel the sun calling me.

Here from my deck.

‘Come, let us play catch.’

Though my blindfolds are not pixels, contrast and such.

White on white is my disposition…

And, that is a colorblind far worse than being…

A poet without a pen.

A photo without charm.

An artist without a doubter’s den.

But..alas,

far worse…

Is to languish, lavishly, an unimaginative pen.white on white 2

Write to Wander

write to wander 4

It is a time to time

One of a kind..

ZEN.

Echoed places joined by lost traces.

Occasional small town places

filled with

postcards, wildlife…

kind native faces.

Here and there.

All in one plots of…

not so fallen graces.

write to wander 4I am the trapped stone beneath the

fallen tree trunk and her roots.

Peacefully

unaware

of things

left to do.

‘Had a nightmare last night…about having nothing to write about. No more, needs, wants, take or give. No love or hate! This morning I began to think about the squirrels nesting in our trees. How they are throwing acorns down at me…taunting me in protest of their lack of food. As typical, my mind wandered to such things as; what is the gestation period of a squirrel? Why are they so loud when they are giving birth? Which sex, male or female…goes out and brings the ‘acorn’ home? And, which sex gets to play stay at home parent? And, suddenly, the nightmare went away. And, the writer’s world became…okay!’

-Robert Frost-

Franconia Notch NH

To Earthward

Robert Frost Farm Franconia NH the Earthward
Robert Frost Farm
Franconia NH
to Earthward