Loud enough to be heard when a pin drops.
Tangled moments of clarity.
Ancient strife and last century poets…
Have not held the key.
I, too, have been known to grasp at straws.
That I do not hold.
As I wheeze through another breath.
And, hobble towards indecision.
I am distracted by a presence of the unknown.
Half stacked cords of rotted wood.
Raspberry bushes…too ripe to pick.
Fanning ferns, chaotic root and birch…
Dancing in and out of the shadows of life.
Then a remembrance…
A poet’s trail is ancient strife.
There had never been a cave to hide my heart.
As the strings pulled…
Auspicious had been the woods, the hearth…
The mangled weeded twine beneath my bare-feet…
Had been only make-believe.
An exclusive story for my yearned for retreat.
With a long, last.
A dog, a butterfly.
A road that leads me nowhere.
Roots that lent a sturdy tie.
Slander can only arise from my perched lips.
Though a rail leads the transient way.
Visions of grandeur descend atop granite steps.
No longer does the travel need scornful say.
Wild-berry safer by itself.
Poison Ivy always meant to tease.
Misconstrued dam…wanton on the knee.
The natural order of things…easier to believe.
My overdone education has not hurt me none…
I can read the writing on the wall.
Walls move…and, minds do to.
Mother Nature, for certain, cannot be sued.
Sumac tree with tainted leaf.
Please heed the call…
I am lonesome for you after all.