Husband, Father, Grandfather, Lover of all beautiful things. I love to read and write poetry. My favorite hangouts are libraries and museums and yet I love being outdoors. I am a dreamer of things that could be.
The wind is a bus Going here then there Carries limitless Things of many shapes. Plastic shopping bags Soon to be snagged By the naked trees. Fallen autumn leaves Doing somersaults Down the barren path. Dandelion seeds Like little balloons Up to touch the sky. And what of those clouds That bring needed rain Or hide the bright sun. But the greatest joys That the bus does bring Are those we can’t see: The scent of fresh baked Apple pie cooling On the window sill, The soft wavering Coming from the field Of gold colored hay. But greatest of all After summer’s rain The slow flowing scent Of sweet lavender. It is my desire The bus to idle And stay awhile.
The sultry summer’s setting sun sent rays, Into the belly of the cool damp bridge, Where cavemen left their colored painted sprays, Along with their smelly stacks of garbage. The discarded urine stained mattresses, In a row abutting jambs of cut stone, Offering shelter for long tailed creatures. It won’t be long before they’re not alone. Up above the howling freight train rumbles, Shaking the ground below as would a quake, And into the river it sends ripples, With such horror the dead it would awake. It is silent now the train is distant. The tired sun slides behind the horizon. Missing occupants will make their descent. This day of misery is almost done. Their shoes against the gravel can be heard. In their step seems as if there’s heavy weight. The air reeks of aches. No one speaks a word. It’s not known if on this day any ate. All are absorbed into total darkness. Each struggles with an internal battle. Seeing tomorrow they are not anxious, To walk the streets being invisible.
Ephemerality Wispy cirrus clouds of height whisking by, While countless diamonds dance on the water, And swallows do somersaults in the sky. Like children there is a constant banter. Sitting in the cool comfort of the shade, Quiet as a lion stalking its prey, I wait for the fawns and does to invade, To drink the water, but long they’ll not stay. The wonders of this day soon to depart, To return only as a memory, Bringing subtle warmth to my beating heart. Tis my wish these memories never flee.
The loud sound goes through me like crying pain, Feeling like the earth is coming apart. Sounds continue with a sense of disdain, A grinding aching sound begins to start. The glacier stood solidly for decades, ‘Til the stress, a very dangerous stress, Created a deep crack from the tirades. A severing split that starts an egress. I watch as the gigantic iceberg slides, Away to an unknown destination, For upon it there are not any guides, To direct it with logical caution. Can the iceberg and glacier both survive? Distance between them neither will revive.
Trying to control, The strange actions of my soul. Giving me no voice, Of what my life is to be. From it I would like to flee. Bickering always, Upon my conscience it preys. No matter the time, It starves me from what I need. Roadblocks so I can’t proceed. Applying restraint, Pushing me to be a saint. It’s impossible! For against sin I am weak, Besides it’s not what I seek. The joys of living, Is that which I wish to cling. To quench my huge thirst. Label me self-indulgent. For pleasure must I repent?