Memorial Day ( It Only Takes a Moment)...

Deserted Monday morning streets...

Even the homeless
     are not at their usual benches
as squirrels and pigeons mill about,
puzzled by the absence of their benefactors...

     The crosswalk mechanism
is keeping the beat;
ringing, ringing, ringing
like Poe's bells
but there is no one there to cross...

     "Are the buses running'?",
asks an attractive late-night partyer,
her hair in slight disarray,
stiletto heels in hand...
     "Don't think so, darling", says I,
daring the familiar
(for she is barefoot, after all)...
    She smiles, winks at me and waves
and it is a marvel to see
her walk away,
sinuous, sliding quietly down the sidewalk...

     A corner turns, as does the World...
     Fresh blood stains in the doorway
of a long abandoned bodega.
     The rising sun catches it,
turning it coppery brown.
     Grim reminder, city life...
    
                May 26, 2014
  

Looking Down...

Pen and Paper, Fire and Wind...
    now let the magical,
mystical begin...
     Let the Spirits move me,
bring the peace
I need to me.
     Let the Evil pass
around and not
through me,
leaving only bone
and tattered clothes...
     For who knows what
will show through in
the moonlight
as the trees creak and groan
and you find yourself alone
with bitter memories,
empty heart
and knees shaking
from running full bore
through the woods in the dark...
     What spark is that
moving in the distance?
     A ray of hope, perhaps
or St. Elmo's Fire
coming to fulfill my one desire...
     Can you guess my wish?...
    

               May 21, 20145
 

The Amulet...

Sloe-eyed,
     shining green the dark,
turning to hazel beneath
the streetlamp, with its
weather-beaten, world battered
cowl barely hanging on,
askew like Quixote's helmet
bit still reflecting light...
     Auburn hair spilling
just passed her shoulders,
over the black lace shawl
with threads of silver and gold
sewn throughout, a galaxy twinkling
with each sway of her shoulders
as the soft rustle of her peasant dress
of a myriad of colors bleeding down
to her ankles to a line of white embroidery...
     Wearing Dorothy's shoes of glittering red,
as though her feet danced with fire.
     Each catlike step as soft as moss
but echoing your heart's desire.
     A throaty whisper, then a gift
and disappearing in the mist...
     Felt as if I had been shaken awake,
then kissed
to be left proud but puzzled.
     But was I cursed or was I blessed?
     Yours is as good as any other guess...
        
                May 18, 2014

Childhood Stories...

Cinderella,wait for me
Heard you have connections
So that ride is free
The carriage is waiting
to take you down the line
but what price will you pay
if you don't get there on time?
Look out, look out, Red Riding Hood
Can't you see that the wolf
is up to no good?
He has all the answers
to all of the questions you ask
Don't get to close or you'll be in his grasp.

Alice, pass us into Wonderland
so we might get to know
how a pawn should stand
Move me around,
move me around as you pleas
but i will never
bring any king to his knees.
Hurry, worry, scurry, Chicken Little
I believe, as you,
that the sky will fall
If not today, tomorrow,
why aren't you scared?
Is it that you have found peace
in being prepared?

Brother, father, sister, Mother Goose
So many morals from which to choose
i am a child,
please tell me how it will end
happily ever after is only pretend
Childhood stories, make believe
Politics and democracy
Draw me a line,
tell me where Truth does begin
or leave me alone
with my Nursery Rhymes once again...

Along the River in Thomaston...

The day wanes,

shadows creeping east

towards you slowly,

the soft fingers of Night

cooling the perspiration

on your forehead and forearms,

beads of sweat glistening

from the first true warm day

after the cheery blossoms bloomed...

 

     Anglers dot the riverbank

but only on one side,

no one seen on the far bank

where the railroad tracks run the freight cars

past abandoned factories,

pawn stores and auto shops

with their big garages

and cars parked in front of the doors

after the crews have gone home...

 

    Sitting on a fallen birch,

looking down at the runoff trails

left from the heavy rains

when the water rushed down the hillside

into the quiet glen below me.

Tracks of different animals

course up and down these veins of earth

with the babble of a brook just over the ridge...

 

     Here passed Porcupine,

in his slow, unhurried pace;

Close to blind,

had one once pass before me,

not two feet away,

and he never noticed me,

he just shuffled on his way

His walk is somewhat of a waddle

and how his backside sways

Seen them sleeping in the tall pines

from the ridge tops of sandstone

in the Wisconsin forest

where the mountain bike trails

ring the crumbling cliff sides,

white and brown dust sticking to tires

and sparkling on the gear chain

and you have to coast downhill

with your cliff side pedal up

lest you catch you toe

and lose your balance,

falling the may feet straight down

into the pine valley below,

an army of green umbrellas,

all seeming the same size

with a perfectly round pond

in the center with banks clustered

with dead fall and flotsam...

 

     Look where Raccoon ran,

scratching at the rotten logs

in hopes of finding grubs or beetles

or perhaps a fat worm,

working his way towards the moist warmth

as the sun's rays pierce the last layer

of cold separating Winter from Spring,

the last cool sip of water

slips back into the Earth

to begin the cycle again;

Life,

   Death,

       Rebirth...

 

     The Deer that passed this way

was favoring his right front leg,

with chipped hoof he placed less weight

and so the impression is shallow,

almost faint, undefined...

You can see where he slipped

once or twice

as he made his climb...

 

     Brother Coyote, last of all,

 his prints covering the others.

A steady lope was his pace

as he move to each side of the trail,

searching for the one that breaks from the pack.

His tracks disappear to the right

as does the injured Deer's.

Tomorrow I will follow their trail,

there seek the rest of the tale...

             May 12, 2014

             

Ask Yourself...

How many pages in a book,
how long does it take
to take a good look?
How long to realize you mistook
rhyme for reason,
the change in weather as a turn of seasons?
Sometimes what you believe in
becomes sand upon the wind...
     Blowing past but never stopping,
bend don't break,
hold on to something.
My eyes sting, my ears ring,
my heart is thumping
in the rhythm of a racer
with always one more hill...
     Unbound but still caged
How long did it take
to get to at least this stage?
It is very slow turning,
this book has heavy pages.
Paper cuts, raw fingers,
fingernail abrasions.
Quick to ask
but slow to learn
when you don't really
want to believe the answer...
March 15, 2014

Can"t be Helped...

Love is not a choice.
it is a gentle voice
whispering,
"this may be the one..."
    A pulling of the heartstrings,
a tugging at the elbow
trying to remind you of  something
perhaps you never knew...
    That all the time spent alone, wandering
pondering; almost somnambulistic
may help the mind, but not the soul,
that despite our need for independence
one needs another to be whole...
    It is not a sign of weakness,
it is not need for control,
it is a desired to believe in someone else,
a belief in another soul...
     And that is how you gain, not lose.
In giving of yourself you choose
to dare to dream,
not plot or scheme,
for love is exactly what it seems
and all else is but the illusions...
                  may 15, 2014