This arc, this life, in tempest,
calls to intersecting points of soul,
embracing love for focal point
yet claiming just one point to hold.
In glancing time and calculus
by gravity bound, inertia stays
to bend our lives through space and time,
to bend our love and minds in ways
that mathematics can’t resolve,
physics can’t portray, define.
Yet souls alive through living draw
the force of love in lines.
Category Archives: Perpective
This arc, this life, in tempest,
uncalled and ne’er a reason why –
comes at moment’s dusk like this,
from silent wood and throbbing sky.
As if it’s called from aging flesh,
greying beard and fading eye.
I feel it so wash o’er me,
that in return I grant a sigh –
to acknowledge day’s escaping,
to ponder on the dreams un-won,
to toast in silent reverie
the man I’ve so become.
A walk amidst the burg tonight
has left a resonant echoed peace
where summer’s hold enjoys the grasp
of July in sweet release.
A distant thunder calls a storm
to pause at foothill’s knee,
defending dusk’s cool silence
and holding calm in every tree.
Avian life so perched in rest
does kindly call a day’s end tune,
begs the children home to nest
with arias sung to bring them soon.
A hush denies the silence,
stilled to only quaking leaves
which stir by some unnoticed breath
that comes in quiet sighs and heaves.
Porch by porch the dusk finds light
as neighbors settle in,
drawing down this fleeting dusk
enough to know this day’s at end.
A distant barking dog,
the laughter of two passersby,
a blue-jay’s call, a robin’s song,
thereby this evening’s peace decried.
Between the trees in shadows
a rush of swallows play fast toward home,
from tree to tree they call and sing,
sweep this fleeting light alone.
Every moment holds its own,
a shadowed thrum of life,
called in subtle mastery
in a peace denied of living’s strife.
Here this peace is brought to me,
from distant storm and play above,
that I through blessings counted
know the truth of God’s sweet love.
Such soul exposed through smiling eyes,
such depth of love to feel,
draws the heart to knowing that
in God we’re one, we’re real.
Tied to common ether,
bound to common cause,
yet separate paths do guide us,
that through our steps we pause –
grow ego to our selfish state,
refuse to hear the core’s return,
live a life of striving
that not till late we learn
that we are but universal,
spirits in the flesh,
our lives are just transversal
arcs of what we’re meant to learn and catch.
Yet eyes are tied to soulful depths
where truth of what we are is shown,
thus, to us and then from us,
it is our love that’s known.
I see the world around me,
I smile in sweet relief,
that knowing who these souls are
brings my eyes to sparkle deep.
I feel their energy take me,
as I capture fleeting thoughts
of my brother’s eyes and kindest smile
as if by him I’m taught.
I reflect then on my mother
and her loving eyes and caring,
till moved, I feel I must do more,
more I should be sharing
with those who need it most,
with those who long for kindest eyes,
and so reflect from both of them
in smiles to my passersby.
I brought this on myself I know…
I begged the shadow from its depths, I held my ground to stand there, yet you crushed the heart I brought to show – you dragged me through your hatred, slow to speak, no talk, just blame, then compromise!? complicity!? Your ire carried simplicity as it fueled and fanned your angry flame, ashing out the torrid same – and again “I broke your heart”, you said. Yet how could I? For you I bled, yet you my love refused in kind! I’m blind!
I don’t know, but I brought this on myself…
So slow, this time away I walked, the city blackened itself to grey across its stoic cold. I hid my pain behind my hair, I cried for rain, a chance to bear the heavy weight upon my chest. My heart in pounding life, seemed death!
… then I heard the thunder, my anguish torn asunder, as loving rain my teardrops fed.
Upon the curb, collapsed in heap, my sobbing breath in gasps did weep, and there I stayed what seemed eternal. My ache and shutter denied this vernal granting gift of rain – yet slowly quelled my pain…
For as all life does push us on, I sat till every teardrop gone, oblivious to the world around, but close to soul and close to ground, I came to know I’d be all right. For this wasn’t love… and to the pending night
I brought this on myself, I’ve learned.
photography by Leanne Cole
Enraptured in this summer’s slow
I walk the neighborhood’s quiet streets,
as all the subtle sights I know
stand poised where sun and dusk do meet.
The work day’s done, yet daylight clings,
but denies a shadow with dusk in sight,
holds time in quiet gratitude
and grants the gift of a summer’s night.
The air is still, the streets lay quiet,
my footsteps slow and measured,
sweet scent of lawns just cut and trimmed
enhance this moment’s treasure.
Children in the park fulfill
their dreams through baseball’s pastime,
while sprinklers on the schoolyard grounds
set the rhythm of this rhyme.
A dog’s bark echoes through this mix
of summer’s fullest ether,
as all these moments conspire to this,
a summer’s slow still sweeter.
As I walk the sidewalk cracks,
my memory carries me to summers past,
where at this moment Mom would call
and I’d run home to plead a last
few minutes time to run and play,
to feel the summer’s dusk roll in,
to laugh with friends until the night
had called us all to home again.
I recall my Uncle’s ancient house
on ancient narrow streets,
where it seemed all time stood still
at this summer’s slow stretched through the heat
and through the call of katydids
on streets named Maple, Elm and Oak –
with Dad and him on the steps I’d sit
while they drew it in through cigar smoke.
This summer’s slow brings gratitude
for days and years and life gone by,
and blesses quiet solitude
in a simple walk and opened eye –
so grants me gifts I can’t deny,
in a magic I give thanks for.
Dare to stand between the lines
of metered meaning rhyme,
that space between the pen and page,
in infinitesimal time
where image conjured draws a slow
distortion through the space to think,
and forms another angled truth
before the page is wet with ink.
Dare to chance the rhythm’d flash
that grows in instant, yet’s quickly passed
to roll beyond the comma’s stay,
there bend the meaning of every lay.
Dare to let subconscious reign
when guided by a sweet refrain,
leave the moment fading fast
where each pen stroke might change the cast
of what you really want to say,
of what you thought so purposed,
so spent in dancing pen at play
brings only soul to surface.
Dare to watch the pen ignite
its personality won,
you think you writer, but that’s not quite
what happens when the pen stroke’s done.
Dare to set emotion free
through meditative spirit,
guide what’s written but let it be,
that as it’s written, heart it!
Dare to synch your worldly thoughts
with living ink and pen,
don’t think, don’t count or hesitate
just let the ether in.
Dare to open window frames
and push your head beyond,
listen in the whispers there
and let the page take such ink on.
Dare to write what comes to you,
what flows through ink to page –
find immutable spirit there,
and free it from its cage!