Prey animal

Riding horses is just nuts and bolts,

you know

if the rider is nuts, the horse bolts. 

it's true.

He knew I loved horses

from the start.

As old as time,

Human with beast,

Human with Nature.

Perhaps animals are so content 

because they don't fight their own lives.

Accepting everything 

In a sense

as is.

The slightest shift of weight

changes the direction.

Intention 

is the lead.

In the end,

maybe it was that 

and not the snake in the bushes,

the elephant in the room,

what hides in plain sight,

what appears intimidating.

Analogy or metaphor

for or against

more or less,

supposedly a poem 

can be both or either...

Fight or Flight-

An awareness that carried us. 

Painting by Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida (1863-1923) 'The Horse’s Bath' c. 1909 in Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons. 

Allostasis

We know that the plastic

takes longer to melt 

as it ages.

slows down-

while perceptive time speeds

up.

Neuroplasticity.

Five years ago, three lifetimes ago

I left that forever life

not before 

taking out the trash,

working for the business

we once owned

and relenting to

sex. Letting go.

Fluid intelligence.

We are not given

more than we can handle

so we carry as much as we can

and drop the rest.

Feeling lighter

we ascend and break

anchors.

Humbition.

The titles, the names, the

labels change

while the contents increase

wisdom.

Hindsight is no longer than foresight.

Intuition allows the

miraculous presence.

Here you are. 

Serendipity.

Momentum contains

moments

necessary

to move on

our life line of

arcs and electricity, current chi,

grounded in this

identity.

The ends feel like beginnings,

there is only one

first time

and many lasts.

Where would we be

without memory

of where we have been.

Karma.

Artwork credit: 'Woman sifting' by François-Alfred Delobbe (1835-1920), in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Right or Left

What can be said about War and Peace

that has not been 

proposed

outside of either 

wedlock-

Or must we choose sides,

such as above or below,

better than, worse than

History-

Have we learned

details, science, faith-

what can be known

from ones experience-

Does wisdom teach 

or listen

or climb

circumstantial scaffolding-

Does unfolding end with

unraveling

undoing

chaos

and atrophy

is that peace-

or pieces 

of ashen passion-

And what we loved

universally

was the desire

for either 

or-

hanging by a thread

that became a noose-

And then, there were no words

after

death do us part

ways...

Artwork by Ilya Repin (1844-1930), 'Barge Haulers on the Volga' c 1870 Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons. 

Drizzle

The muse has been muted

while we are both listening

for some reason-

we have both observed;

Profound is not discovery, 

Epiphany is no certain 

understanding-

A stumble or stall may not be accidental at all...

Just as falling drizzle drenches without a drop

so too does silence deafen without a note

left, 

in absence-

There is room for us both

to wonder, to ponder,

what comes next

reason or rhyme,

a poets musing

or the muse leaving a poem

somewhere

in this thin air...

Artwork by Richard Bergh (1858-1919), 'After the sitting' c. 1884 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

White

Unopened mail on the counter,

a meal half eaten

sits on the table,

fork frozen in position

of the last bite.

A world abandoned

mid-sentence,

poems left unfinished.

Stuff collected, acquired

through toil

deserted and gathering dust.

Natural disaster,

a miracle...

Survival clothed only 

in freedom.

This is how endings

begin.

There is an empty room

warmed only by

a fevered body,

thankful for clear breath-

sunlight pushing through

the weary and spent rage

of storm.

Nothing more.

Nothing less. 

Artwork by Kazimir Malevich, 'White on white' c. 1918 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Justice

It is only with calloused hands

that the heavy body

can claw and leverage the self

upward on the thorny vine

of a life

without wince and whine

ascending to reach the fruit or bloom

the famished soul craves.

Strength is only followed by ache

and ease meets us 

like the close breeze of angel wings

when we are certainly alone

to endure 

and prevail despite difficulties,

in spite of opportunities.

Facing this,

finding a certain grace

that heals

and feels

righteous-

just us. 

Artwork by Fyodor Bruni, 1820s or 1830s, 'A boy climbing the rock' (drawing for "Brazen Serpent" via Wikimedia Commons, in Public Domain. 

Feather weather

Before I arose

the tangerine sunrise

squeezed its citrus air

through my bedroom window

dripping fresh pulpy nectar 

of a new day onto the corners of my mouth.

A small smile and burst of delicious 

opportunity as wide as the opening sky

filled my treetop nesting place, 

I stretched, feeling light as this crisp air

where wings unfurled 

and carried my delicate body

across the sparkling dew laden fields

light as a feather.

Artwork credit: 'The violet fairy book' (1906), Henry Justice (1860-1941) Internet Archive Book Images, No restrictions, via Wikimedia Commons.