Moving her lips

Distracted by a flicker, brutishly I burrowed

under the thickset arboreal pathway, forward through,

not needing a Virgil

Whereby, I found myself subdued and lowered

my angel body, knelt upon the gathering scrag,

with knees upon the well curb, my two soles

Watching my back, I feel the frosty shade

Safer now, I may close my shamed eyes

And I know why others have come too.

I reach right into my hip pocket,

making a tiny discomfit chime,

half-expecting the birds to flap.

I take out the three pennies

used for the i-Ching,

fingering the Nineteen eighty-four first,

it sits in the color of old adobe

streaked in rain grime.

I toss it into the blackness that is not

Empty nor dry

and I wait, waiting, listening, breathing,

hearing nothing...

The next one picks up the red in the sun and

glows facing its prospect of good conduct-

Two thousand and one

sided History, the honest man does not smile

I let it go as impersonal,

It falls quickly

I lean in

this time

and I don’t hear it hit

gulping back it was swallowed hole.

I never wished.

The last one left, I save for a

second thought, more

about splashless wishes

for Change.


Painting by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Water worlds for (Haiku)

terraqueous bliss
bonded biochemical
witness change in THIS



Painting by Ernst Josephson [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A bird in the bushes

That sudden moment you realize

in full color,

Everything has changed

dramatically-

As though the view had become slightly altered

-say some trees missing over there-

the skyline is as good a place to start

against which the details are sharp-est

most vivid.

This was the moment

that would be marked

the point of divergence,

a terrain change

ahead.

All is

unforgiving in this light.

I said up and above, bellowing

over heals past keeping pace and you race

to keep flying

toward this shiny chromatic destiny as if it were all the same-

to you,

estranged.

This very moment remains

coveted yet-

unchanged by the bumps and bruises,

fallen limbs and

sin,

regardless

of it always being just

this way.

Image of artwork By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.

Homelessness

It is an ordinary thing:
a baby looking over the shoulder,
a child transfixed,
because they sense mother-ness or homeliness
I guess.

Then the cats,
the felines that follow
nearly silently,
like the prowling puma in the wilderness
they all watch back from the bush-
paw prints have proven this-
And then the ways skittish strays
locate
remembering how to purr...

Nary a soul sees the magic in these,
except
the extraordinary poet
who thinks one blink, and it could all
change.



Photo Credit © CEphoto, Uwe Aranas / ,via Wikimedia Commons at (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bangkok_Thailand_Stray-cat-in-Wat-Hua-Lamphong-01.jpg)

Fence-lines

The grey fence
leans sleepishly against the morning fog
that lay dew upon the field
which will turn into pixie dust
as the plain rolls into the suns warm gaze.

Before the birds
muster a lilt to try;
the sound of swimming
between tidal flows of atmosphere
immersed, they listen to the mist.

A dappled doe blinks its black eyes
rapidly twitching its ears
seeking the source of the crunch
by the hare munching greens for breakfast,
whose nose twitches up
at the white whir of a hurried wind

chalking up the slate of new day.
A heavy scream shatters the stillness
as the birds scatter in spider cracks
folded inside, the echo
doesn't bother coming back.

What was here
always moving on.



Photograph by © Dietmar Rabich, rabich.de [CC BY-SA 4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0), CC BY-SA 3.0 de (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/de/deed.en) or CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.

Power-saver mode

I need a volta
the current
situation is shorting
my fulfillment
and stunting my growth

and a volta would do the trick
and a volta sounds like a charge
and a volta would be shocking
to the system

A volta is what I need
to insert into my life, poetry, right
-Here-
left justified
and
Now-
About us...

After all the loves I've met
it is you I regret
letting plug into me
sapping my signal strength
sucking my juice dry

filling up your,
well,
wishes and kisses
are for children who have it all
in potential

conservation comes
in steady waves
don't save yourself,
do something else
shocking
or nothing at all
shutting down...



Image By George Eastman House [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons, Electric lightbulb patents. 

River rocks

The strangest thing about change

is You

who won't move.

Rivers start from a spring-

a need to move

Onward.

Convinced in mossy stoicism,

the rocks jump in

to gather ground.

Bubbling in the hustle,

eddying around,

resisting the rush-

You are the smooth stone.

Let it go.

Image By Rhodington (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Shoulda, Woulda, and Coulda

Shoulda, Woulda and Coulda*

Shoulda, Woulda and Coulda often complain

             while riding aboard the dinghy named "Fret"

Tangled in knotted refrain and regret

             avoiding the rip current of Change, the rudder is set

"Why not? What could go wrong? What is there to fear?"

             -are not the questions the three dared ask 

Then crewmates, Maybe and Might, forecast the outcome is unclear

             when bravely charting unknown water. And advised, ‘Leave doubt   

             in your wake when what you already knew the right way.’

As a Shoulda,

             Woulda

              or a Coulda, undoubtedly decided against, anyway.

Doubt and Worry pacing swab the deck,

              they claim its always slippery

Advising all to watch their step!

              This soggy pair prefers to predict catastrophes

Neither of these two will ever see past their four soggy feet

              To see some parts are already dry.

              "Not to fear, we've already been here! It's just like deja-vu!"

              "Pirates prosper by fear!"

But these words were gibberishly unclear and did not adhere

               to Shoulda

               Woulda

                and Coulda, trying to avoid their fretted fates.

Shipwrecked again off the Sea of Regret,

                moored in the ebb of murky vacillation

The lull of consistency, and eerie calm of sunset

                 foreseeable outcomes; one man's island destination

Lo’ on the horizon-a glimmer of light, a sparkling sight

                  a beacon, a bright idea, that maybe, might just be

                  up ahead, not so far, where the future is blinding bright,

                  past the buried benthic and what they Coulda not see, turbidity

                  and Shoulda done with what they Woulda had,  passed the possibility...

Shoulda and Woulda just missed a chance-

                  Coulda did nothing but complain

"What good is trying anyway-the path ahead is just happenstance"

                  So these three, bravery thieves, confidence takers,

                  deal breakers,

                  adventurous fakers,

                  remorse makers,

Coulda not comprehend, nor

Woulda they try to even extend

                   a helping hand to assist another

                   while occupied in their druthers,

and Shoulda patched the holes or learn how to swim.

*This poem was inspired by Eugene Field's poem "Wynken, Blynken and Nod". 
*Image of painting (oil) by Maxfield Parrish, 1902, "Wyken, Blynken and Nod"; [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.