Showing posts with label fence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fence. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 26, 2019

Greener grasses



Pre-fixed upon how
the rooster breaks his silence
atop a fence post.



Painting by Ada Thilen (1852-1933) 'Rooster and chicken', in [Public domain].

Friday, July 21, 2017

Chlorophyll-ed


I am as incomprehensible as the granite
underfoot as I stand on the fence,
teetering on the post tops,
scrambling across the jagged riprap,
lava on my left,
ice on the right
wondering if I will ever touch down
and it will be enough.

Sometimes, I lean I little too much to one side
and become painfully aware of needles stabbing my cheeks,
and of the physical struggle I wage
against gravity and giving in to the wind.

My eyes hold a glare, grazing across seas of green,
hungry, nauseous.
I remain the thing that sticks out.
I pretend I can hold my composure.
I pretend I am mending, securing and building
back up
the differences between sight and seen, observed and obscure,
between then and now, overhead and right under the soles
heat rises.
The sky blended primaries and found 555 nanometres
restful to the eye. It was a gift in lieu of fight or flight.

A boulder in space time adds up,
this occupies me
for a time
as if I was getting somewhere.



Photo credit By Sonja1982 (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Saturday, January 9, 2016

Sponge Rob and Kitty Pants


From the East, golden light pours out over the
sleepy soppy treetops.
The raw fence slats all smoke in the sultry sun
after a rough night of being naked and exposed,
unstained as of Yet.
Loitering lumberly after the storm,
the weathering of wrinkled wood
lining up swollen.

The injured cat laps the rays up
like this warm milk from my fingertip.
He has been hurt again,
he is healing in the soft morning sun,
and smiles like Buddha or Krishna,
with milk on his chin.

The topaz sky looks newly buffed
and polished, it holds no dark veins today.
Offering up another chance
to dry out and soak it all in a day.
Porous (Poor us), all stormy moods have been washed
away, now suede-ing softly

in the strong dawn honeyed sun.



Image By Photos Public Domain [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

And then...

  Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign,  at first...