Chalk

Green, oh so serene,
            awash in heart
and yellow glow,
            gentle evening strength
And absorb
            the black smoke
and fireballs like shooting stars
             hurled in my direction
observing
             the energy, only-
I scoff-a slip-and then correct
my posture-composure-and breath
                   from inside the top of my
skull, I wait,
                   presently
for revelation
                    to show
nothing is real
but the indigo
                    I know.


Photo credited by Ross Burgener 2013 [Public domain].

Greening

Green horses
are aptly named.
Even I wanted to leave
the pasture
for that verdant expanse
beckoning through
the fence.
I could see the meadow flowers,
the sun stretching its arms
in arrays
of energy,
a warmth I was drawn
toward.

And yet bask
on the soft earth I have stood
atop so much time,
admiring a glint, leaning on
the weather-beaten stall wall
as if support should have so many
splinters.

After all,
longing is a look
that is eventually met
with a reflective surface,
like the well, green
also.

I thirst when I see the silhouette
of horses leaning against the sky
knowing I have much to learn
from that which is unbroken
and such.




Image by Bethany Legg bkotynski, taken 11/2014 [CC0].

Growth

The poet steps away from the poem(s)
but feels
the groundwater trickle
nourishing the green.




Painting By Fyodor Vasilyev (1850—1873) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

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.

Elevation in feet

From those dark mountain valleys etching destiny

like palm lines

We conjure up rain and ropes,

tethering our dreams to vibrant green acres of horizon

radiating our perspectives of

voluminous bubbling energies under

entropic skies

over there.

If only

we had more energy,

if only

more time...

We would make it up

and over and climb higher to see

what is

over the top,

finally.

The other side

is sleep.

Painting by Winslow Homer, In the mountains, 1877, in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Bountiful ball

The harvest moon is up
and my stomach does not growl.
There is churning in the earth,
the reaper is due-

But none look when he arrives.

There is the usual warm glow
where a sinister mood once brewed.

Alas, there is no warmth or desire-
I am no longer hungry.
The moon goes on along
shining orange and strong...

at least the grass is getting greener.

Drought & doubt (Haiku)

Greening of the grass-
fruitless as the conifer,
ripe for a reason.



Photo By Rosendahl [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Limits of Infinite Green

Serene, you say

and touch upon

your spinning wheel

earthly orb round aglow

with yellows 

the arrow shows

blues and all its complimenting

hues of pure and azure

blending in

I do not know

as far as colors go,

what on earth you mean

when you say green...

olive

raw

new

wild

moldy

lush

envy

nausea

verdant

toads

vomit

cashola

chlorophyll

dragons
aliens

pesto

eco-friendly

army

grass

gems

under a green light

asking me to go,

rejected and moving on

a blur, recycled back into

the landscape accepting all

applications of green and

its basic redundancies, likeness

bordering on biopic multiplicity.

Composed 11/3/15.
Image by Vincent van Gogh, Green Field (1889), [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Times are a changin'

It's high time
climate change be seen NOT
as a problem of neglected ecology,
but of maligned chronology-NO-
that's the result,
the problem is this;
We equate ice cubes melting in water,
which creates displacement, a delusion,
with polar ice caps melting in the ocean,
which destabilizes our centripetal inertia.
The top no longer spins the same.
The bottom not quite pinned in place.
Reliable gravity keeps it all nailed down,
sucked in our atmospheric skin.
Astronauts must drink with straws.
I'm no rocket scientist, but I KNOW
plastic bags are not melting the ice caps.
That's just hot air, toxic agitprop gas.
Some Scientists and Astrophysicists,
have hypothesized;
a gravitational shift of gears
to centrifugal velocity,
changing the years.
Do you know what that means?
It's heavy.
When science finally solves the riddle,
they'll find that Time has slipped away-
while the plates pushed ahead,
volcanoes plumed and spewed,
major quakes are cued,
and the floods pour in,
then the aftermath...
Adding up the data (to date), the evidence shows
a climate change, (yet evidently no one knows)
whether the change in weather
is a climactic conundrum
for environmentalists and green thumbs,
for horticulture or a culture of horology...
What we would do if today's date is no longer true?
It's now May 48th, in the year 2032.
I thought you knew, Time was never True.

Composed 6/2/15.

Image by NASA taken 4/20/2013, Saunders Island, Greenland, Baffin Bay.