Vessel

There is nothing about
a something of which
nothing can be said.

So each support beam gave way,
broke hold, splintered in the grooves-
except for this one,
strong enough to grab ahold
of a pen,
despite the fear of failure
or plain truth.

Enough is enough.
We all get fed up.
And then are left to pick up
where we left off-
our stuff, the baggage, the mess
we left when it all went wrong
when we turned away.

When the pillars piled up
we were promised
the worst was over.

Nothing is over.

Levitation is indecision.

There are times we feel the time
tap our skin, seconds like rain,
and this time I felt like screaming
so I did,
only sunshine poured in when I opened
my mouth
and the light flooded the empty body
reminding me
to stay afloat.



Photograph of the Ruins of the Aduana in Intramuros (Red marquis at English Wikipedia) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons, taken 2012.

Less is More, More or Less

There have been difficult times
I knew the right thing to say
and I honestly don't know how I knew
the exact words to highlight what had been hidden.
There have been less
trying times, I said
                 Nothing
not knowing right from wrong.
Between these
Ends
all the good times evade precise
meaning
over
time
the bad days try to remind us
how easily opinions change in the sun.
The only words left
spaces between.

Painting by Edward Robert Hughes [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Biting the breeze back

That wicked wintry wind
sere-cut through
blew ants inside
made windows whine
slammed doors
and cause cupboards to swell
cold as-

Ruffles-too nice
a term to use for what it does
to the leaves and hips of trees-
raucous a more apropos word
in a nutshell...

Nothing gets done
and it liberally spreads crumbs
for anxiety to expound and nibble upon
and dwell on and on it seems-

I have not slept in years
I have no fears
I can spell.

And there is the calendar
-blowing me off
in the distance;
this instance the breeze takes all
the breathable air,
despite the futile grasps
at straw structures
-Nothing-comes
together in this weather
I yell.



Painting by John Everett Millais, 'Blow, blow thou winter wind' (1892) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Upping the Anti-cipation

Something was supposed to happen today

-yet didn't

I was ready for the news

-yet wasn't

prepared for the magnitude of the mundane

-yet mustn't

fret over the idle moment that moves in

-yet wouldn't mind

staying and waiting with me

-yet I couldn't

stand my own company, so I cancelled

our future plans

since I did not want to wait around until

the end

only to find

Something not supposed to be

(for me)

-yet nothing did

Significant-

(ly).

Composed 1/7/16.
Image of painting By Pascual Carlos Esteban (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Nowhere near

Sometimes I catch a glimpse
but it vaporizes before I can show
or understand
what I am seeing
And then I know, with certainty
what shall not be muttered
tastes much sweeter.

I muse on such savory moments
when I know I see
but cannot show
licking lips, in a daze

These are not secrets, No!
There for All to notice
particularly
some note just for You

Alone with these notions
all absorbed in Nothing
I present Myself
Outside
sensing atmosphere
Playing the game of

“I was Here.”

Image of painting by Arthur Wesley Dow [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, The Derelict(Lost Boat), 1916.

What's More (Haiku)

Nadir-ly nothing

lies-among the ruins

utter solitude.

Image by Charles Soulier [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, taken May, 1871: Soulier's photograph shows the charred remains of the once lavish audience hall of the Council of State in the Palais d'Orsay, a building begun by Napoleon I, completed in 1840 under King Louis-Philippe, and burned by the Communards on May 23, 1871. In the last years of the nineteenth century, these ruins were replaced by a new railway station, the Gare d'Orsay, which, in turn, was transformed in the 1980s into the Musée d'Orsay, the French national museum for art made between 1848 and 1914.