“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label routine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label routine. Show all posts
Monday, November 27, 2017
Round the bend
At this time
change felt like the fog rolling in
and when driving into the road mirage
and not hitting a thing-
in a blur that stranges the familiar,
stretches out time a little
like a band,
rubber or air-the change
lingered heavier than mist,
more solid than virga,
icy in all the same clear ways that
when you try to cut it out
from what was always
called Now I am-
like routine and rut,
running along the edges fray,
more than decor, drapery, or flax
like flux, anticipated
or a natural change
of season.
It could have been
Only that-
At this time,
comforts naked shoulder
cooled in the exposure,
where same,
felt somehow strange
like never before.
Image credit By U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Saturday, October 29, 2016
Our Lady Alexandria
What feels like Now is never heavy enough
to last longer than a Sunday.
Idle times like June, we tend to wander too far,
it takes august
to bring us back to routine.
Presently, reading.
Presently writing
Then and Now lying in front of me,
blurred by biography autonomously-
whose voice is lost in the amplified volume
of imposition
whose own prosaic tome is never true or tight enough
to carry the note all the way,
to cut the final folio, to fill the flyleaves.
More memory appalls dead weight
one will carry to the cemetery, nary a soul should know
Those things, flammable flashbacks attack hard back, unhinged
in carnation
in damnation
in citation,
My cover slowly singing, smoldering as I am oldering,
lighter
Now (transparent)
on paper backs.
Saturday, December 26, 2015
Ritually Custom
'Tis a sensuous tribute to Time
that we caress the Moment,
knowing it curves and gestures
that sink into warm familiar coves,
sucking in all its nectar
as newly brewed.
Again, more, and a gain!
Let us do the steps-
in orderly,
walk with me, mirroring see,
strut through it
then and again
like it is your old house.
Right now,
exactly like it was
when you remembered what
you came here for.
Tho never was it
the same, all most
re-placed.
Like last Time
bittersweet lingers not long
enough.
Like seasons and seconds,
more tradition and Time
to do the same.
Plump predictions and ripe fruitions
bursting with Now
smelling like Then
we recognize This
time
as the Rite Time
to harvest
a gain.
Image By Mennonite Church USA Archives (1975 St Catherines Tradition Poster) [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Half-dozen Mud cakes
Back to wood decks, quarter-size spiders, webs, moss and creatures stirring in the hollow nights Back to no side-walks and skirting into th...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
I have served between eight and twenty-five thousand meals for my family, I make coffee for them more than once per day, equatin...
-
Lies About Love by D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930) We are all liars, because the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow, wherea...