green light

Now

each decision

a-way, option

verb tension-

The signs were all re(a)d.

Painting by Edward Mitchell Bannister, c. 1882 in [Public domain].

Peace(s)

Crumbled
into randomized fragments
of pointed feeling
the blunted parts
have no meaning
anymore-aligned-
once was whole

Fumbled
for something solid
like nerve
and trembled when I touched
down and felt myself
holding air

-There-
I stumbled
on steep logic, up
alps of apprehension
cast-over-shadow scintillant

Humbled and haggard,
I mumble in awe...
Matter moves (us)
to make a sign.




Image stained glass window, All Saints By Poliphilo (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons. 

Pequeño Sueño

Like waking...
When the material world
flashes its things, solid as snapshots;
clock, window, truck, cat, plumbing,
stretch toes, sigh deeply, lay, sheets,
sweat, stir. It comes. Solid. Heavy and Material.
You've fallen awake. In the thick of It.
Exit bed, feet float, glide along, smooth tile
and enter your dream…world.
The motions-you move through-
seeking any signs of a new day.
Yes, this is all too familiar.
Here you are again.
And then you realize, rationalize;
a dream is to pretend. I pretend
Practicing the motions
with a lingering notion
nothing you do is new.
All that you think and say
was there before you.
This is no nightmare, but awakening
is scary. It is your secret
when you weep-while you smile.
Playing your part, stage set,
cast into type, lost into words
you've memorized
but have no idea
how they got there
and seem suddenly, today

something new,
or just acted out

by the other 

dreaming You...

Composed 12/3/15
Image of painting by József Borsos, The Artists Dream (The Little Painter), 1851 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A Charming Third Time

She reached out, compelled
to place her hand on the spinning wheel.
She trembled toward the blur,
despite the risk, she was unable to resist.

She stopped it on an arrow
whose two points of infinity
changed direction in the light,
no two rays the same color.

She drew back and it spun again
wildly as if it had never stopped.
She noticed the colors blending
but never overlapping the white between.

She looked around to see if anyone else
saw, or had seen the giant wheel
before her, spinning on its own accord
humming in its smooth momentum.

Alone and reckless,
she tried to touch it again,
this time to only grab the blue
but landed her hand on an arrow.

She knew the symbols well,
circles, arrows, points of interest, color codes
but could not decipher the definitions-
clearly, each stood for something.

She watched its speed grow
the longer she waited to ask again,
the more dangerous the choices became
even though they always stayed the same.

She closed her eyes and flung her weight
toward the wheel, groping for anything solid
finding herself on an arrow
not knowing how to hold on, she let go.

She watched the wheel whirl,
murmuring about momentum.
She heard one of the 64 arrows
call her name and whisper, The Way.



Image By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons. East of the Sun West of the Moon, 1922.