Pro Noun

When it is said

Something told me

Something made me

I sensed something-

where is the body

of the thing

that sometimes

does not resemble

Us

Like things

that feel or don't feel

Right?

Aren't we feeling

Some

Thing...

Artwork by Robert Lewis Reid, 'The Mirror' c. 1910 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

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.

O' Frosty Well Wisher

On a crisp October morning
                                pondering
For Once, then something,
                                and walking up to the
Well
knowing-this space of Sunday-
                                light like water
can be contained
in a soul cup.

A leaf
          Bob's on top, floats,
ripples rile his rite to disillusionment to-
day,
the way
some seek these shimmering somethings-
Although, as the pessimist already knows
the echoes
                                 signal emptiness,
or
depth
perception.

When he peers down
                                 beyond superficial self-reflection
he alone wonders
why water doesn't wait
                                 for focus
or stand as straight as a
Wall.

On Frost,
with the-
               well,
                        frozen over,
whispering whiteness wonders
when it will all become clear again,
For once,
then nothing
                    but wishes taken for granite
reliable as a wall.




This poem was inspired by and in conversation with the poem by Robert Frost titled, For Once then something.

Image credit By Syed Usman Ali (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.