Shifts

Today
I will
write
paint, read and make marks
in space
empty of purpose.

Tonight
I may
Sleep
In trust
A soul
Is given another wake.

Painting by Rogier van der Weyden [Public domain], 'Saint Luke drawing the Virgin',  c. 1435 in Public Domain. 

An other day

On the other side,

walking atop this Spring earth

we get carried away,

some say Fall.

The light frays, either way,

shards of stars squeeze their sharp way

through black sand, latticed like a shell.

We often think of castles

in our alabaster grandeur, with adobe esteem

and admiration for the deep moat we have made.

Closer today.

The water reflects her
forbidden territories. 

Painting by Antônio Rafael Pinto Bandeira (1891) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Sharp Nows

They lived and died this way
worried all the while
about living right
and terrified of dying
and yet full motions
are always only temporary.

Just like thoughts
are born and die too soon...
So they too dreamt the night away
where nobody could say
it was impossible.

Living for today, they say,
be in the moment,
where you are contained
and less than aware
of faces, that look-
like yours.



Image by Howard Pyle (1888), [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

When you said When

I thought when you said tomorrow
                          you meant today
when today you said yesterday and
                          yesterday it was tomorrow-
tomorrow will it be today
                          or yesterday-
Either way-
Yesterday's tomorrow
of course meant Today-
So, tomorrow then.
I will plan yesterday
as though it led to-
to-day-too-
late,
there's always
more tomorrow(s)
if we count
today
anyway.
Someday I will
have to say some-thing,
have some-thing
to say-
tomorrow, only
a today away.




Image of painting by Jan Matsys, At the Tax Collector (1539), [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Times tourniquet

Last week
I had it all
under control.

Last month
I was excited
about the Future.

Last year
I couldn't wait
to be where I am
Today
yet
I cannot say
it right.

Tomorrow will Be
too much
all over again
and then
another
Year
I fear
of ending up
right
Here.

Image of painting by Hans Holbein the Younger (1497/1498–1543) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.