Breathe of Reflection

Image credit: Unsplash by Robin Benad

I once could breathe
wholly and deeply-
because I was outside
myself,
looking in...

Mortal Moments and Morality

"The Seven Deadly Sins" by Pieter Brueghel

Image By Toho at de.wikipedia (Transferred from de.wikipedia) [Public domain], from Wikimedia Commons

Simple moments and kisses

are for stealing

spongy crabby grass, squeaky pool rafts

are for lying

one can cheat at the race of time

by living in the moment

Philosophic inquiry and idle curiosity

never hurt a fly

Logic and Geometry, trapped sticky strings of thought

The Machiavellian webs we weave

Creeps and Opportunist may pray upon the weak

Lay in wait with incorruptible malice

Sin without Pleasure

Pain with no Gain

Acts of immorality

Feats of mortality

sealing ones fate

in the Karmic Realm

of possibilities

where Paradise was lost

but Humanity found

Heavenly bodies

Angels in action

Ghostly haunts

Demonic desire

lines in the sand

glass between toes

shards of time

a trace of what matters

Singeing flesh

blinding light

gut instinct

a Sixth sense

Acrid salty mists

Infiltrating and asphyxiating  

at the end of land and rope

twisted stronger by fate

at the tip of the iceberg

on the verge of reason

Choose to live

Resign in death

paralyzed in fear

suffocating in security

To dare, to taunt

To tempt and tease

Inventing not Alibis

nor concocting Lies;

Fracturing the Tenet

while embracing

in You-

Feeling still-

virtuously Alive.

Bonsai Sequoia

'Foghorn Leghorn' approximately 10 years old, 2 feet tall

A proud hopeful twig,

A mighty little sprig,

reaches, stretches, grasping for sky-light,

drinking the coastal fog and dew from overnight.

Wise wee wooded sapling,

on your branches birds will sing,

and you will carry their tune,

on timber and echoes-yet not so soon.

Longevity like oozes sap, as the blood in ones vein;

through aortic roots, a statuesque feign-

except for the unmistakable air,

climbing higher than one could dare.

Rings notching decades like days,

breathless moments and canopy sways,

fall like whispers, awe around your burly base,

bursting to the Heavens, you continue to race.

Already you have your bark

eager and preparing to make your mark.

You have been called “Giants among Men”

forests and wilderness from way back when…

Thousands of years, all that you've seen,

optimistically each year peeling virgin green.

A giant sequoia, a prehistoric tree,

Sempre virens, stoically notching eternity.

One day little tree, you will go in the ground,

in a place I’ll make sure is safe and sound.

But for now-

I wish I could say how,

I want you to get really BIG-

and show you are no longer a twig!

I do love watching you grow, forgetting how slow;

and despite the fact that I will never really know,

get to breathe your nectar air-or live to see,

just how big you'll really be.

Photo By Ngresonance at en.wikipedia [Public domain], from Wikimedia Commons

Filling the Quota

She Lifted Up Her Wings by Michael Kinchloe on 500px

“Every day one should at least hear one little song, read one good poem, see one fine painting and -- if at all possible -- speak a few sensible words.” 
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Sol Amour

Image By Svendsgaard Kurt, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Sol Amour

To see the sun rise

is to be whispered a vast secret

To feel the radiant heat

prickle your skin

To witness a dawn

is to know what love feels like

The light and energy building

being in love

walking on air

on a vibrant sunny day

Long afternoons

that stretch beyond the horizon

last like lingering kisses

sweet savory notes of birds singing

inaudible but buoyant butterflies dance

in shadows cast for two

in that commodious vacant space

dynamic dark of self

progressively moving away

unstoppable orbit

steals the day

and fades

in a lovely way

leaving just traces the glow

embers which keep and know

of that now rusty glow

golden moments of time

fleeting past

turning to cold and blue

shoulders chill

waning like our solemn moon

in a magically unfamiliar

lingering evening way

eventually accepting

the simple phase

of love

and position of the sun.

Changing of the guard

Image by Francis Barlow [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons-"Wolf in Sheep's Clothing"

In the mid of night

the house breathed.

Thick with rattled windows-

anxiety like shadows,

stale rooms heavy, dense-

                                    and then it began.

Rolling down the street,

wolves roam in the ally

the howling chorus rises,

under sheepskin blankets.

Rapping on walls,

                                    whispering through the cracks.

Rattling cages,

trembling fingers

on passive leaves.

Branches snap-

the final straw drawn, is it over,

                                   the weak have fallen.

Calculating the after-math,

identify the drifter in the dark,

a faceless fictive fright,

who mocks the meticulous gardener,

who taunts and terrifies the innocent children, 

                                    who are anxiously counting sheep.

Do you?

Do You?

A loaded question
Ready, aim, fire
Do you
see
the way I feel
narrow and naked
Sometimes I know
the answer
Do you
feel
the spark, a jolt, twinge of pang
flammable sin
why
I do not ask
Do you
hear
the silent ballet of words
orchestrating a mood
leading, building, painting the scene
Do you
notice
an accidental lingering touch
Do you
know
I know
without ever asking
and still, like an echo
I wonder if
you do?

Image By Meyer, Johann Georg, 1813-1886 (artist); L. Prang & Co. (publisher) (Flickr: The Love Token) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.