Sol Ascent

Learning is a peak, 

an ascending effort to change the view

expansive and panoramic, uncontained

by what is beyond being seen

from where you stand.

Discovery starts as a reaching sapling 

rewarded for breaking through the mire

by having its roots wrenched with envy,

a weed nestled in the woods

for resting, not reminding. 

Education is an island destination,

whose currents carved defenses

guarded by volcanic concepts,

corralling massive schools

in warm biodiverse cesspools.

Knowing is weather, temporal conditions

the subject of changing you, today

being prepared for the unpredictable;

knowledge wields power like a lever,

breaking in or out, the damage is done.

All the while we keep seeking

views we would rather lose,

the forest for its functionality,

learning the leaves, one believes

knowledge is a plucked flower.

All in reliance upon the Sun

whose punctured question 

marks the sky, answering all 

wisdom reaps its reward 

in the warm gift of a lonely smile. 

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

 

Where are we going today?

Summer blues come in many hues,
               but a simple walk around the block,
can do more than just change your attitude,
                it tends to bloom happy rays of gratitude.

So, today I'll help make you beautiful,
            we will start outside
and work our way in.

This perfect summer's day,
             in that lackadaisical sauntering way,
we'll explore something new,
             at least it will be to you.

A simple stroll,
             exercise for the soul,
meandering our mind,
             as we wind through worded streams,
along wild city paths,
             overgrown with order.
You kindly asked what else was new-
            I promised to show you-

It had always been there-
            whether we were walking and talking-
or not even watching, while it waited-
            patiently for us to notice anyway
it still grew out of nowhere,
always on display, for days like today.

On a well worn path,
            footsteps all blended in one heel,
vaguely stamping all,
           or nothing in front of us,
around the bend,
            not knowing what lies,
right in front of us
            a pleasant surprise.

Together, however,
            we find the extra parts of ordinary,
in the sharply scented forgotten moments,
my yummy morsels of motherhood,
             lingering in the sweet heat of furrowed brows,
the summer sun easing our way,
              as it is so happily today.
By walking this way,
looking at the mundane in another way,
I knew you'd say, “Look at how beautiful it is outside! 
What a pretty day!”
And on the inside
looking in, I knew
All the beauty was coming from You.



Image of painting by Émile Friant, 1906, Maternal Tenderness [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Hymn of Ewe

Faith is the wool blanket 

woven by the flock

who sheepishly sew 

contentedly knitting 

nestled in envied green knolls

bleating a single string 

in wandering white streams 

hiding in the herded folds

matted in the material of dreams

tucking in their ears

softly in numbers

Image of painting 'Strayed Sheep' 1852, by William Holman Hunt [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Virtually Equivocal

I

Chastity is a bungee chord

acting like a liberator, life saver, 

a taste of free fall, an avian jaunt

before jerking you back to guilty landings

where you are held in suspension

for as long as tethered time cares

to keep a chord on your Chastity. 

II

Temperance is a troll

tending to the liberation Garden

like a Gnome making his home in Excess

giggling for no reason, led by curiosity

he banks on your unattended fortress of Will

digesting offenses, defending ob-scenes 

leading the way to stay and linger

III

Diligence is a termite

specializing in the boring method

no task is too large or dwelling too much

weakening the foundations one grain at a time, 

until completely through, but not full, moving on

to the new, fulfilling the termites due. 

 IV

Kindness is a bus driver

who notices you standing there and

even though you are strange, and have only change-

kindness gives you a lift, to get you

where you supposed to be, better later than never

waiting for the line, strangely glad to see you,  

and kind enough to pick you up.

V

Humility is a house

lacking mirrors and decor.

A crude shelter with a leaky roof

and boarded windows. A single story

with a welcome mat to wipe your feet

before moving out and up at home

on stilted loftiness.

VI

Charity is a waterfall

whose origin Springs naturally

flowing abundantly the farther it goes

picking up all, willing to be carried

in generous streams that drown

worries like eddies going nowhere

unlatching, succumbing to gravity in pools.

VII

Patience is not virtuous; nor even pious

loitering, lingering, lamenting in Limbo.

Only children have imaginary friends

and Time on their side.

Patience is a snowflake;

icy with oblivion, melting under fire,

dripping with Possibility.

Image By Jan Saenredam after Hendrik Goltzius c. 1615 (British Museum) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 

Take a load off

Shame on the pointless ponderer

                       whose head grew too heavy

dizzy mind map wanderer

                       enticed not by common sense

busy beaver built levee

Stuck in a rut

plant your butt

Condemn the lazy chair inventor

                        who created a place of rest

a couch for his brain to grow even more

                        putting lack of experience to the test

Backseat driver

idle kaniver

So in a nation full of sitters

we've sat in vain judgement

blaming the doers as the quitters

cross-legged, pointing fingers, elbow bent

Scapegoat herder

Jaw jabber

Those planners, thinkers, fact formulators

never do, or make or creates

but instead ideate, re-sit-uate, idea incubate

proposing possibilities about probable states

Fast talking

no walking

A nation of sitters

with notions of jitters

who can't sit still

unless they take a pill

caffeine Willies

nervous Nellies

Image photo by Pierre Petit [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons of Hector Berlioz, (1803-1869).

Sunny days with Purple haze

It must be that Jimmy knows all

we rely on his revised rigging

we can clearly see through tiny glasses

which are crumbled all around

as you said that which is built

must tumble to the ground

Eventually, 

on these long dogged days

stretching Pacifically 

horizontally both ways

You start by digging ditches

building by removal

connecting the channelled groove

each speck to spec, welding by will

And for the portcullis

a molding of macrocystis

do reserve some kelp for the keep

confounding those criss-cross-walls

one strand at a time

one per postern

a grain delay

water wise

These masonry molds of ornate turrets tell

a chivalric tale, a creation of deterioration

With a gypsy white washed beechwood to etch

windows, bars, doorways-all notably notched 

deleterious dimensions

of modern medieval convention

Wet cement won't hold

unless the tide turns down

the daily grind, of rise and fall

testing the outer castle wall

The sun casts long poles

from the towers to the South

the flood plain fills spreading

its frothy water line

Evermore, 

in this phase

of sandy daze

and purple UV rays

 

Seeing the forest for the fantasy

I have watched like an arrested witness,
                                                   I have observed, from inside the bubble,
silenced from interruptions,
                                                   the echoes of my thoughts reverberating,
muffled and bouncing, hollow all around me.

A slip, a fall, down a tumultuous trail that unwinds,
                                                  sucked through a straw of destiny's tube.
If you can conceive it-
                                                  you should believe in burst bubbles,
suspended amid weightless fantasy
                                                  land, ushered by passing spires,
reality-threatening a poke
                                                 around the rocky fables.
Wishes evaporate into splashes,
                                                  hope heavy plummets,
hydrogen bound heavy,
                                                 drowning in carbonic dead wait-
Oh, if you could see the view-
                                                  if you only knew...
Up the boughed birch the searcher barks,
                                                 mocking today while dangled legs,
pins pricking shins begins,

                                                 Dreams fall as rain in bulging bursts
drop-
lets,
where mystic wishes, with thin traces leave wisps and wishes,
                                                  elements evaporating before my eyes,
rolling on and back.
                                                  Walking on wine,
Turning truths into tales,

                                                 Deep, in the fabled forests of immaculate youth.

Composed 6/7/15.
Image By Ida Rentoul Outhwaite (From: 'The Enchanted Forest', 1921) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Waterfall Fairy, from 'The Enchanted Forest', 1921.