Loch Smith

Before sunrise on this particular morning
I came to see-
quite unmistakably-
right in front of me
a gaping fallstreak hole
hanging wide open, saying high.

The cat and I,
our curiosity got the best of us
and I suppose
I teetered too close to the edges
which tend to be
slippery slopes of padded History-
also called Epiphanies-
and well,
I fell in or out of sorts,
tumbling through a tunnel
my vision blurred briefly-
white.
We can see-

the mountains lining the dappled plain,
the plane piercing the wall of clouds
intermittent keyholes
blink like red EXIT signs in bright blue blips
appearing further away than they seem-

And although it may all appear
as this lucid dream at dawn
-since the hole has long closed-
I was simply unable to resist peeking out,
fell up, skipped in and
if you've wondered where I have been
before the first light.


Photo By Kittelschürze (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons

Simple sunset sought

This is not life-it is living
hot for a time
wet for a while
until salt only remains...

the ocean swallows us
wholeheartedly we wait at
her ledge at sundown
remixing our urge to merge

in gold lights flecks flicker
a flame bathed in warmth
dazzling its prisms by hint
of change for photophores


Photo credit: By United States Navy [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Sea pansy

As though it were a secret
not sacred-Life-as we know-
the hen and the egg,
brood and crew who hold,
the container or contained, which is
the moving mover, and divine bringer
trinity minus unity in duality
is our singularity, or DNA say
phosphorus or essence
expressed in bioluminescence
appears as blue because it is
alive on the surface,
It is obvious hope floats
after the sun has sunk in.




 Painting by By Franz Arthur Bischoff (American Eagle Fine Arts, Benicia, California) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Totem poll

The final straw of September twenty-
ninths slit of smirking Black Moon-
the Indians have hung onto summer
with the same tenacity as their water dances
around the fire-I feel-
too long, feathered, and hot.
Sweltering shaded shelters there are none,
and I am white, weak and wrong,
along native latitudinal lines
not strong enough to weather
this Fall-
the pressure is too high to let go.

It makes me want to tear off my clothes
and immerse this blue skin in the sixty-three degrees
Pacific ocean
pacific specifically
calm
cool
collected.
................
September is succumbing to
October who strikes us sober.
Chill.
Breaths like poetry help acclimate me
in worlds like Autumn.





By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.

Luciferins

Burst babies
thought Up
by condensed concentration
Stardust dynamo
make more meaning
while you're Out there
Gold has become worthless...

What will we inherit
or will we let it rest,
and settle Down
under pressure
pushing and pulling at the same time
is nothing,
stretching and squeezing time,
we do this,
pliably trapped inside a movement

We float-we spin-we suspend
judgement-no-Light-
weight-less
we wait until it works out

a match made in phosphorescent phantasie
we are dynamic
charismatic we create
we panic
knowing
THIS


Artwork by Mihály Zichy [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Absorbing Autumn

Is it morbid to smell October
under Septembers fallen leaves,
dripping eaves?

I prefer not to be buried-thank you-
but I admit, it reminds me of a familiar place,
the earth Rising
and all...

Whereas when you see the sky
Falling
all over the place and filling in
with charcoal over blue with hefty white-
for contrast-
at last,
Relief.

Is it autumnal to wonder-
would it be better to biodegrade
or evaporate?

I am happiest under rain
when the leaves are crimson.



J. M. W. Turner [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 
"Rain, Steam and Speed - The Great Western Railway; the painting depicts an early locomotive of the Great Western Railway crossing the River Thames on Brunel's recently completed Maidenhead Railway Bridge.The painting is also credited for allowing a glimpse of the Romantic strife within Turner and his contemporaries over the issue of the technological advancement during the Industrial Revolution"

To Those Who Prose-

It is best to stay away from prose-
you may squint-if so inclined

It takes a few words to get to the heart
blame the onion

O how it makes many squirm
to live like a libertine-openly

If you must, take a deep breath
before diving in-
the wind is strong-

if you catch my drift

umbrellas are for sissy's

It is how proper prose
becomes-to sharp to handle,
inverted, in brief
                   
                    taking side-steps
where precise ought to be...

It is useful to let your mind wander
alone.



Image of painting:  'At the Writing Table' National Gallery of Art-American 18th Century (1790) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.