Slate grey

Starting to look like my old self

Or young self

And when I steal a glance

In a random reflection

I have seen

The crazy haired

Listening

Clean slate

Child

That has been there

All along

Long time,

No see-

eyes were always grey.

Seriously-

is that the same 

insides out?

Born that way

They say

It goes that way, life

Mirrors...

What?

Again,

an echo reiterates.

Or so it seems slated,

Starting Over and I

Was Here

As if carved into

A tree.

Painting by Thorolf Holmboe, 'Weeping willows' c. 1907 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Broke girl

They say

When you break 

A big bill,

Into smaller ones

It spends faster...

Change is always 

due

When offering more

Than-

what it's worth.

True

Enough-as a theory.

Change is more 

Of a fundamental

Proof.

What you see

Is what you get-

Exchanged

For small pieces

Worth saving. 

Painting by George Elgar Hicks, 'Gypsy girl' c. 1899 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Basket case

What comes

After all?

So much

stacked

unbeknownst

we carry on

Or perhaps

Was it

Grace?

And then-

How much a

handbasket

Will hold

over so many 

seasons,

weather worn

by hand. 

Painting by Winslow Homer 'Girl Carrying a Basket' c. 1882 in National Gallery of Art, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Nickel Linings

When counting blessings

like spare

Change

keeps

Adding up to

Less sense

than we thought we had,

stashed In crevices

it is the

Change

Saved

For a rainy day

That makes its way

Toward

Something found...

Even green

wears off

Leaves

and becomes something

More

In time, interesting...

The zinc sky reflects

Itself

empty

but unbroken. 

Painting by Matthias Stom, 'Woman counting coins by candlelight' (Allegory of Avarice), c. 1635 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Chrysalis

Madame Butterfly,

Sometimes we be-

come

that which hurt

Us, that one we abhor

All the more

Consumed

and eaten alive.

One can feel this,

as a matter of growth

inside

as cocoon cannot keep

safe 

its contents.

From moth to monarch

Color comes to show

Consumption.

I have become many

Delicate versions

Of a creature

That becomes-

Part of

creation.

Canaries are placed inside

Coal mines

by us, to save us

from poison unseen.

Other-

Wise

I have chosen

To hover at the blazing

Hearth

making smoke rings

with ashen wings

while warm

blooded bodies

Take shelter

soaking in stillness.

I can

Still

fly away.

Painting by Edward Mason Eggleston (1882-1941), 'A Day in June' c. 1932 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Pursuit

 Joy is too large to wrap

Anything around,

Mind, Body, universe...

Whereas happy seems to fit

like a coin, a stone, a ladybug,

in the palm

leaving no trace.

Happy comes and goes

while Joy

lingers

imperceptibly, inescapably

Inside.

After chasing

Thing to thing

The cat purrs on my chest-

He cannot get any closer. 

Image credit: me. Photo of SSW, aka Smokey, c. 10/21/2022. 

Scar Tissue

 

What are you doing with this body

The soul asked the mind

To and from bounced as echoes 

Evade their sources

Proof

You want to know

Who

You are

Now, is past

Then, next I plan

On finding 

A voice

hat Does 

instead of making sound waves

with air

Going to and from

Self and I 

just to know

Nothing

Is true

Is false

looking 

where questions

make marks

like clouds,

See

the blue.

Artwork by Konrad Krzyżanowski, 'Clouds' c. 1906, in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.