Obviously hidden

The treasure chest is locked

of course

I cannot find the key.

Losing it

intentionally

was self-defense.

And of course

someone asked about its

contents.

Privacy excluded,

they meant no offense

to my memory.

But of course

certain things cannot be trusted

with others

Or oneself, really.

That is why

it is safer to hide

Inside.

Painting by Edward Mason Eggleston (1882-1941), 'Princess of the Treasure Isle' in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Divisible

Blessed are thee

memories

chosen to be forgotten

dissolved into distant haze.

Cherished are those

brilliant first rays

alighting the new path

of unknowns.

In the sky

and in the sea,

the clouds and waves

do not recall those passed.

Likewise, made of the same,

and never the same

You and I

remember-

Painting by Henry Scott Tuke, 'Looking out to sea' c. 1885 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Blinking

Every new day-

recovered mind,

rested eyes,

pocket moments

pulled out-

placed under the tongue.

Bitter-sweet

and so savory-

a memory can be...

Distant clouds 

of dreams, residues

shade daylight hues.

But atmosphere

absorbed after

sublimation and slumber

is re-minding 

Oneself

of one's self.

At least as far

as reflections like these

appear to Be. 

Painting by James McNeill Whistler - 'Resting in Bed', c.1883-1884, via Wikimedia Commons in Public Domain. 

Synchronized subsistence

How the greatest life

can only be attained

by the destruction 

of previous lives 

re-positioning, per se.

Nothing is unchanged

by time moving 

so fast we cannot feel

where momentum 

begins and ends

And again

that wonderful life

felt slow

in coming and

so fast in passing

All at the same time.

Painting by Edgar Degas 'Four Dancers' c. 1899 _Google_Art_Project via Wikimedia Commons in Public Domain.

Pulp

Oh bare soul

                    Ink stains

On white sheets

                 hinting impressions of what

came before

                    Without a dark mark made

Leaving no footprints or

                             creases and whatnot

Simply sinking in

                            a breeze shuffles

across the surfaces, 

                                      Lost in the sheaf

reams of lives, 

trembling forests,

                                     all are ashes too...

In the tree outside

the bedroom window

                                     Atop the tallest branch

A mockingbird gives an Aria

Jumping up in bursts, 

Flapping,

                Landing, bleating again

Relentlessly

                   it seems to me

that if a free spirit were

truly so

                     No one would ever know

The full story of a tree...

does one begin with roots-

                                 the buried seeds

nay, so I draw 

a delicate leaf

                                   Hanging mid-air

and am fixated

                        noticing the fallen

Bark below, scratches, and scars

That healed long before

                                       Now sloughed off

and suddenly I erupt 

                        laugh aloud

Along the same avian pitch

                                    Mocking my own

disbelief in the resilience

of composition

                           finding forms

of Liberty.

Erasing all I have done

In the air, irrigated charcoal

           a trace, a gentle summer 

Rain is coming

           so I jump up and go for a run

In the nearby woods

Blood pumping

                       through limbs

Pounding the soft earth

                      I carve a secret Path

instead 

of writing this poem.

Image Title: Bob; the story of our mocking-bird

Year: 1899 (1890s)

Authors: Lanier, Sidney, 1842-1881; Lanier, Charles Day. (from old catalog); Dugmore, Arthur Radclyffe, 1870- (from old catalog) illus

Publisher: New York, C. Scribner's sons

Contributing Library: The Library of Congress

Credit via Wikimdia Commons in Public Domain

Reciprocity

Both rules and laws can be broken

So what is the cause

And effect, re-

action to the action of say words like

Karma, luck, Fate,

and due course or so

It should follow, anywhichway

eyes for eyes and

Crossed Tees

The beginning, middle and

End of give and take

Or not thin lines like justice

Is it transactional

Back scratching and barter

What is fair trade when values

Are bendable

What can never be dependable

As a cause caused by

A butterfly swooping some

where when why was what

Made meaning.

TITLE: Friendship love and truth

CALL NUMBER: PGA - Currier & Ives--Friendship love and truth (A size) [P&P]

REPRODUCTION NUMBER: LC-USZC2-2373 (color film copy slide)

MEDIUM: 1 print : lithograph, hand-colored.

CREATED/PUBLISHED: New York : Published by Currier & Ives, c1874.

CREATOR: Currier & Ives.Source Wikimedia Commons, in Public Domain. 

Topophilia

It was the Place

I fell madly in love with

Not him, not the time.

It was always

That Place, all the time,

Lips raw from kissing her

Broad-shouldered salty shorelines

Lapping up

Barbeque sun and metallic rain storms

Alike.

The tourist ebb and flow,

Hats, cameras, new sandals,

coconut oil and seaweed

Wet sandstone and dripping agave

Too numerous to name such

Stimuli.

Looking back

Only hurts my neck

Nothing is the same

The tower crumbled

Bright as the days that were

Electric storms that were not

Sunshine and Roses

As most memories

Belie

Buried in the sand

Toes and shells, glass and seaweed

Never and forever

There.

Photo by me, 'Monsters house from goon' taken 11/12/2016.