Sir/Madam do not interpret
With your own mind, words of “Divinity”,
Explaining what is held
In the temple of my Soul?
You only speak as the sinner you are.
Now then, let us pray.
Scent aromatic in clouds
Spring rain wakes flowers.
The Internal Seed
I never did pretend very well.
Truth was perception—
Dismissing objective proof,
For the answer to the basic question
“How does popcorn pop”?
Mistakes, miss-judgments, funneled into the mind
Of tornadoes swirling heart-popping roofs off conjecture.
How long can one pretend to believe you can be received?
Gently through the bluster of ignorance?
And, yes, I am not the person I am.
I am the one inside of you
That never does pretend, very well.
“Wake up!” Said, the knife and fork to the spoon.
I have lost many memories that I often find in my heart.
Go home and simply be honest
To your lover and rekindle
The one action you forgot.
I Have come to a tree that has fallen and decayed
Nurturing the forest floor, leaving me with this gift,
This piece of hardened wood,
With traces of legends and resemblance.
I stare into this piece of healed branch,
That has lost its self-
A knot that shares its parent’s history
Before broken off— had grown many faces
Now left as a petrified knot generations ago;
Embossed with stories of a future prince,
From twig— many growing seasons before.
(Many times, I have spent turning, staring, reading this tree knot I kicked up, on one of my walks through the Open Gate Farm, do give it some attention. Oh, and the other side is just as imaginatively interesting. (Photo by: R.K. Garon))
Whatever day we set aside
At the end of, or, beginning of our week,
Will always be a spiritual— personal day.
Regardless of religion, or non-religion—
Somehow, that day, in our lives, has survived
As One day— to be set aside.