Leaves are dancing in rhythm with the wind.
Frost embraces its partner —holding Fall within.
Colorful chaos prances through woods and on soil.
I kick dust-up behind me —before it settles cold.
I go forward alone, remembering an old friend,
humming those ole “dirt road blues” again.
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Tags: Autumn, Existenlism, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Love, Zen
[1st. Draft Dec,2017 rev: Sept,2018 ]
A weathered Sundial
When we are young,
We can tolerate physical pain,
emotional blizzards and blinding rain.
We seek recognition, fortune, and elusive fame.
We chase glittering stars on summer nights
and keep sentry for sunrise to celebrate dawn with life.
We even can cry without forcing a fight.
We can talk, discuss, and compromise.
We recognize beauty in a surprise.
We are able to light a candle when the fire dies.
When we are young,
we can laugh at ourselves. We believe in pennies
flipped fluttering to the bottom of wishing wells.
We become Peter Pan and Wendy
ignoring pouting Tinkerbelle.
We watch directions flow through heart than through mind.
We travel distances immeasurably fast;
roadways, highways, and paths. We float
above chipped concrete, soft tar, and beaches
with ankle-deep sand.
Even paths that are crook and twisted
in shallow water or on solid land.
We are each other’s map.
We frolic in spaces where time never exists;
along with places, where sadness, is just a visit.
When we are young,
eventually those days, I suppose, age eclipses.
**********
When we are old,
we sit with aches and pain. Confused and misunderstanding, we complain.
Our clothes begin to slip or do not fit.
Along with our acceptance of expected fortune
and absence of fame.
We wear sweaters and warm cotton hats on cool summer nights
watching the sunset fade into rising moonlight.
(Having bitten Eve’s apple, once forbidden
We become stubborn —guilt ridden with indigestion
and slow in healing. We sleep uneasily on thin frayed
but forgiving linen. We forget ourselves in mixed memories,
forgetting our birthday in evaporating wishing wells).
The sound of muted Tocks
Tick off the clock, like muffled thunder
under the hoofs of approaching mercenaries;
Angels from heaven and perhaps one or two
from hell’s monastery.
We shed a small tear, becoming a prism, a glitter
in the sliver of a waning moon. We let it fall with joy
on another evenings shadow,
cast upon a weathered sundial, praying for the ‘morrow;
when we are old.
(It all subsides from youth to age.
From steel to rust, from rock to gravel.
From coal to diamond and back to dust.)
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Tags: From Youth To Age, Growing up, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Pine Cone Diaries, Zen, ~The Night Before Breakfast~
Gossip vs Truth [Koan]
Some sort of melodic minor,
the only note a hummingbird leaves;
fluttering away with the nectar
before the buzz of the bees.
*****
Oh quite down Fido!
You’ll have a heart attack.
*****
A Peaceful Exhale
Sometimes when I deeply inhale,
my body stands still to hear
the soft distant sound of chanting voices,
tuning in rehearsal
for their first and last symphony.
I, as the conductor, seem to arrive late.
However, each time I do the chanting stops
as I search for another apology.
A perfect crescendo in all voices
breaks out exclaiming,
“Stand still,
free refreshments are on the way!”
I take the podium asking all to rise
on the other side, in a peaceful exhale
In tuning.
Epilogue:
Each time when I may disagree,
I take a deep breath and cross over to the other side… another place to go
to understand, to stand, and to carry my thoughts from compromise to truth;
I have found myself on a mutual side, having discarded ego .
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Tags: Existenlism, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Notes Found On The Refrigerator, Zen
Sweet Garner-Jane
I sat outside by the fire, occasional adding a log or two,
keeping it ready for s’mores; for Crosby and Garner-Jane’s crew.
I listened to the chatter along with laughter, coming from the porch and throughout the house,
listening as it mingled with the campfire smoke floating to the sky.
I could hear celebration of her future announced in love,
As Loud As Bright Could Be.
**********
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Tags: Growing up, Love, Pine Cone Diaries
The screech of a bird on a nearby tree alerted me, that their prey was at my feet. I saw nothing but my heart beating, which through my shirt, slipped and fell at my feet, among the weeds.
The bird screeched louder, followed by small chirps before landing on a branch next to me. I could see its eyes focused on my eyes.
I reached down and picked up my heart, tried to force it into my wallet, but it would not fit. So, I tried to stuff it into my pockets. Naw, that wasn’t it! I had no choice but to reconnect to my body, speech and mind. By the time, it was done…
summer bird is gone
leaving me with fall’s bright colors
quilt for winter snow
*Haibun (俳文, literally, haikai writings) is a prosimetric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku.
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Tags: http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Pine Cone Diaries
[The Fairy tale of Kathryn from Franklin, NH. She continues to flutter throughout the foothills of the White Mountains and the Lakes Region]
At even-tide,
leaving with last light of dusk,
I watched her silhouette fade
into the dark tree line.
Ferns lean
to mark and soften her path.
Trees in the forest bend their branches
to shed moonlight on the walkway
for an old friend.
She returns
with her straw-basket beaming bright.
Not only for me, but for all she greets.
Sharing evenings shedded
—morning’s light.
*[Edited from original draft]~
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Tags: Existenlism, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, https://dversepoets.com/2018/08/23/openlinknight-226/, Love, Notes Found On The Refrigerator
