Feathers [rev.6]

     How shall I write about this moonless night? To go, I suppose, without eyesight. To free my mind of past mistakes that I stumbled upon in sunlight.  Or, find myself with nothing visibly at stake—and scribble down experiences still bent, unable to make straight—Yet ,allows me—to fly over their fences—

Feathers carried in the wind

Land at season’s racing feet

Dancing their last dance

(Rev 1 April 2016)

 

The Cliff Between Right And Wrong: a parable

           The distance for my success, that could be jumped; a quarter-mile wide and a quarter-mile deep, never existed. Yet, wearing a smile, I jumped! Then what?

I fell.

          I floated, between non-existing marks. With arms flailing, Legs wiggling in space, head heavy as an elephant, or, with maybe just their footprint.

          Everything that I believed in, defending it from the start, to my last breath; to ultimately fall with foolish bliss in exhilaration, hitting face first into the ground.

Still, I have the urge to jump that cliff again.

But, this time, from another side.

 

Roses and Thorns

Roaring chariots down thunder road Equal to— Spring’s breaking ground to surface a rose All of it, is noise—  To awaken the dreamer to follow the sound To chose— Drummer and screamer or singer of s…

Source: Roses and Thorns

 

Roses and Thorns

Roaring chariots down thunder road

Equal to—

Spring’s breaking ground to surface a rose

All of it, is noise—

 To awaken the dreamer to follow the sound

To chose—

Drummer and screamer or singer of songs

 

Silence has no meaning

Unless we are there before the sound

 

Until then—

Protest the ears that share the same mind

But not the heart—

That listens alone, before expressing

The blessings below or above the ground—

Splintering wagon wheels

With roses and thorns

 

 

True Lovers Past

(Mid-town)

Wine, whiskey, and roses—

In alcove with three large windows

Straight lace tablecloth on heirloom table

               (Across town)

Barn-board counter top, single sink,

Hand pumped water

Red-checkered vinyl tablecloth

 

Two shot glasses, acapella— on each table

 

(Mid-town)

Vase, decanter, and a blue corked bottle

One in the Yin—

Another in the Yang

 

A well-rounded glass globe—  

Wine circling in small waves

Well below the rim.

 

The toast is the same.

 

(Across town)

Mason jar with whiskey and ice

Raised above a drying rose

The toast is the same.

 

Salute’ to the empty chair

At both their tables—

“May you be well, happy, and peaceful.”

Note: True Lovers Past

 

 

An Assyrian Sunrise Tale

My heart rides between the wings of Pegasus—

Ignoring self-perception… myth and fantasy netted and captured me.

—Poseidon and I, bridled love.

 

Ending night’s ecstasy’s ride

We arrived un-announced

On stomping hoofs’ –and trident’s

Well-pronounced thunder

—awakening our audience

Well beneath the sea.

 

I, being the stranger

Introduced my heart— from soul— to inspiration—

To imagination— I found no ground to stand on;

I hid in dawn’s breaking light.

 

 

I disguise my body as water, flooding deserts

Creating one small oasis

— To mimic Atlantis; to seduce and beg Atargatis

–to be my bride.

Rejecting my gesture as well as my disguise

Offering me gills for lungs

—She embedded in me, the seed of sacred sight;

With the help—of Ba‘al Hadad,

She gave my heart free rein

to see the dichotomy to balance

What will forever change.

 

I settled for bread—and breath—

Above the sea and below the sky

On the isle of life.

Gladness, nor sadness—gives love to my heart.

 

Each evening’s Pegasus ride –and morrow’s

Gradual incoming tide —allows me to pick up each rich piece

Of earth’s, little surprise—

To put into words, picture, and melody

Another complete and majestic sunrise.

 

Haibun Monday: A Little Romance

Dark Chocolate (a love story)

    I was looking through old pictures today, some really faded and scratched. You were beautiful, impressionable, and innocent. Packing lunches, having picnics, going home after chilled wine, crackers, Vermont cheddar cheese, and dark chocolate. My heart sank. I had to put them away, Unable to see the joy in reviewing history.

    Remembering all the missteps, I made. Young, fearless, sometimes arrogant, misunderstanding love and its commitment; drinking the wine not savoring the chocolate. I will get back to them someday. But, for now, this evening, I will listen to Lake Winona passing in-between the silence and dobs of the lake’s small rolling waves. As I place the photographs beneath the bed, I made.

Sit still to listen

Lake is playing our love song

Remember the tune

***A past poem written into a Haibun