A Lady In The Mirror

      It was a great race between Reflection and Essence; running through the mountains and across the lakes of New Hampshire. They crossed the border through Pittsburg into Canada, where only shadows could follow.

       Chasing each other or being chased they finished their race in the old City of Quebec; drifting into a boarding house up one flight of stairs— across from the Château Frontenac. And, there on a rooming house mirror— they caught up.

 

She is the reflection— that is, in essence, what becomes ~A Lady in the mirror~

Reflection’s true Essence? Perhaps what we are like, before we are born.

 

Photo by RKG: Quebec City, Quebec Canada late 1970’s

Written; 10/30/2017

 

On A Sacred Day’s Accounting

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.

 

Reflection, repentance, acceptance;

Encouraging us to continue living

In mutual peace— for the rest of future

Day’s— accounting.

                

Sand Dollar:
Sketch in charcoal.

 

Brass, Brazen Maple Leaf

    Brass, brazen maple leaf, embossed with a very serious face. Buds around you change in every season; green in spring, leaf in summer, then celebrate their passing in bright reds, yellow, and orange. Crackling under my feet, whispering to me; seasons pass and I am looking forward to wintry solitude.

     You, my friend, stand against my fence. Never blowing away. Brass and brazen, always in the same place.

     A gift from a flea market, many years ago. A gift from my children, placing our imagination, with their love, in an honored presentation, on Father’s Day; of my favorite leaf, one from a maple tree, brass, brazen as could be; never blowing away, always in the same place, as their love continues for me.

Splintered kindling wood

Moss growing moist on north side

Summer serves them well

Written In Center Sandwich NH at Kathleen’s place.

 

Love

Love does not exist in the hearts or minds of flesh,

It is elusive as a cloud of breath—expelled in fog.

It, is captured in the imagination of the soul,

Then, released into action as visible as dreams—unexplained.

 

Picture: Benjamin Cline
https://ashq.wordpress.com

 

wear a hat

 

 

Vacant minds across the kitchen table

Leaning on their elbows of time,

Understanding they are at the end of their lives,

Never thinking that there was space

Beyond what they have lived;

Life, was a distance passed in glorious moments.

 

“I’ll walk the dog. Put on your pajamas

And heat the water for tea.

I’ll peel you an orange when I get back.

Is it cold outside?”

“Yes, wear a hat.”

[Rev. 6]

 

Melting A Dandelion’s Heart

               The lawn was mowed. But she,

                              the dandelion, takes center stage.

                                             The bee’s first nectar of spring,

Bright yellow color and sturdy display;

Stubborn and brave.

 

Flowering  delicate silver seeds

               Embraced by the breeze, sends her offsprings

                              High into the air, without argument, to land in-between

Blades of grass, hiding in the green of night,

To grow in the bright of day.

 

Not so stubborn and still very brave.

 

I lean against her slender body,

               After dismounting my cricket,

                              Allowing me her shade.

I tune his wings, as she bends ever so slightly

To listen to our serenade.

 

Not so stubborn, trustingly brave.

 

Sweet Surrender

rev:12

Sweet sight!

An Aurora’s light within my lover’s soul;

A spark so bright, roses bloom premature.

 

Men whisper of their meetings with her.

Those without souls to see… leave in jerking gesture;

As lovers teased in adolescent adventure

Admitting not to be of such high-caliber,

To be in her presence, without hope or future.

 

Help me my friends, how do I describe her?

Pure, innocent, commissions’ love ever-present.

 

All are invited. Silence your words,

Those who are willing to lose their minds,

accepting a hearts’ sweet surrender.

 

M’Lady

“Once upon a time,”… that was enough

To put you to sleep in the strength of my arms.

Let me warm your hands, now, as empty as mine.

 

(Both scarred with, “when we knew each other

Way back then.” In love and young.

 

We fought the fire and the ice; both, yours and mine.

…not to burn, nor to freeze, but, to keep us safe from harm).

 

We’ve seen love

Dressed to be kissed;

Sometimes naked, sometimes, dismissed.

 

We’ve seen love

Rejecting bliss;

Whether sweet, sour, or completely amiss.

 

We’ve seen love

 Described where only a poets soul

Still perplexed, tries and dies in an effort to surmise.

 

Oh, perpetual beautiful love!

So elusive cloaked in laughter and in darkness cries.

 

I had to be the villain; stealing a kiss

With arms extended,

Wrapped in a young corrupt heart;

 

When you didn’t insist for any other gift,

Embracing the fire of Joan of Arc.

 

What did I miss?

 

My shield is torn. My armor weak from worn.

Our victories?  Defeats without blessing;

When my actions were wrong.

 

And my surrender?

You said,

It, would have made me strong.

 

 

Kneeling, I await the sword upon my shoulder.

Or, my ride through the gate of aging rusted steel,

Un-knighted, head bowed on a horse as old as I.

 

We will ride rogue in the kingdom

Of M’Lady’s dream; love lost in my youth,

Having spent its final notice.

 

Whatever I have learned about love, I have learned from you;

Patience, understanding, perseverance, diligence, loyalty and acceptance.  

 

This lesson, having acted in primal ignorance,

I ask for your forgiveness before I cannot ride again.

 

I re-approach you, walking my horse.

I, without a sword, and he, without a saddle;

To my empty throne, with only enlightened arms.

 

Buried under, covered in decaying guilt, in the soil of time lies the treasure of life

I once declined. I shovel up debris, from its burial-place, sifting through the past,

Weeding the dirt for the clue, the space, to plant a bleeding heart.

 

Summer’s Friendships

Part I

The wasp and the rose

The queen in hibernation

Both are soldiers gone.

 

Kingdoms in autumn

Torn from center of the heart

Are rebuilt in spring.

***

 

Rectitude

Together, let us walk through this day,

leaving behind our past as glorious as it has been

or as tragic as it was;

let us go and find  those things

that should have been. 

 

 

Rain In Northumberland Street

Artist: Anya Zinkivskay

www.murmurart.com