Caricatures

Have you ever looked up at a BIG SKY full of bubblous clouds, like popcorn times a billion? This poem is about seeing more than just the clouds, but rather seeing the shapes and stories they tell.

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To slumber ‘neath sky on green grass and purple heather
To look up and see billowing clouds throwing images back at you
To watch big dinosaurs and airplanes, mysterious forms and faces
float by like great ships leaving port
and, there, like an ant waving farewell
you’re hardly noticed in the bigness of it all
and, really, life can't be more pleasant, more at peace
than looking up at this cloud sea
cause you know, being there, on this green grass and purple heather
is like being a child again
and there's no better escape than having your worries replaced by wonder
and as if on key, a great castle appears
lofty turrets and battlements studded with flags flapping in the wind
and soon it all disappears behind a cloud
and no matter how hard you look, it is gone
swallowed by a great fish…

Afternoon Haiku

The sun turns to me
With a brightened expression
And I smile back

She sure looks pretty
Framed in my office window
Next to papers stacked

So what if I dream
Of my slow life on the run
Ski, bike or kayak

This is the weekend
And I will get out real late
Like an alley cat

Now that the moon turns
With a brightened expression
And I smile back

Night charms

Not often am I inclined to write a love poem, but even I enjoy a sappy bit of prose especially when that's the path my words take me down. It can be an interesting subject and, god knows, many have spent a lifetime spinning every sort of yarn about it. We are all susceptible to her charms. So, I hope this takes you somewhere pleasant?

In the calmest of nights, your thoughts fly to the moon
in the sheerest of moments you whisper so as not to hear your words boom
in the finest of hours, you grip to every second
in the shallowest of fears there is sadness you cannot reckon

However the breeze blows, you know that I am there
however lost your life may be, right now you are without worry or care
however pleased the gods are looking from their lofty stars
however cursed love can be, you know in your heart what is yours

For there in the night our breaths collide and we swallow our fears
for there are wounded feelings that we both share, but are afraid to hear
for our hearts cannot steer us from where this path goes
for us life blooms and blossoms like a fertile rose

Where whispers pull at hairs in your ears and staunch your cursed thoughts
where wondering you think that everything will end and love will be lost
where woefully you forget the past and cease to worry
where quietly you need not dream no longer, for dreams are now your story

In the calmest of nights, your thoughts fly to the moon
in the sheerest of moments you whisper so as not to hear your words boom
in the finest of hours, you grip to every second
in the shallowest of fears there is happiness you cannot reckon

Satellite

Numerous times I have written about life and death. It is a subject that I never tire of.

A Satellite is defined as:

[n.] a man-made object that orbits around the earth
[n.] a person who follows or serves another
[n.] any celestial body orbiting around a planet or star
[adj.] Surrounding and dominated by a central authority or power

This poem is about all of these.

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How it is I have eyes, I do not know
there is no body to me
but I cry tears
I feel pain
and there is a love inside of me
that hurts so much
and I cannot end it

It has come to me, that maybe I am dead
but I am still - here

I remember my past, what I was before I was here
the leaves whisper along the sidewalk
perfectly trimmed
the trees creek and groan
and there at my door I knock
and nobody answers

I am not what I was before
I cannot go there

What I remember can’t be remembered
not as I remembered it
not as it actually was

I struggle with these eyes that are not eyes
closed

and then, I stop
I stop struggling
there is no purpose to it
for the first time in my life I let go
and I feel release

but as long as it was there, this feeling!
In a fraction of second it, too, was gone

Something now! It tugs at me
my foot, my arms, my hair
my self!!!
ripped from this place
my flesh that is not flesh
my body that is not body
my mind that is becoming overrun
becoming more and more and more and more
like snakes in water they defile
and I can do nothing, nothing but watch in terror
as I am

defiled.

I float again, wounded and wild with anger and fear
where am I?
Why am I still here?
“Fuck this place!”
my feelings explode

But I am moving, spinning
no longer held
no longer staring into the sun
I reach out to stop
and I stop
not like I’ve stopped before
it is if time stopped, movement stopped
and I froze there.

Far ahead I see nebula's, galaxies
a kaleidoscope of light

I reach for them too

and
I
am
there, there, there, there, there, there
free

How it is that I am free
and from what I do not know
but over the millennia
I realize
the
ANSWER

What I was escaping was life
who I was fighting
was
ME

The love I felt was for everything I LOVED
You see, I had died
and now I was, for all I could figure, a SOUL
a free soul
and everything here was mine to see
mine to visit

But I never, not once met another
no one to answer questions for me

I come back and stare at the sun often
where in a sense, I was born
I come to ask
she does not answer
I did not expect it to

Purpose, meaning, too much
but I search
I see
I watch
I learn
and maybe I will never know
but I know this
“What is here, is here
What I have is mine
No future can curse that
there is no ahead or behind
only now.”
In the distance, a point of light
a streak across the sky
I reach for it
and I am
THERE at peace
a Satellite

and over time, I realize
I am so much more than that

Fearless

I am faceless
veering off
into the jumbled world
helpless
I am sightless
staring off
into the unknown future
powerless
And yet I am proud
peering forth
into my life
fearless...

Evanescence

Evanescence - def: the event of fading and gradually vanishing from sight.

This is about the morning before light, a time that is so much at ease that I can't help but imagine it in all its flavours. It is so much different than dusk, so much more youth than that! There is heart and strength and every morning is a test of survival, one not yet won. A day forward, a day yet to come. I can't help but sit in wonder and imagine it all. So here, as it is, my days effort.

In the morning before light when moon’s bright face fades and velvet blues suckle the blackness away
When nights breath yawns and warming glows brush against rosy cheeks of Earth
When stars whose once bright symphony of light closes the drapes and night marches on by
When hooting owls and squeaking mice slip into their holes, bellies full and warm and supper done
When dew sparkles, their miniature droplets reflecting the world entire like teary eyes
When bugs hidden on flowers and grass, tree and bush rise from their cold-induced slumber
When birds twiddle dee dee and fly from branch to branch and wake the world up
When crickets and frogs finally go to sleep, their chirping and croaking finally ceased
When squirrels and chipmunks gnaw at pinecones whose long falls echo through forest
When lakes dead-calm and alien quiet frightens and nothing seems real in the world, not time or place
When fish leaping break the surface and scuttle tranquility, their tiny expanding geometric circles meeting
When fog lulls in yellowed meadows where bull elk bugle and scrape hooves and horns against fragrant dirt
When, in the morning before light, light does appear not all at once but like a good wine melts down glass
When voluptuous sun stuns the horizon in kaleidoscopic color and the birth of day is at last met
When breath of life is at its fullest and dreams, wants, hopes, needs are let free to roam the world over

Nature’s Camaraderie

When you write, you can't think about what another will like. If you are happy with it, then you are. If others find interest in it, then great! Wonderful! But it is doubtful it will ever mean to them what it means to you.

This poem is about a man and wilderness. A lonely place that often forces a man to come up with his own friends. Going alone in the outdoors has certain qualities that I like. One of the most appealing is discovering who you are. One thing I discovered is that part of who I am is seen in those I call friends.

My conversation with you, Oh Mountain! My conversation with this WIND
that walks with me like a dog who loves without limit and gives without question.
My conversation on this cold wintery day as I wander meadows and forests
with WIND bursting through tree branches, covering me in millions of tiny crystals -
blinding me! And those flakes on my face quickly melting drip down my cheeks
and as soon as I fear I’ll be forever engulfed, the wind falls away and swoops ahead
hungrily devouring every trees snowy burden as far afield as my eyes can see. But it returns and I am again greeted with snow.

Such a loyal friend this WIND.

Hours later, I reach a pass struck between rock and ice,
now having risen far above the forests, far enough up to bring me closer to the sky
where sun and cloud dance with blue - where light soothes the soul from cold chill of shadow – where blue sky appears lost for the day, except for the WIND which pulls away the white and grey-shadowed pillow arms and again blesses me with rays of warmth,
pressing me upward and onward with renewed confidence.
But before I leave I look up to be sure the wind is still there. And of course it is.

Such a loyal friend this WIND.

Now climbing up a rock-studded ridge toward the summit, I dally with gravity.
My careful, mindful progress grips my minds every thought.
Hand here, foot there - look ahead for easy passage? Don’t fall. Don’t slip.
But clouds swamp the summit, blue is smoothered
and I fearfully grip the cold rock moistened by the fog – and – my attention is severed from my perilous work
– My hand slips! My foot slips! And just as I feel FEAR wrench at my heart,
WIND whistles through the rocks and howls as it comes dashing. Woe was I now to find my footing so close to being lost and at that moment, as I put my mind at ease, I reach the top in a few final moves where, Oh Mountain! I tell you of my friend the WIND.

Such a loyal friend this WIND.

Looking across to the next peak, Oh Mountain! I can see snowy slopes.
And two snow devils racing in circles, and I cast small pebbles toward them,
knowing they will never reach so far, but I feel camaraderie.
That I, too, should be among them. It is then I leave mountaintop for valley
- for the warmth of home. Although, as I turn to go, the wind holds me prisoner.
Rushing from the west then the east, rushing in all directions.
Rushing into my face, my side, my back. There seems to be no reason to it?
I remain steady, festooned to the rock, to the Earth. The will of this place overcomes me. I am beholden to it. And, Oh Mountain! beholden to you. But I do not forget the WIND and I take it along, all the way back home through the meadows and forests,
beyond the snows ‘till I am in the comfort of home. There I send the WIND to fly among lingering fall leaves until once again the mountains call.

Such a loyal friend this WIND.