Cold Reality

The destructive winds from the north and west
have finally calmed at least here but now
its wrath has traveled east unsettling
the Atlantic coast and shores.
Outside my door a wet grey
has been left behind.
The once ornamental crimson, pumpkin orange leaves
are sprawled covering the lawns
giving a rubble look from broken dead limbs
and twigs fallen from now barren trees

Cold air and a dirty gray abounds
A stiffness of my joints, a muscular soreness
has invaded my incarnate shell
where even in my soul,
my mind has slowed giving way
to an introspective tone.

A battle within of a feeling of being ‘alone’
and the feeling of ‘lonely’ is a consequence.
It comes not just from the ambiance of the season
but as a result of a self indulging cognition
in considering the queries of doubt and ambivalence
posed in my head to whether a reality
of a Divine presence or even spirituality as in the Tao,
‘damn you’ Stephen Hawking’s, Nietze, Sartre, etc

‘Alone’, is a soldier sitting, barely breathing
so as not to make a sound, his heart races
Sweat flies onto the quiet mist
off his face because of the incessant
shaking of his body from desperate fear

‘Alone and lonely’, is the child in Haiti,
parents and siblings taken from her by the hand
of Nature’s wrath and consequential disease,
sitting all alone in dirt and debris
her tattered shirt and dirt basted little face
gives her the look as if she's part of the rubble.
She's in pain from broken heart and blood dried wounds
she's lost in her tears now dried and crest on her face
and no one sees her, no one comes.

Cold reality?

Welcome Today

I sample rhymes and meter, loosely formed prose,
relish and treasure the simple haunting
of another poets heart,
as my ears are filled with the mellifluous sound
of Chopin’s ivorys and Shubert’s string quartet
The sweet vocals of Johnny Mathis, the Righteous Brothers
Or Eva Cassidy’s vocal renditions of the classics

My eyes consume and absorb into the depths of my being
the words by Shelly : …”the sunlight grasps the earth,
the moon beams kiss the sea, what is all this kissing’s worth
if thou kiss not me” or the inspiring introspective words of
‘Unknown’ ’Desiderata’: “…be kind to yourself for you are also
a creation of ‘God’ like the birds, the trees and the seas”.

The wind blows briskly sometimes with a howl
outside my window today
It rings of sounds brought forth from the north
Unsettling the warmth of the day before
No longer can the leaves hang on
and the pine needles falling like strands of gold
covering the walkway and felling
the few verdant patches of grass
leaving a surreal display like brush strokes
on Van Gogh’s ’Starry Night” or Wyeth’s
field of grass in ’Christina’s World‘.

I welcome this display these sounds
introducing me to this new day
bare footed I walk atop this golden carpet
outside my door as the wind blows my robe open
asking that I also be in full display
as the wind blows crimson and orange leaves
into my hair standing naked now
holding hands in Nature’s care