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

A Smile in Space

Why do glee filled eyes and joyful smiles last so short a time?
Why do moments of this kind come so infrequent?

Sometimes those times of momentary joy come silently
They appear in quiet spaces in the oddest places
When no one is looking and it’s cloudy
When the sun is slightly piercing the cumulus
and touching with shadows cast on a single soul
She sits alone on a bench amidst a conifer maple and oak

A salient breach of solemnity arises encircles
papa and mama, octogenarians, sitting together
quietly with arms entwined into one another’s
staring into space, a space known only to them
she gently bends her neck to lean her head on his shoulder
a sense of exasperation abounds the two of them
yet a soft and gentle gasp of fulfillment
to their lifelong moments in time

A tiny tot sits alone on a thick patch of green
interspersed with golden strands of wheat
blowing gently in the breeze as she turns
to look at me with those large hazel blues
and a smile that only innocence could demand

If only this smile could pierce the gray of day
cascading everlasting rays of sunshine
upon those who sit alone
in the dark and cold
casting shadows of lonely souls

Editors Frenzy

Standing amidst the grandiose and enormity of rock formation
looking up, up and still not able to see the very tip of the snow cap
atop this natural forming scape that stretches above and beyond
clouds pierced by the chard formation of the tip of this mountain
gives me a sense of how an insect feels when landing on my arm
or when I stand hovering over a tiny toad that sits very still
as I stroll the wild damp brush below my feet and now imagining
how it feels if it feels or what it thinks if it thinks when it fearfully
looks up at this enormous entity that moves and threatens it’s existence
if it’s even cognizant of it’s jeopardy, with the human sense of fear.

Hearing the roar of an ocean wave as it gathers afar, far beyond my visual scope
and it’s rumbling forming much larger deep underneath than above
running faster and faster toward the shore line where I stand barefoot
as tiny ripples flow in and out through my naked toes curled gripping the cool white sand.
I notice with virgin gasps the large promontory rock formations have taken character and shape from the millions of slaps of splashing ocean tides seemingly playful yet
mindful of competing space through the epochs of time

The black cold of a cloudless night sky allowing the crystalline sparkle
of hovering stars and moon floating seemingly resisting movement,
resisting falling to earth and always watching me watching them.
Night after night depending on the equinox determines what star formation
stands sentry over me whether it’s the three star belt of the buff Orion, the
tail dragging Dragon or the olla of Ursa Major and the chatter of the Seven Sisters

This exercise of observation with nonsensical imaginational interpretation allows me
escape from my ego my self and also the written run on sentences unconventional grammatical implementations is intended to incite the traditionalists the elitist into a frenzy of wanting to edit and apply correct annotations punctuations capitalizations maybe even syntax etc.

My intent is to show that spontaneity in putting thought into script writ has it’s merits in rawness pureness and an inherent nature of the founding means of written communication diminishing the nuances of linguistic misinterpretations in the web of language translations.

Waking with a Smile

This morning I awaken with a smile
My night was restful with sleep
Dreams juxtaposed with memories and faces
Flying and super human performances
Embraces of love with those no longer
In my world even after I wake
Three years prior to this wonderful sleep
I couldn’t close my eyes to rest to sleep
for more than an hour as I attempted
to sleep in a sitting position.
Excruciating pain would travel from my hips
down to my knees and up to mid chest
Referred pain I guess it’s called
In this waking moment I celebrate prosthetics
and medicinal pain supplements
I am now able to carefully bend
to put my own socks on and tie my own shoes
I can bend to wash my ankles and even my legs.
I welcome being able to stand and talk to friends
in one spot for more than fifteen minutes
I’m able to walk my little miniature poodle
friends around one square block
No longer can I cross my legs while sitting
Caution is ever present when lifting and
most sadly when walking viewing a Winter scape
No longer can I chase the tennis ball, a game I loved
nor can I jog when once I used to run miles
But now I can play and cautiously chase my little friends
I roll in the grass with them
and able to stand up afterward on my own
I can sleep in a bed
I can dream of running and flying
I can sleep and dream, wonderful dreams

Water and Life

The wisdom I gathered from water
when first mother playfully splashed me
with a spray from her finger tips
The kitchen sink as mother gently held me upright
Sitting in the bathtub filled up to my toddler thighs
A childhood memory of wading in a plastic pool in our back yard
Tiny brooks or streams I'd walk into only up to mid calves or knees
A river running rapid over rocks and fallen branches
my short exciting sojourn in a canoe through a wooded park
An ocean wave ebbs onto the beach of sand and rock
I run into it’s arms of high waves
I’ve learn to swim against the tide
recognizing the choice of not fighting the undercurrent
Now that I have swam so many rivers and lakes
and even challenged strong ocean currents
my strength has waned with the number of seasons past
once again I only wade knee high
but my weakened arms and legs still recall
that feeling of a cold stream or river
and how they would battle up stream against the rapids
and sometimes into those large ocean tides where they would
swim along side dolphins
A small amount of wisdom I've gathered
upon those river banks
the high tides and their ebb
Vision of the grand expanse of the oceans abode
It started from that sprinkled splash upon my face
from mother’s finger tips and loving grace
I learned of the wisdom of water
how to stroke up stream analogous to Life.

Comes the Northern Wind

The sun has moved further away
It’s fingers no longer touch the day
with sweltering heat
I now see the wind blow
as the leaves now a rusty color
fall fast at an angle
seeming to leave a trail from the tree
where they’ve been separated
There’s a chill in the evening
as the wind blows from the north
It gives pause to how much cracked open
the windows are left at night
The darkness when peering up at the moon
is now seemingly more black
Orion and Ursa Major seem to glitter
more brilliantly this time of year

Nature has changed from it’s verdant dress
to the seasonal russet, orange and yellow chemise
It kindles a visual aspect
and that dusk comes earlier
Sweaters and wool shirts
become a preferred choice of wear
reminding us that the northern winds
will soon take residence
The occasional translucent precipitation
will soon fall feather light
with those tiny patterns of white
that have been said
never duplicate in pattern

These annual seasonal changes
seem to turn quicker
the more of these I’m witness
When once I would look forward
to these changes with
the excitement of physical activities
Now I welcome these seasons
with but a pleasure to my eyes
as time has also caused me changes
where now I walk when once I ran.

Que Paso?

Have our two hearts morphed legs
Now walking away in separate ways
Our days are spent apart
and when they meet in evening hours now
seems the days distance is still present
no longer is there that once cherished embrace
The once always present desire to touch
has sadly been spurned and only memories reside
On occasion our voices of the heart
speak the words that are now rote
‘I love you’ yet the physical signs
that reflect these words
of warm hugs or the spontaneous
touch of lips seem lost by time
A cool ambiance now pervades
unlike those warm and lust filled vapors
that once filled the room
when we would look into each others
windows of the heart and a seductive smile
would introduce the next moment of
primal desire leading us to the warmth
of our feathered stuffed pillows
strewn throughout our mattress room
raging with distorted arms and legs
upon each others bodies pressed with sweat
and gasping breath wanting never to cease
and when it did, a quiet salient moment of
embrace feeling each others hearts beat
pressed against each others chest
What has caused these two hearts to walk away,
away from that once love filled space?

Que paso?

'Slow' Button

Life stands still this early Saturday morning
before the light emits
from a rising sun
The robins and tiny wrens
Chickadees and even the hum
of wings from ruby throated humming birds
release their morning harmony of
Chirps and song and the rustling from preening
All else is quiet

My mind wrestles with random thoughts
Wish life had a ‘slow down’ button
I see my reflection from my picture window
as I sit on the mantle staring out
My memories of recent past
The faces in my life all hover
in these rambling thoughts
Some I will see today or tomorrow
Some will remain as welcome memories

An early morning jogger goes by
This is the sign that human life
will soon awaken to share the day
They will contribute to my future memories
and their faces will somehow hover
in my soon to be next mornings' rambling thoughts
Hope I remember to push that ‘slow down’ button

Empty Questions

The sun light dominates the day
Sharing with an azure sky
Birds are chirping and rustling about
Outside my open window
A soberly wonderful ambiance yet
An emptiness abounds within me

My mind is bartering with
Curious thoughts that take me
To daunting places of
Hollow destinies and constant
Questionings of why we
Even exist and the truth of purpose

I need to become involved
In life in spite of the ‘absurdity’
A distraction from the querying
Accepting the presence of ‘being’

Time's Quiet Sound

Time simmers quietly
Behind closed doors
It gathers it’s age
Carries it’s dust
Without sound
Sometimes too quick
To be found
Before grey resounds
On eyebrows and temples
Memories gather
To chat and compare
Of good and bad
Of Love and scorn
The praise of newborn
The salient sorrow
Of those lost
Crimson suns and golden fields
come and go
Multi-colored hues
Displayed on Nature’s breast
The seasons turn
Accrue and soon
That quiet simmering
Sound of time
Tolls loudly upon your door
You gather your Life’s riches
In the pocket of your soul
And walk quietly
Hand in hand with time
Through that once closed door
Upon heaven’s corridor

Loves memory

When my steps
No longer leave an imprint
And the sound of my voice
No longer is heard
When the spirit of
My smile, my song
No longer fills a space
Will the softness of our hands
Clinging gently as we walk
Will the stars of night
Still glitter and sparkle
In each others eyes
Will the running stream
Still share its wisdom
As it flows from its beginning
To its destiny
undaunted by large stones
and the fallen trees
As we sit together watching
Love links our silence
When my absence comes
Or yours or both
Will Love remember us?

Shackled

She would express almost daily
how sad, how painful life is.
She would leave me with guilt
because I couldn’t nor did I have
the where-with-all to diminish her sadness
nor lessen her pain, a feeling of helplessness
My day would be encompassed
with the thoughts of …what made her days so sad?
Was it because she was all alone, without a partner?
Because our father and all subsequent male friends
would leave her stranded alone to face life?
…what caused her so much pain?
was it something physical from aging?
Was it her struggles with surviving life’s toils,
struggles and strife, alone?
These questions and daunting perpetuation of feelings
and thoughts shackle me till this day.
Is this the bond, the memories she wanted to leave me with?
Do mothers do this with their children, unknowingly,
as a way of bonding, self perpetuation?
Do they not realize that these memories
will be ‘piggy backed’ with their children’s
own ’life’ experiences, toils, tribulations?
Fortunately, I choose to remember
many fun and loving moments.
Shackled, I am, with love for her.

Freedom of Worship

What is in one’s heart
And in one’s mind
What resounds in one’s spirit
In a quiet space
Alone where no one else can hear
Where no one else can see him
Kneeling kissing the sacred earth

What is most sacred in one’s inherent,
some say intrinsic, makeup
Cannot be extricated through
attempted denying of space or time
by the flow of ignorance
or through obstructionist
attempts of elimination
through misrepresentation
to the ignorant and dissemination
of bias as an obstruction

spiritual or religious belief
cannot be obstructed
through mundane attempts

this attempt at denying one
of an individual to worship
to communicate with their personal
Deity has been, historically, the cause
for violent reaction and wars.
Violent attempts of denying
yields violent reaction
For the ‘greater spiritual cause’,
there is no minimization
in exercising and ascending to
extreme levels of exhortation or protestation.

The liberty to express and exercise one’s
spiritual or religious beliefs in this country
is founded in a written Constitution
that provides the freedom to express
inherent liberties of speech and worship

Youthful Indiscretion

Against my finger tips
yours feel cool and moist
so gentle, titillating
My breath escapes
and my heart beat ‘pitter patters’
ever so quickly
so pure when my first touch
of a girls hand to mine
before I became nine
as it was unplanned,
unexpected and so breathtaking

As my birthdays accrued
and my shyness waned
I would intentionally position myself
in places and spaces
where the occasion would arise
and a girls hand was next to mine
a feigned accident as I would
gently touch her hand when by her side
and with great risk
would brush her skirt

As time gathered in years
although in those ominous halls
of my high school years
the girls partitioned in one half
and the boys in the other
time couldn’t arrive soon enough
for lunch in the cafeteria where
space was shared with those gentle creatures
soft cool moist hands, pretty hair and faces

Years have passed quickly and my shyness
has been replaced by reasons to kiss,
with my lover my friend
holding hands and ascending to
the greatest sharing in the absence of clothes
embracing, bodies moist, soft breast pressed against my chest,
mouths wide open giving chase to each others tongues
and ever so gently entwine in rhythm
remembering with every movement
those youthful indiscretions in the touching of hands
my heart remembering that first ‘pitter patter’

why the silence

I don’t know what I’ve done
Or what I haven’t
But when the day is done
Before my tears run dry
I must ask why,
Won’t you tell me

What have I done
or not done
to have turned your voice quiet
to maybe something I did
or something I’ve said

Solitude and isolation
is a choice sometimes I make
But when the silence comes
from something unbeknownst
the solitude is lonely
and the isolation is cold

Speak to me
let me know
if there is something
I can do or say
or something I shouldn’t
don’t leave me in the grey

If now I sing a song
I can hear my voice
but once upon a time
it would be your voice and mine
singing the same song

My nylon six string
sits inside its black case
leaning up against my
two congas both gather
dust from time past

Life is too short
Family and friends too few
Whisper to me the words of a song
So we can once again sing
In harmony

I see me

I see aged couples walking slow
I think I walk too fast
I hear them whispering
I think I speak too loud
I see them, at each other, smiling
I think I don’t smile enough
I see them holding hands
I wonder, where’s my lovers hand
I see them sitting next to each other in silence
I wonder how did their silence become golden
I see his head is lowered and tears are flowing
I wonder if his lament is because of time past
When I stand and walk away
and turn to gather one last look
I notice they’re no longer there
I ask myself were they ever
Or was I observing, me

Illusory Little Things

Illusory is the conclusion I’ve arrived
In the many years of my life
My dreams, my youth filled naiveté,
arises as an illusion

The faces that would look at me
I misinterpreted, thinking truth
was in the eyes that stared at me
and selfless giving was in their hearts

Without direction and oversight
I thought life would come to me
with open arms and gifts a plenty
with joy and ’happiness’.

My illusion of Life
has caused these wishes and desires
to be elusive
extending a cold hand
rather than a warm embrace

Some moments did cause me to smile
receiving gifts
But when all around me there was little
compared to those with much.

My youthful misdirection and misunderstanding
disallowed, in retrospect, an appreciation
that ’little’ is ‘much’ when compared
to those with less

I’ve arrived now
In a place of contentment
No illusion
I now understand
The ’little’ things

Be Here now

If I remember first thing in the morning
And open my eye lids slowly,
Will my day slow?

If I quietly and gently pull back the covers
And slowly roll my legs and hips off the bed
Then place my feet onto the cool wood floor
And sit there for a while contemplating
The beginning of my day
Will it slow?

If instead of walking, I crawl on all fours
Knees and hands to the floor
As if this were the way I’ve always ambulated
Would my day slow?

If I looked and walked backwards
Not looking forward
But always where I had been
Would time move slower?

Maybe if I just become cognizant of the present
Not look forward or backward
Trying to gather lucidity of the ‘now’
The present, ‘Be here now, Remember’
Time stands still

This Day

This morning has arrived with a grayish hue
A quiet coolness has awaken and greeted the day
Although it’s but a small non-pretentious fountain
that I bought and now sits
just outside of my back yard patio within view
the sound of water spurting and falling
from it’s cap onto the first tier
then onto the second where the sound
grows more audibly, with this ambiance
the separateness of my being seems to
assimilate and integrate into this wondrous
call of Nature’s morning

If all could be so calm and so alluring
with every morning that I rise
From now until life beckons me
to rise and walk through life’s portal
and once again smile upon those
who no longer walk on this earth,
my Mother and my brother, whose love
transcends this mundane path
they sit here with me
on my patio

Thank you to whom ever
I should thank for this day.