Sometimes, I weep, yet cannot
see the edge’s line and filigree.
Add to this – dim appeal,
obtuse affection, not fresh not real.
Creek beds flow in pouring rain
tears evolve, invoking pain.
A polish on the floor reflects
the one light on, that one affects.
A square persona, mirrored there
in lust’rous promise, staid and clear.
Such consequence – o tainted eyes
beneath a sad and milky sky.
When the leaves are swept away at night
and the chill cleaves to me,
I am reminded that I am descended
from those who worked the land.
tilled soil – tossed stone
to harvest, afford a life of
growing and yearning, splitting
and churning a song of origins
as a lantern tilted
sheds light on enclosed spaces
of circumstance. Places where poems
are seen, but not written.
Tuneful sounds once heard in the labors
of daylight, lulled by passing clouds
and mute when night comes on. Dirt is rinsed
from beneath fingernails and sleep arrives early
with a crisp quilt. Night whispers
it’s own beginning and the wind tosses aside
that which grips me.
2015 was a strange and pivotal year.
Early this year, I was unemployed, job searching, writing, baking, painting, and cooking. I worked on a chapter book of poems that I self-published on Amazon (Accidental Songs). It was a challenge, and I’ve still got a lot to learn. I hope to do another one soon.
In the spring, I became employed! So I wrote less, baked and cooked less, had nothing to paint (all rooms were done). I planted tomatoes and a single pepper plant. All did remarkably well! Lots of pasta sauce and salsa during the summer!
I still managed to finish NaPoWriMo, then probably averaged about a post a week on my blog. In retrospect, I delved a lot more into rhyme and meter this year than in the past. I gained some new followers, some real, some not … ;). Thanks to all who discovered and followed my blog in 2015.
In the summer, my eldest son got married! Beautiful wedding. Wonderful time. Great daughter-in-law! Then they moved all the way across the country… 😦
Then the rest of the year just flew by…
Things I would like to do as a writer(and not a writer) in 2016:
And that concludes 2015. I wish you all a safe and happy New Year.
John
There is little left
of thread that ties and undulates
through fabric’d whys.
The whats have gone the wayside now
with time – the when –
don’t ask me how.
This never was infinite string
-ain’t what it used to be,
this thing that stitched my words
in canvas, starched and mended-
just as December ended.
So, with anew, fresh double cloth
the patterns swirl
without the gloss and keep me warm
in thoughts subdued
of music,
sweet – the words are true.
I want to see matters before
the sun rises, in a way
like mad hatters -yet still analyzes.
I want to walk slowly in
view of the mountains,
with flocks of black starlings
murmuring – counting.
I need to retrace you with
scripts of profession, the
kind that embraces, encourages –
freshens.
And here in my twisting, revolving
release- enlisting your
breathless entreaties – I cease.
Bare trees anticipate
holding snow – amassed
in silent devotion
to the aesthetic
adorning the view
once green – now
lifeless and worn-
white poinsettias look best
when surrounded by red,
reflections from polished silver
are most notable
in darkness.
dropped ornaments
that shatter live on
as recollected ones,
objects to decorate
our mind’s branches.
between the nothing-dom
and something-ness
the lumens lean,
twisting axes-
a helix
in ideal darkness.
visionary – for both
a twinkle of wonder and awareness
of position-
modest in winds and poses
that once in a blue moon
align with man’s sense of mystery
on a coiling staircase.
shameless, peel back
in brazen arcs your wings-
dormant no more.
eased and alarmed
fire and calm
dark matters-
lights palm
her secrets.
whereabouts, then do you see
your comfort, lazing –
hushed, set free.
Among the forest wood so tall?
you’d have to climb to view it “all”
And next to this an open glade
with grass and shrubs and little shade-
surrounded by a green brocade.
I’d seek the quietness in space
with wild oats, primrose, queen anne’s lace-
So lay with me in flower blooms
in this, an isolated room
away from plain, removed from fear
staring at the sky, austere
at its inception-
this poem for affection.
As for me,
when Cecilia sings –
the brightened notes
awaken the spring.
Leaves are new
among the trees,
when flow’rets bud
and winter flees.
Her eyes shine,
she gestures grace
and draws me in
to her dulcet embrace.
In this prime,
her melodies swarm
and hypnotize -captivate
poesy form.
Then compelled
by aires of allure,
I write simple verses-
the memory secure.
Knowing the value of such blooms,
she recorded the moment of their heyday.
Just when the cannas overflowed
and the pear trees erupted-
the flushed colors dotted her mind
so that she could memorize each cast and tone
and whisk them onto winter’s canvas
smears of rust and scarlet
over rifts,
wan and chill.
******************
Autumn is passing its apex now. It always brings with it a sense of nostalgia, a sense of loss, an appreciation of beauty…These are some quick thoughts about the season brought on by viewing some recent photographs taken by a blogging friend. Thanks for visiting.
Taps and Ratamacues 