Category Archives: Rhyme

Devolving Winter

I lingered to watch the snowfall settle
upon an outside marble pedestal –
building layer-on-layer of snowflake and ice,
fractal and spacious, this echelon

drawn as a disk – its depth elevated
by landing these crystal forms intercalated
a structure withstanding the bitter wind,
conformed to the table’s circular whim.

Skimming this image, one wonders of words
that fall into place, or alight just like birds,
landing on branches selected ahead,
braving the wind and the ice also there.

Where, after the storm and the cold disappears,
the warming sun scratches, begins to shear
the sides of the snow-layered platter –
the melt dripping over the edge.

Alleged fair weather sets in
and devolves the lattice: winter’s has-been.
Leftover water pools in the center,
the plinth just a basis for puddles.

Then subtle, come birds, that alight like the words
that bathe in remnant splashes
and wing away the last fluency
of winter’s framework and brashness.

Christmas passed

I sit at the side of an aging Christmas tree,
its lights still glittering, the ornaments of memory
and seasonal delight put away since yesterday.

Times of Yule have passed, and a passionate thread
winds with the ribbon, translucent and red,
around the fir’s perimeter, wreathed and twisted.

Perhaps, tomorrow I shall put it all away –
the strings of lights, the skirt with gold inlay,
And finally, the tree itself – for future holidays.

And in the empty spaces that it leaves
I shall remember light and ribbon, though it grieves
that such a brightening emblem has to leave.

a plain heaven

A version of heaven –
through vertical blinds
the old tree branches propagate
angular lines
over blank and blue sky.
From where I am sitting,
this vein satisfies.

I recollect heaven –
its columnar pomp
the circumstance breeding
a fait accomp –
listening to others
imagined perfection
with bright shiny colors.

Yet, is it a heaven –
where nothing is gloried,
plain is exalted,
unlike our stories –
seeing a daily prompt and cue
of a simple frontier
for me to fall through?

A version of heaven
cut through with lines –
segments and angles intimate
beyond the blinds
interspersed with a sky.
From my perspective,
what heaven implies.

*****************

Happy New Year to all! May 2019 bring you all that you need and wish for.

Best Wishes,
John

Echoing

I’ve got no poem today, but it must be okay,
I’ve thought about monkeys, how walruses play.
how the color blue is my favoritest hue,
and wishes are best when they really come true.

I’ve got no poem today, and really do wish
the words on the tip of my brain would assist-
sounding out songs or echoing tales
of beauty transcendent, like the sea from a shell.

I’ve got no poem today, and no thoughts transcend
my own disappointment I fail to contend-
Yet here in the darkness, I draft and forestall.
I guess that I’ll gather more words, lest I pall.

I’ve got no poem today, but I venture to guess
Tomorrow will happen, and words may address
some loftier thought, some grander design-
while playing with words that I thought to combine.

Seasonal

The leaves lay spread amidst a coverlet of snow-

one a bit early, the other late in season

past reds and yellows – some time ago.

They were once green, connected stem to root –

and spring and summer rains

dripping from their tapered ends fed them –

their flowers and their shoots.

The rains that came in maelstrom or set in calming mist,

now fall glissando-like in frozen silhouette.

Lighting on the grass and ground,  setting to persist.

The time between these spells now hardly seems unfurled

and yet the leaves, now consummated, are ensconced in winter pearl.

 

The issue

The paper product, emergent from the box-
standing at attention, waiting on the swap,
when a user has to clean their glasses or to sneeze,
then pulls the tissue out with seamless ease.

And doing so, this draws a sibling sheet
up to the outside world with no retreat.
There, in place, arisen from the fold
a new page stands now, vigilant and bold.

This act is oft repeated in response
in times where sudden need is vital, the ensconced
leaflets follow on – each one the same.
Standing firm to meet the need is their acclaim.

And this should be a model for our deeds:
pull up those who follow us, to lead.

Shadow poem

I tried again, in the shadow of the moon,
to leave a word of peace behind.
Sowing the winds, where earlier in the day –
the road dust arose from cobblestones,
and ringing songs fell in bell tones.

I jumped along, in the shadow of the moon
with no peace at all in my mind.
No poem to break the noise away,
I hear out among the busy drones
with ringing songs that fail and moan.

I paused and sat, in the shadow of the moon
deciding that my place in kind
is not a published communique.
These words are simply what I own.
They ring the songs, and that’s well-known.

***************
a poem about poems and publishing and rejection.