Hunted by an unknown
I have fled in my terror
Alone
Into this suffocating dark
Where I turn, ever turn
Lost
#Depression #DepressionandDreams
I hear the planets
call my name
and the ocean in echo
answering…my name
In the wind
the rippling grasses
the rustling leaves
the sand beneath my feet
I hear the whisper of my name
I hear, my brothers,
but I do not understand.
You call and I must come,
but where, my brothers, where?
#NativeAmericanDay #DepressionPoetry
October is not my favorite month
But I’ve come to love bits of it.
I don’t like carving Jack O’Lanterns
But I love October luminaria.
I don’t like pumpkin seeds
But like pumpkin bread.
I don’t like soaped windows, or egged cars
But I love the trickless treat.
I don’t like raking fallen leaves
But I love how summer dies
In scarlet, apricot and gold.
#OctoberPoetry #AutumnPoetry
In vain have I fished the sea of memory
With countless nets of woven words:
Silken sleekly shimmering nets,
Delicate and gentle,
Laid out upon the sea at early dawn;
Childish nets of knotted yarn,
Woolen and warming,
Riding on a summer sea;
Nets of woven arms clasped
Against a wall of wave
In a storm ravaged sea;
Nets woven cloud soft,
Or with an enduring nylon strength,
Nets of satin or softest down.
All of these and more have I tried
Against the ebbing flow of memory.
Yet from out each casting of my nets,
You slip away on the ever receding tide.
So I cannot hear your laughter or your voice
Between the lines of poetry
Nor see again your smile,
Amid the intricately crafted patterning of words.
In vain have I fished the sea of memory
With countless nets of words
To catch just once more
The wonder of being loved.
#Mourning #LovePoetry #NaturePoetry
The thrum of guitar strings
Lifts him high above the crowd
And that frenetic noise.
The metal thunder-rumble
Of the carnival rides sifts
Into nothingness like the fragrances
Of barn, fast food stands,
Popcorn, cotton candy,
Ciders and beer all drifting away.
Wrapped in a cloud of music,
He floats free.
A hand slips gently into his,
Her softness leans into him.
As she lays her head on his shoulder,
The silkiness of her hair
Brushes his jaw.
Suspended in a memory,
He slowly smiles, listening:
It is their song.
#StateFairs
The childhood games of
Red Light/Green Light,
And Mother May I?
Played with laughter
And sometimes cruelty
Stay with us
As we grow older
For nothing ever changes
When the stakes are real.
In adulthood you will find
That the green light
Is actually glowing teal
And the signal may be
Only metaphorical.
While “Mother” under an alias
Decides the ultimate winner.
But the rules remain
For nothing ever changes
As time passes by.
In old age when we are
Not more than failing parts,
The games continue
Now reigned over
By the treachery of age
For nothing ever changes
Though time moves on.
So, I ask you,
Is it your turn or mine?
And shall it be
Red Light/Green Light
Or Mother May I?
#Games #ChildhoodGames
Strolling the creek-side trail,
My footsteps crackle and crunch
Over the bed of fallen oak leaves
So thick the earth beneath them
Cannot be seen anywhere
But, do I think September,
And the Autumn season? No.
Looking at the dead leaves
Layered with dust, I shiver
And think tinder for fires
The fires which will whip
Down the Western slopes,
Blaze like hell-lit furnaces
In ravines and canyons….
There are places in the world
Where only two seasons exist,
The monsoon-drenched Wet
And its opposite the Dry.
The western United States
Are rapidly losing their Autumn.
Soon it will be no more.
In the Western states
There is at this time of year,
Only the Fire Season.
#Wildfires #NaturePoetry #AutumPoetry
It is high noon and the child dances
Amid the beauty of the day:
Flowers glow, trees shimmer.
The air is charmed by her child-song,
Light and sweet.
It is high noon and the child dances,
Forgetful of the now invisible,
But waiting, shadow,
That even at noon
Touches her joy with the dew
Of remembered and future sorrow.
It is high noon and the child dances—
Joyous laughter spills
Into the brief sun-bright hour
As she twirls,
Breathing in the wonder of life
While the sky wraps round her
All of its mystery.
It is high noon and the child dances.
#SummerPoetry #PoetryandChildhood #Dancing
Summer glows
in the produce aisle
where oranges,
ripe with sun,
pile warm days
on happy laughter
They roll,
solid and plump,
into your hands
You breathe
in the piquancy
of memory
Ah, summer:
Ripe, sweet
And juicy
#SummerPoetry #PoemsandColor
With balloon string tightly gripped
In his fingers, candied-apple sticky,
A speck of cotton candy glued to his nose,
He stumbles on his short legs
Over the pebbled path
Till he stops with a shriek of joy,
His cinnamon-red tongue extended in delight
As he bends to dig his baby nails
Into the slick guts of frog remains
Smashed by a random tire in the parking lot.
His mother plucks him from his discovery.
He reaches over her shoulder
Toward the froggy mess
Before I lose sight of them
As they sift into the crowd,
His screams fading beneath the bursts
Of sound from the carnival left behind.
#StateFairs