Wintrus

I look out this window
open next to me,
shades rent to a frosted slate sky,
dull bark rubbed course
by a winter’s draw

I look out this window
and see a world unlike my own,
the needs and want of economy
biased within the wheel
of a time’s onward cycle ebbing

I look out this window,
the view a lagging onslaught
of a juncture’s sojourn noted,
with last and fitful flowers there,
a seed forgotten here,
leaves curled in, down to
a brief home and covert hearth

I look out this window
and I see. . . .

A place to step into, with a
yearning to grab hold of, for a
season to bend old toward,
where there are so many
being fleet and beaten bare
by an eternity’s lasting gasp

 

First Published by: Wilderness House Literary Review
Publication Date – 07/03/17
Issue # – Volume 12, No. 2

 

 

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Wings and Memories

 

Memories,
fleeting as mist on the wing,
so many,
so deep and barely lost

This. . .
fireflies
floating the night breeze,
jars clutched in eager hands,
weaving the trees and wild grasses

And that. . . .
the warm scent of hay
on a lazy day in spring,
the lingering hint of hoove and fur
an echo of itself

When a. . . .
wave chased giggling feet,
shells and stars
tumbling down tan limbs
to plop and sink

Where. . . .
moss clung to knobby leaves,
pungent decay a perfect cosmos
for a roll
and minute probe and poke

How. . . .
frozen flakes
were caught, outstretched
digits farflung
and bunched to crunch and sling

Were those shadows
running long side
these images in our dreams,
co-pilots of glee and whim,
pleasure and satisfaction met?

What became
of those journeys
interrupted by tenets
of sporadic maturity
levied on boisterous events?

And why?
. . .just why
have we lost
the innocence
that kept us safe
from life’s assignments?

Duty,
meted out by well-meaning community
far, far adrift
from those wings and memories
. . .and our freedoms, lost

 

First Published by: Wilderness House Literary Review
Publication Date – 07/03/17
Issue # – Volume 12, No. 2

 

 

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Remembrance Lost

 

Remember when. . . .

. . .We were so very young,
you’d drive up every hill
really, really fast, then fly over the top
and the world would drop down through the seats?
We always asked you to

– Do It Again –

Who needed a roller coaster
when we had the best of conductors.

. . .You’d wax the grand staircase
just to watch us slide off the first
step in our jammies with feet
and land at the bottom in a heap
on our sore and rolling rumps
just so you could join us there
all giggling like loons?

. . .We’d sit and watch the fledglings
take their first baths en masse?
Everything so new and exhilarating,
so terrifyingly life-altering?

. . .Laying on the floor
opening presents with the babies,
absorbing every thrill and squeal,
every gift chosen for effect?

. . .When we took those Sunday drives,
speeding through dappled sunshine
over hills and dry creeks,
one-street towns named for someone’s dead aunt,
laughing at the cops who had the temerity
to scold us and give directions in the same breath?

. . .The years began to speed up
and days slowed to a crawl,
but we’d never ever admit defeat
to the march of time?

. . .When we’d lose a member
from our circle and tribe,
then gather with kith
in the backs of their God’s house
and share a life well lived?

And do you,
do you remember
when you grasped my hand
tightly,
never letting go,
forever,
through breaths taken
in sickness and in health?

I remember. . . .

Standing in the room of your creations,
sitting at the table with your last imagining,
seeing your last thought,
wondering what you would be doing next
and knowing I would never get an answer.

For I remember you
and shall not soon forget,
that I love you daily
and miss you more
than a lifetime full of
a thousand single memories
lost.

 

First Published by: Wilderness House Literary Review
Publication Date – 07/03/17
Issue # – Volume 12, No. 2

 

 

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Off-Course

 

Your momentum didn’t allow
for you to realize
that you had stopped full
pace, your intent lingering
though the body did not

The vessel, fully engaged in
purpose, love and hope,
continued to seek that
which had been the course

But cause and effect insures the
rhythm will eventually sync
when connections fail
to meet, and directions are lost

 

First Published by: Wilderness House Literary Review
Publication Date – 07/03/17
Issue # – Volume 12, No. 2

 

 

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Ghost Leather

 

As I was standing still the other day at 67 mph
it occurred to me that we don’t actually know when we are going
at any given minute, second, moment, nano-instance.
Can you give an accounting?
Can you with a straight face say. . . .

“I am on my way to 10:02 am.
Is that in your set of variables?
Would you like to meet for an atom-splittage or two?”

Or. . .”I’m backing up to 6:03 on Friday evening,
the second of March ’07.
I didn’t like how that panned out.
Thought I’d re-warp the synapses and queue it up again.”

Somehow I don’t think any of this
is crossing our expanse, ever.
Yes, we make appointments.
A general reference to a future
where we fractures of varying speed limits
attempt to dock and exchange abstract flashes.

And we have memories.
Fond (or scarred) reminders,
those little bookmarks of a story line
seemingly natural, shared, implanted
deep into our organic data mine.

But these exercises are extremely futile.
Our vibrations never sync, never.
What we think of as another person,
someone we are exchanging thoughts, hopes,
spit-filled air with, is simply
an illusion, a shadow puppet on
our cell wall, rubbed there by a passing
mote on its over-eager shot
to the center of infinity.

 

First Published by: Aphelion
Publication Date – July 1, 2017
Issue # – 219, Volume 21
Link to my poem

 

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Quetzalcoatl in a Cowboy Hat

He descends through us from on high
Quetzalcoatl in his cowboy hat
Befallen from a sky
all a’glitter and a’knived

He comes to our poor land
a’writhing and sublime
His face a shroud of feelings
cleft with dull dragon eyes

The bone deified
skin chalked and high
transuent, translucent, transient
. . .and shy

He materializes in masquerade
with his camouflaged, rhythmed sigh
Appears and opens obscured doors
those cloaked between notes scryed

As we come to dance with deity
enthralled and wildly awry
The air clogs with sloughed skin
feet finally given freedom, and fly

To worship wing~ed dawns and hips
twisted and long denied,
the journey to our ego
driven, numbed and decried

As our bodies, mounted and rarefied
rush onward to the vistas spied
We freely surrender charge
of our vernal and vainless pyres

 

First Published by: Eternal Haunted Summer
Publication Date – June 22, 2017
Issue # – Summer Solstice Issue
Link to my poem

 

 

Posted in Deity and Faith, Speculative | Leave a comment

Reaching Through Tin

 

Your image before me
has traveled through time
intact, yet your eyes see me
here, in my now, your future
yet to be.

You are speaking to me
with a stare telescoping
beyond eons, and I hear you,
your thoughts, hopes, ideals,
genius and sorrow fully blown.

Reach out your hand, reach
through the film that separates
us, touch your barrier to
dissipate my radius,
and our frontier will be
inhabited and haunted
all at once.

 

First Published by: Cafe Aphra
Publication Date – June 6, 2017
Link to my poem

 

Posted in Speculative, Time Travel | Leave a comment