Imbued myriad layers
nourish omniscient spirit.
Starvations, immolations, decay
scarred into the land
making it holy.
Bounty of beauty
irrigated by tears
and less voluntary bodily fluids.
Teeming loam. Revitalizing
Partaking of the feast
we are blessed,
renewed in empyreal essence.
Each at our pace,
nature’s cycle reclaims
all that we are
that we may become
yet more abundantly, complexly
Once there was a promise
so tightly clasped,
a nucleus, inseparable
The promise said: “I am
Treat me as any dependent child.”
But you forgot a promise had been made.
You believed in a world
owed to you alone.
The promise grew withered, old,
sluggish, barren, wan.
It liked to laugh, so quietly,
peeking down the staircase
at the grown-ups at play.
It never meant to spoil the party
with its unseemly gasping for air.
Quietly it lay, hidden in shadows,
beneath random cobwebs and crumbs.
A Winter Parable
Two old men sit
wrapped in wool, contemplating a frozen stream.
Their memories soar out past yesterday’s horizon
to youthful pleasures and dismays.
Yes, time has been harsh as the coldest winter;
and beautiful as late night snowfall that
covers the world in symbolic purity,
strawlike, colorful northern herbs
against a star and moonlit sky.
To know profoundly, we need not be old,
only of a romantic nature.
To share these epiphanies,
we need only be in love with life.
The Temple Bells sound clearly.
Early morning misty mountain rising.
Pale moon to jolly alpine sun.
Soft blues & golds
throughout the Valley.
And, hark! Hear the bells
over hillsides, rockslides,
slip of skis, powder peaks,
& rime held skies.
That frost smell, plainly
on that open mountain day
& no one around but enticing odor
of clean virgin snow.
The darkside of the moon faces shyly.
Sly shade moored under awaits her cue.
Anticipation pure with mirth.
& Night comes quickly.
Icy stars blank out now pallid sun.
And moonbeams twinkle – oh la!
Pawprints mar niveous path.
The mountain creature stalks.
But soon hides & shivers
in providential crevice of warmth.
Vestal white reigns high.
Snowflake ribbons, cloud dust,
shatter into mirror-images & gone!
When I was Two and Twenty
It was a warm Winter.
Certainly there was frost, mesmerizing lace of snow.
Still, even northern streets held no forbidding chill.
Brisk movement, bracing meditative walks through
streetlamp shadows sufficiently
far from heavy deadliness of frigidity.
That Winter spanned manifold degrees,
latitudes and longitudes.
The coldest night hit with shock and
good hot anger. Electrical resistance, exasperation;
existential flurries stomp revenge.
February proffers challenging amity.
Winter’s merge with Spring, icy mud, ire damp,
subsumed in vulgar pleas for relief.
April is cruel. She is bossy, outrageously on the rag.
She seduces with promises, then laughs in your face,
carelessly spews spittle shames.
April is nobody’s mistress.
She demands notice; delivers only belligerence.
It was a warm Winter, a lusty Spring. Summer’s
herald of mystery followed through.
By Fall the world took on
a stranger’s ways. New data to consider.
Years have their stories.
Days awaken to the air’s news, the drums’ rhythm.
Warm Winters, Summers’ call of capricious glory;
twilights of harmonic symphonies when Sun
touches green horizons.
Get people talking.
Minds engaged, relating.
Diversity finds flow unites;
warm colors array.
Create a day
unlike the past.
Choir’s harmonic magic
breaks frozen thrall,
I slip through mystic’s hour-glass,
breathe ethereal sand,
land unseen, yet profoundly tasted
deep in intricate interstices
of pervasive consciousness.
Will I meet you there?
A long-lost embrace,
synergized anthem of camaraderie?
Welcome me to this place
beyond secrets and stars.