scrap

The old trees open their leaves
palms up, to cup the sunlight
and cast a noon time twilight
round children at their rooted knees.

Lost Idyll

first draft; very rough. loosely inspired by this discussion.

Lost Idyll

The tattered shreds of elephant
toes speak truths we seek
to keep unknown.

While Tennyson, in sorrow,
saw how nature lurked red,
in tooth and claw
he failed to notice
how ours hands remain
the bloodiest of all.

No savagery is noble;
our own least of all.
Yet God, mankind's cruelest
creation, convinces us
we're not beasts
but for the fall.

EDIT: lacking flow and poor transitions, particularly from the first to second stanzas. hmmm.

Rest

fragment of thoughts on a drive home from a business trip. been kicking around since then.

Rest

Only ease comes easy
at the end of a long day.

Even that comes with the price
of long practice watching cats.

White Collar Blues

another rough draft.

White Collar Blues

Weary. Oh not
with the bone-ache
of working men,
that day-end drain
and strain on all
sinew and tendon
and limbs longing
for langorous ease.

Weary. Of thought
neverending, never
slowing, ever
racing around
the hamster-wheel
of the forebrain
while always, only
wishing for the
magic-zen-eraser
clarity of glass,
empty. Blank.

And glass, full.
Whisky.

...

edit: 12/12. see. told ya i'd work in hamsters. [grin]

Gulf Coast

rough draft

Gulf Coast

The wind in the palm leaves
whispers of rain. Not just
of imminence, nor only of memory.
But all: a song of deep green
longing for days where grey
washes blue from the skies.

With rustling fronds they speak
of shaping clouds and conspire,
with rooted will, to seed
them with the idea of water.

Barefooted, listening, basking
in the yellowed blaze; I sink
my toes beneath the moist
flesh of the earth
and am inclined to agree.