Monday, August 30, 2010

The Hummingbird

Praying on still more
of the sugar and water challis,
the homemade nectar,

it kneels briefly at the shiny,
blood-red throne
swaying just shy of heaven,

a hooded monk on the wing,
it genuflects several times
while vocalizing its disdain,

sips nervously of my offering
and then scuds away without
so much as a blessing, save

for the assurance of its
repeated appearances.

Friday, August 27, 2010

The Canker

The parallel between
spring and winter,
the fateful juxtaposition
that reverberates with
"life - death", "born - buried"
is barely noticeable
to the young except
for a kind of private itch
somewhere in the psyche,
and develops to a nagging
public canker the more
advanced in age we become.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

The Moon, My Shadow and Me

The moon catches me off-guard at times,
like when I walk out on newly-fallen snow
with that bright ball at my back. The moon can cast
a startling shadow, disparate in its movements,
unconnected to me, heeding its own will as if it
hosts dark thoughts and memories it won't share.
It can try to outpace me, and given the chance it
curves over mounds of snow, disappearing
and reappearing, elongating, foreshortening.
It's as if it wants me to give chase, or at least
try, so we can partake of folly together. Only
when my shadow is on a building, a wall,
perpendicular, erect, will it reconnect and become
a part of me once again, part of those things
of which I dream, my hopes, successes, failures,
sharing this journey which has become my life
and regardless of its resolve, that of my shadow.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Light Less Bright

I wonder if her death has been duly noted,
whether the trees in the forests became hushed
and the wind paused for a few respectful minutes,
and the rivers that run wild, grew briefly tamed;
whether anyone noticed light was somehow less bright,
and a star that was out there, flashed and disappeared?
In her honor, did the fragrance of wild flowers flood
the woods and did even the tiniest of creatures pause
in their wanderings, not comprehending the why,
only aware that something good that was there, is gone?

(In honor of Dorothy, 47, my painting partner,
who died Thursday, Aug. 5, 2010,
of liver disease - she is with God)

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Natural high

Three dogs asleep at my feet,
a fresh jar of sun tea brewing,
a wonderfully cool summer day,
hummingbirds visiting the feeder,
squirrels running through the trees,
white butterflies gyrating in the yard,
the sprinklers tapping their tunes,
my sweet wife humming as well,
God just happens to be on my side,
feeling good, what more to life
could I, should I, ask? Nothing!
Be content, you fool, be content
with this very natural high.

When Love Left

I don't know when love left.
Now, in the tangle of stale time and
the necessity to keep it a secret
from myself, I don't even know
when the craving
for her, her body,
her mind, her love in return, all
decided to vacate my heart,
apparently deciding
the effort wasn't worth it.

I thought it could never happen,
thinking that this thing,
this thing which
was never labeled and never really
protected, this thing I will call
love, would be a permanent fixture
in my life, and that
like two monogamous creatures
destined to live and die together,
we'd endure forever.

So sad that I couldn't even count
on the love of my life
to be just that.

(Of another life and a sadder time)