pragmatic
but still able to feel
rough work week
spent and tired
days between stations
desire had to wait
stony exterior starting to melt
will you ease me down from the madness?
don’t ask for much
but when I do
will you come running
or will it just be Monday
all over again?
It’s autumn in Georgia,
and nature’s death,
has never looked more beautiful.
The hills roll away like sleeping lions.
The untamed splendor
of dying leaves is strangely magical.
As God paints the mountains in
primary colors,
they bleed into one another,
Creating rust-colored
mountain ranges
with ice capped peaks.
It’s autumn in Georgia, and
nature’s death,
has never looked more beautiful.
More at http://www.about.me/C.Hemsley.
He spoke to me:
“As I walk the land,
Submerged in thought,
I hear the footsteps of my ancestors,
conquering the darkness
with their small candles.
Their once extant spirits
have crossed-over:
moonlighting as heralds from
another world, riding the winds,
praying I breath in
their ceaseless energy, So
their good can emanate through me
As it once did them.
When you dream, he says,
Dream a dream that changes
The world, not just yours.
In a world turned upside down,
Be good hearted and strong,
And watch as like minded men rush
to your aid.”
More at http://www.about.me/C.Hemsley.
I pound the words
As best
I can
Trying to force
The pieces
Into the puzzle
That is an emotion
Edges break off
Not fully revealing
The total picture
How I long
For others
To recognize
The thought
To find common ground
In something
We can share
When I was young
I had my dreams
for who that is young
does not have dreams?
But now I am old
the dreams have gone
and are but memories
yet I remain at ease
for once I was young
and had my dreams.
I.
Perhaps,
I was the black dot
smudging the river
as the wind hummed
at the frail foot
of a lavender bush –
my mind whirled
black and white –
fragments spread in
a ring of ripples
which blended into
the impetuous pull
of the stream
the crimson trails
snuffed out
beneath my feet
but, the spectral downdraft
rapped on my windowsill –
ominous like
a clairvoyant, whose foreboding
chains the future to
the same deserted roads
and hidden precipices,
where I was swallowed whole
II.
I wanted to embraced it,
so I stepped into
a white cloth of mist –
lungs shrunk
to little orbs –
a bee buzzing
in my chest
the balmy breeze of the meadow
wrapped my soul in slumber
and assembled the quaint
reminiscence of
the night when waves
washed over the moss
and the golden Arch
gently strolled
across your
seaside penumbra –
delicate and pure
like a dewdrop
and after witnessing
such a spectacle
that rendered my heartbeat unsteady
my days, now, end when she says
her eyelids are heavy
a pair of running shoes
arrive in the mail
I try them on for size
old tired feet
feel coddled by
the glove-like fit
pacing the room
I feel free to indulge
my bipedal dreams
I am the wind
I am the fleet-
footed messenger
for a brief moment
I almost believe I can
outrun the reaper
Learning of his death just yesterday
I breathed in
the quiet devastation
of realising
that I was fine
It is always raining somewhere
I suppose
When the heart breaks
Pieces of memories
Ricochet off each other
With emotional violence
Such loss
Comes with numbness
Then the flood
Of pain
Followed by hopelessness
Yours is the deepest hurt
A childhood boyfriend
A husband
A father
A moral center
Solid and stationary
The comfort of aging
Sharing children
And grandchildren
Plans together
For a future retirement
All incinerated
But at its worst
There are “the we”
Who willingly
Will be there
Listening
When sorrow
Must be shared
Those of us
Who will bear
Any burden
While you find
The balance
As close to normal
As it
Can ever be
A maple chair
lies abandoned
by the curbside
tilting in the rain.
Its two good legs
dig into the mud
like a wounded man
struggling to rise
it longs to be upright
it was once the backbone
of hearth and home
now it sits forgotten
discarded as trash.