Desire first
love follows
hand holding on the avenue
Simple, surreal, attainable
It’s right when you float
Texting from across the room
that one and only look
that lets you know
you are living
and breathing
holding on for each moment
in the iconic love affair…
this weed, skinny standing stark,
face to the sky holds its small
leaves like beggar’s palms to
the sun, the rosette there
circling its throat, an upside-down
crown.
it is you, this weed, and it
flourished today from the crown up,
raised and opened
the arms of its seeds to the sky, sparkling,
with intelligence and the morning dew.
tomorrow
they will release, lift from your mind
like nimbus parachutes, or heavenbound fireflies,
shining ideas leaving behind
that which was rooted.
they know everything
who comes and goes
friend and foe
the nose knows
you save a dog, they save you
dog people know
it’s an unwritten code
there is no manual
they make you laugh
they never make you cry
they wake you up
alarm clock not needed
they let you talk to people
who you’d never talk to
they are social media
they don’t ask to be Liked, just LOVED….
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