Saturday, December 27, 2008
Blanket
Today I became part of the narrow stream
My freshwater silhouette
slid over the mossy
red rocks
And sticks
Down the side of the forest
As I slid down like a snake
my hands
began to grasp onto the dried leaves
and the loose dirt
My fingers pushed into the
Wet soil
And my arms stretched deep down
Into the earth
I stood as a naked tree
The winter sunlight
Shining down the hill
Darting between the trees
Touching me
I stood still
Awaiting the eventual
Green of spring
The lake pushed up against me
My hands reached out hoping to grasp
dirt
instead they pressed water
like a swimmer
I gave way
Fell in
And became the ripples that cover
The surface of the lake
Like a soft, reflecting, jelly blanket
My freshwater silhouette
slid over the mossy
red rocks
And sticks
Down the side of the forest
As I slid down like a snake
my hands
began to grasp onto the dried leaves
and the loose dirt
My fingers pushed into the
Wet soil
And my arms stretched deep down
Into the earth
I stood as a naked tree
The winter sunlight
Shining down the hill
Darting between the trees
Touching me
I stood still
Awaiting the eventual
Green of spring
The lake pushed up against me
My hands reached out hoping to grasp
dirt
instead they pressed water
like a swimmer
I gave way
Fell in
And became the ripples that cover
The surface of the lake
Like a soft, reflecting, jelly blanket
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Tennessee Winter Light
Today I walked
In the Tennessee winter
White light dove through bits of the forest
Revealing lanky neutral colored tree trunks
That stood like adolescent boys
Thin and absent,
Awaiting the maturation of spring
My footsteps stepped over
Dark horizontal shadow bars
Lining the naked forest
While a lone duck glided through the lake
Leaving only a delicate ripple behind
The path bent and turned
Leading to effervescent, jumping light
Coming off the lake from in between the trees
Blinding the eyes
As the night fell
the beaver
Dared to swim out in the open
In the Tennessee winter
White light dove through bits of the forest
Revealing lanky neutral colored tree trunks
That stood like adolescent boys
Thin and absent,
Awaiting the maturation of spring
My footsteps stepped over
Dark horizontal shadow bars
Lining the naked forest
While a lone duck glided through the lake
Leaving only a delicate ripple behind
The path bent and turned
Leading to effervescent, jumping light
Coming off the lake from in between the trees
Blinding the eyes
As the night fell
the beaver
Dared to swim out in the open
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Low Maintenance Dreaming
The silence infected
The weekend hours
decisions couldn’t be made
Only lazy
Meandering
with the mind
The winter
Quieted the day
And permitted
Only petite movements
No grand gestures
No social hours
Not even introspection
Just low maintenance
Dreaming
The weekend hours
decisions couldn’t be made
Only lazy
Meandering
with the mind
The winter
Quieted the day
And permitted
Only petite movements
No grand gestures
No social hours
Not even introspection
Just low maintenance
Dreaming
Monday, December 15, 2008
The Beauty that Accompanies Us
A harsh
And violent
Push
Into the most delicate
Of places
the internal tissue
of human love
reveals itself
most starkly
in the company
of its intimate partner,
human suffering
simplifying
the hours, the minutes, the days
that pass
life beckons
enforcing
its inevitable
movement
allowing beauty to replace
the pain once again
And violent
Push
Into the most delicate
Of places
the internal tissue
of human love
reveals itself
most starkly
in the company
of its intimate partner,
human suffering
simplifying
the hours, the minutes, the days
that pass
life beckons
enforcing
its inevitable
movement
allowing beauty to replace
the pain once again
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Thirty
She rested on her side, forming a small hump in the bed in flannel cloud pajamas. Outside, through the window to the right of her bed the construction in the alley way had ceased miraculously that day and the silence was as nourishing as seawater. She slept endlessly that morning, as if her body was resigning to the winter, protesting her tenacity. Her thoughts were covered by an opaque film caused the infection inside her body, unidentified and location unknown, only her utter exhaustion revealed something was awry in her physiology. She had no cough or fever as evidence, it was simply that her energy gauge showed that of a 85 year old woman.
Her moments of dulled lucidity reflected on her upcoming change of age. The last thirty years flashed before her dreary eyes like a painting, overwhelmed by emotion, the colors were dramatic and deep, reds turned into burgundy and sky blue into deep midnight, the brush strokes were wide and heavy, they stirred an observer's sentiments just from a glance. It was a life of deep solitary feeling, public and private, desperate and brave.
She knew the next thirty would be quite different from the first. She had changed her course, beginning at 29, like a photographer, she had begun to play with the control of her lens, experimenting with the amount of light she allowed into her frame of vision, forcing herself to consider new angles and new subjects. She had begun a battle, a silent hidden war with the dust on her mind, wiping it clean only to find it land again exactly where she had defeated it weeks before.
Despite this turning inside out she was proud of the first thirty years. She embodied all the joy and happiness that circumstance had endowed her and her immovable charisma still followed her wherever she went. The threat the world once posed with its anonymous and known characters, from strangers on the metro to family members at dinner, had evaporated, she no longer trembled in the streets of humanity.
Though many women dreaded the pending milestone, she found comfort in 30. It gave her a neat package with which to appreciate the past and break with it, like a sentimental letter from an old lover. Like a commencement ceremony, it was a discrete moment in time after the arduous ascent, the breath-taking summit and comfortable descent, to acknowledge the beauty, humility and feat of the mountain climb.
And it was unlike any other ritual, because it was her most conscious effort, since she turned 29 she had prepared for this generation change, regularly facing her failures, and investing in her talents. More courageously, she had embarked upon an effort that she presumed would demand years to master, the effort to allow life and human relationships to be as they are.
Her moments of dulled lucidity reflected on her upcoming change of age. The last thirty years flashed before her dreary eyes like a painting, overwhelmed by emotion, the colors were dramatic and deep, reds turned into burgundy and sky blue into deep midnight, the brush strokes were wide and heavy, they stirred an observer's sentiments just from a glance. It was a life of deep solitary feeling, public and private, desperate and brave.
She knew the next thirty would be quite different from the first. She had changed her course, beginning at 29, like a photographer, she had begun to play with the control of her lens, experimenting with the amount of light she allowed into her frame of vision, forcing herself to consider new angles and new subjects. She had begun a battle, a silent hidden war with the dust on her mind, wiping it clean only to find it land again exactly where she had defeated it weeks before.
Despite this turning inside out she was proud of the first thirty years. She embodied all the joy and happiness that circumstance had endowed her and her immovable charisma still followed her wherever she went. The threat the world once posed with its anonymous and known characters, from strangers on the metro to family members at dinner, had evaporated, she no longer trembled in the streets of humanity.
Though many women dreaded the pending milestone, she found comfort in 30. It gave her a neat package with which to appreciate the past and break with it, like a sentimental letter from an old lover. Like a commencement ceremony, it was a discrete moment in time after the arduous ascent, the breath-taking summit and comfortable descent, to acknowledge the beauty, humility and feat of the mountain climb.
And it was unlike any other ritual, because it was her most conscious effort, since she turned 29 she had prepared for this generation change, regularly facing her failures, and investing in her talents. More courageously, she had embarked upon an effort that she presumed would demand years to master, the effort to allow life and human relationships to be as they are.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
