A Weekend Gone

It isn’t that there is anything wrong,

simply, the realization of a weekend gone,

the days ahead all toil to be sure

inside this mechanical dream we assure.

 

While yesterday seemed quite away

when suddenly here we are today to stay,

oh it isn’t that the wrongs are right

more the reality of our time in spite.

 

I wanted to remember you this time

with a bit of a calculated rhyme

yet the days well hours turned to nigh

it was in a sudden fit of overwhelming cry.

 

A weekend gone, one might want a redo

yet it is important to understand we do

have opportunity always just ahead

to recreate, to reaffirm, to be virtue lead.

 

A weekend gone, and summertime as well

we have tapped into another state of tell

when suddenly our lives have much matter

for the presence of another is a next ladder.

 

We walk, we talk, we have similar paths ahead

yet inside a dream we still might be easily lead.

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Choosing the Listener

I wonder if it is so easy to recognize

the sweet recall of one time being heard,

when it could be felt,

when word might resonate,

walking along a creek,

listening, the water gurgling forward,

a purpose, a design, an always,

and me,

the quiet remedy to a vacant stare

watching, wondering, hoping,

waiting really

for some reason to pop out of the water

look me in the eye,

suggest the body of life

is the constant flow,

that no matter how far we trail our lives

there is always going to be a need

to continue seeking reason

we stay afloat,

watch the channels change,

the soil erupt from a pressure beyond

themselves,

only a part of the whole.

First Glance

Eyes open

still in mourning

a soft reminder

precious

in the quiet of a breeze

rustling leaves

the next stage

a would be journey lay ahead.

What follows

will be stark extreme

immediate loss

in sensory perception

for some a routine

cycle of life

while others we know

traverse a newer universe

one shares in

solemn

Mortality

Deep In The Wood

I did hear a scream,

It wasn’t a city street

A forest it would seem

To hold so many sound

The wind had calmed

Now in the distant mystique

A cry could be the sound.

 

An animal I would surmise

Caught in the moonlit stars

A bright horizon left exposed

This creature of the night,

Was simply pre-disposed

To use the carrying sound

To warn the world around.

 

Haven’t really known a way

Beyond the cover of my chance

I’m listening to the ground,

Yet only when I’m told

The locks have been changed

No new keys to be found,

You’re on your own, is Man.

 

A creature wild in the deep would

Forever find solace what calls wood.

Listening, As Bullfrogs Might

Outside my window,

The sky black in twilight,

No breeze to offer an anxious

Tear into a calm evening.

 

Except the bullfrogs near

Must be a dozen at least

A three sound utterance

Shared by another nearby

 

Three times that’s all,

Perhaps the pitch might change,

Another again will chime in,

They’ll all be together in sound

 

I wonder about the simplistic strife

Surrounded alone in a pond of afterlife

There In The Deep Wood

There in the deep wood I would watch,

the lights on the house in the distance burn,

the figures inside I knew like my own,

in the damp soil, I would wait in the wood.

wondering if they would ever venture out,

would they wonder where I might next shout.

There in the deep wood I would watch.

 

There in the deep wood I would watch,

the cars travel by all strangers in the hour,

their lives meant for homes beyond my eye,

I would ask about their wonders and wanders

though I would never hear, just keep an eye

on their lives in the brief moments, passers by.

There in the deep wood I would watch.

 

There in the deep wood I would watch,

the stars illuminate a night sky in fall,

I might wonder about the earth in universe

watching all the patterns of the Milky Way,

there were so many, so brilliant their lives

though some I had known, others would fade.

There in the deep wood I would watch.