Subconscious Tears

It’s when the moment is gone

we can feel it

drift away

leaving meaning apart,

the concept shared

decidedly forgotten about

an island

a small fortune of nothing

drifting waves

slap our egos

so we look upon that

sunny horizon

and realize

nothing remembered

take a picture

and years from now,

that moment

we will say hello

to a time

when we glanced

upon that memory

means nothing today,

same old mechanical

afterward of

meaning,

we drift away,

we say ok,

we want to fly

away in a simple

good-bye.

Why Sisters Are Cool

I called my sister today,

before I even uttered a word

she asked me if everything was ok,

then in a gasp I tried to breathe

she said then, what’s wrong?

 

I called my sister today,

before I even uttered a word

I knew I could lose my shit

and she would think it be okay

she waited for me to breathe

I told her I was tired.

 

I called my sister this way

I knew she would hear what I wanted

to say yet her patience is my takeaway

she waited, she smiled, I could feel it,

I could feel her love, it’s just her way.

I took a breath, and our conversation …

 

In the matter of a phone call home

I discovered love is always on display.

‘Slowly Melting Snowy Vistas’

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An idea,

a visual reminder

to help find footing

rather than wallow

in what might feel lost,

our lives precious,

imagine only

nature is a cycle

eternal while forever.

 

Once while in wonder

reminded by favor

a slow descent in time

while all around

lives experience

a monotony of time

wishing purpose

witness a warming

allows our lives

to know change

always a measure

the melting horizon

might we seek

a cleansing challenge.

 

When the dial

shall evolve

daylight turns to

a mysterious shroud

where our eyes

opaque shadows

awaits our return

only to discover

with the rising sun

earth has begun

a new journey

again, spectacular

beyond occasion

this is our next day,

a blossoming spring.

 

Purposeful vistas

do slip away,

only to offer

sweet reminders

how along the way

our lives interact

in as magical way

might the landscape

of this mortality

give reason we

can know

the familiar

as well

as confusion

in a continuum

we have not

lost our way.

 

 

when the words don’t matter

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Sitting by the shoreline,

the water fairly calm,

a sharp breeze enough to

suggest only the time of year.

 

watching seagulls swift past

the eery history of the mast

wondering just when waters

would ever tell me a secret.

 

I could listen for hours

while the sun began to dance

along soft waves of yesterday

sounds around me airily fast.

 

the birds, their legacy staid

by waning summer’s crying lead

in the autumn of these days,

the ones reminding time away.

 

I listen to Bob Dylan, a surreal croon

speaking of wanting ways

wishing time would forever sway,

‘Blood on the Tracks’ seems to say …

 

Inside this visual macabre

Our surreal horizon rob.

If, Wonder Might Recall

We circle our lives

in a constant twirl

deciding upon a sacred

trust of following trails

cascading in waters

a fresh, puritanical veil

we are always looking,

wondering, in a wander

if this is what is meant

to be our only real.

 

Remember when as a child

the sweet irony of morning

the sun cast across the sky

our lives simply meant this

moment only, nothing beyond,

we could dance forever

in a myriad of circumstance

always feeling welcome

in the world we did belong.

 

Sometimes today,

when glancing in our

rearview mirror on this

our life we lead,

we wonder about the tools

we carried forward,

those we left behind,

the evils, the strain,

the confusion,

if only we could keep

ourselves moving forward.

 

There seems a purpose

to all of this, our memory.

If We Were To Know

Would we be the same

if wherever we go

vastly different claims

would question ego.

 

I sat on a hill one day

imagining my life

wondering time away

wandering in strife

 

So many of us each time

we think we figured it out

we walk again in line

acting we know all about.

 

If we could be where we are

if you and me and everyone

were to know just bizarre

our attitude weighs a ton

 

I wandered off the hill

again wanting only peace

some sort of quiet release

wanting everything to be still.

Some Are Chosen

While walking through a mine field, I stamped my feet

knowing only would be my confidence address defeat

 

For it is a wonder sometime to know the reason why

some we love are left to die, when afterward we cry.

 

It seems so clear that some are chosen to live this way

while yet we stand and recognize oh just another day.

 

I walked one night along the planks of an icy bridge

there below no bottom to see only feet on a ridge.

 

The people sauntered by, seemingly so unaware

when I awoke and found my tears, again I swear.

 

There is always a question of just why and whom

so magnificent in aura we might reach the womb

 

A sedentary state it seems will be only our cause

to find the truth, to know reality beyond our Oz.

 

I walked alone one night along some icy concrete

out of mind, out of sight, my life was not complete.\

 

We wonder those, mourn their woes, yet the we

becomes ourselves inside this love, this factory.