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.

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Gravity Is Patient

Weight(less)

A Whisper in the Forest

IMG_3507

Temperance River – Minnesota

~

When I whisper

a cool draft escapes

shadowed in morning sunlight

I can see you

exist

all the different angles

of creation amidst the tragedy of

a waiting table of spring

eternal.

We still find a way

to continue our travel with a blinding speed,

yet some,

Nature

awaits a temperate shift

in an earthly climate,

warmth releases them back into the wilderness

a mountain stream.

I wonder if the gasp

my visible contribution

today’s learned lesson of

helpless abandon.

I wonder how often it is we

imagine

the gravity of our purpose.

~

*personal photograph

Take Me Home

i wandered along the river bank,

a crystal churn of noise nearby

always a good reminder of life

when caught inside the chasm’s grip.

~

There lies inside the mind

a certain ineptitude

when given an opportunity

to seize our clues to good.

~

Easily pulled inside the current

our waves of deceit to follow

welcome only the pure horrid

reality of knowing our truth.

~

step lightly on soils drawn

into the waters so fragile

our lives remain moving

forward in a straight line

~

wind, that pulls apart

our soul and manner

of living, to dream

a bit  downstream

~

I wonder how many

times, the river cross

I might bear again,

in hopes of home.

~

Perhaps a seat cushion

the soil damp on skin,

in Nature’s grasp

I win the freedom to live

~

What ails the heart soon

drawn along the river’s edge.