Look Closely If You Can

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At a quick glance we might call sweet shelter

the homes hold hope and prayer and a safety

for everyone inside, security

the temps suggest a different manner.

 

Across the city another enclave

of soul seeker human condition airs

indifference as a blizzard ensnares

their grip on surviving a city cave.

 

Two worlds drawn as one to both be witness

a record breaking month of snow fallen

on a city left homeless and sullen

while neighborhoods are defined by address.

 

Look closely at the eyes quiet release

of pain of sorrow of some hope for peace.

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Winter In Minnesota

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Something refreshing a pristine winter.

fresh sunlitĀ  snow touch silent runner’s eye

layered across a landscape painted sky,

we might let troubles risen disappear

 

if in this moment, trees become statues

dignified pose, a carnival in ice.

shaded sphere of heat will nearby suffice

light up a runner’s path – dawn guided views

 

We seek knowledge of a heartiness here

Gitchi-Gami, shadows quiet weakness

Inside the brilliance of a lovely dress

soft upon the runners, sweeping past fear.

 

Trails are designed, hold favor to imprint

lasting lover’s scene, a stepping stone stint.

 

 

 

 

While Winter Whisper

Oh to play with the notion of thought,

to understand the reasoning behind

purpose, attitude, maybe the inspiration,

we all do seek when lost in the shuffling

nature of the season.

 

Oh, when winter will remark upon

a simple morning frost, to make allowance

for concept, to create, maybe instinctive,

our bodies, our selves, intermingle

with the true meaning of life,

when swept inside the tenets of an arctic

breeze, chilling and responsible, ease.

 

Once, while a child, ‘I watched in solemnity,’

his body laid into the cold, dark earth,

forever to be walked upon, glanced nearby,

thought of in the chilly absence of life.

We all stepped tenderly away, him alone,

the music did continue to play,

but I, the child, I never really understood.

 

Walk with me, she said that early evening,

her smile frozen in the iciclic nature of time,

I wondered if when we ever did reach

a destiny, if then, perhaps would be a time,

we might center ourselves and then ask when.

But the winds were fierce, the bridge far too close,

the edge always asking for me, screaming really,

our separate paths become the night pattern.

 

Oh to hear the sounds, the visions do emanate,

for the will of our lives, the anguish we debate.

Gravity Is Patient

Weight(less)

A Whisper in the Forest

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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

Soft The Mind’s Eye

I’m watching the snow fall,

winter’s first day, midwestern ritual,

we dress for this,

we pray it might blanket the dead.

The thought of fear and trepidation,

a far and away distant memory when lost

in the beauty of a fresh freeze,

playing in the cool morning breeze.

I wonder about the shelter of some,

in this season of giving, murdered by the take

of a society ruthless in their loss of compass –

that measure of humanity we seemed blessed

as a child suddenly lost in the mire of want.

We might take a moment and breathe together

realize this is the same as last year, and will fall

in similar manner to symbolize the beauty of loss,

our departure from knowing life beyond Nature.

We cannot control the weather, no matter the vice

to hide our hearts from the reality of our own advice.

Winter Winds

Cool air

soaking in the forest quiet nearby

we know it waits

we realize our lives will need warmth,

we are readily restored by a the sharp brace

of winter winds

makes us feel alive again.

A society relies upon the changing seasons to market their lives,

where else would we find ourselves planning for the latest fashion

without the guarantee …

temperature is dropping.

I get a little nervous sometimes when reminded

of that part of nature I don’t understand,

beyond the shelter of my walls,

well past the peace of a kindling fire,

I want to know more about the friend who is suffering,

yet, I’d rather not,

if I just look the other way,

well then,

it didn’t really happen did it.

Unless I turn on the news,

there are constant reminders

of a cool air well beyond the concept of our dreams.

A society exists with every interaction,

we can decide to associate

or simply get involved in the smallest manner possible.

We choose a limitless supply of polite escape.

~

When the winds do arrive I will notice as much as I hope you do too,

we are the same as we were when in the heat of a tropical sunlight

we could smile.