NaPoWriMo2014: Day 20: A Silent Nod to the Rites of Easter

He is risen, yes?

From the grave to Heaven’s gate

Lone star scintillates.

NaPoWriMo 2014: Day 19: Unequal Bittersweet

And then there are those days . . .
(You know --
Thoooosssssseeeeee days?)
When my mind does nothing,
but grind in monotonous repetition:
caught in fast forward
And then stuck in slow motion.
The well-worn refrain,
warbles and warps and cries in dismay --
Yes, those days.

The dream is long since dead.
But some inner, vestigial, completely obtuse part
Clings . . .
trudging onward through hopeful reverie,
rather like a head keeps talking
even after the guillotine separates it from the tie to reality.

So, I wonder . . .
Is the bittersweet make-believe
evenly divided? Or like so much of what went before,
does it just sit quite firmly at only one door?
Forever knocking.
How long before
the understanding
that what is locked away
will stay that way,
perhaps, forever?


NaPoWriMo2014: Day 18 - Spark

She tells history sitting near the hearth,
pauses and wipes a lone tear. Flames dance like art
in her glasses perched slightly askew.
Choose your story from her grocer’s mart

of delicacies now too hard
for more than tasting just the salted part
that rolls across a wizened tongue.
She didn’t twist your muscled arm

into proper submission, a farce
of respectful attention. So, what harm
do you do when you refuse to see
the rain fall into her heart?

To focus on the day is hard, oh, so hard.
But! Open doors to days long-gone and clouds part
allowing gentle fingers to lovingly wrap memory’s shawl
'round her bent form – all she needs is one wee spark.


NaPoWriMo2014: Day 17 -- The Challenge of a Tree

If you don't like how things are, change it! You're not a tree. ~Jim Rohn

Thank you, Jim,
for that piece of thinking. You are so
very correct – I am not a tree! But, oh how I wished,
dreamed, tried - in days now long gone
Standing still while sun’s warmth creeps over my shoulder – feet
loosely held by tattered sneakers: wriggling out, one by one, settling on
spring’s thawing permafrosted ground.
Draw in deep breaths, let eyes flutter close: open only to what’s inside.
Bird song chatters -- never mind: trapped, you cry for escape. Freedom comes,
but not without price. Fresh blades of grass sinking long, sturdy roots of bound energy
ever down,
deep in the ground: rooted, solid, long lost stability. Raise arms to the sky in homage, benediction,  let the wind guide you as it would any leaf -- leave control to the sky, just sway in the breeze
the breeze

trust the firm solidity of packed earth below, grass tickling your feet, sky overhead, sun’s gentle heat
trust inner knowing that change grows in time, ring by slow ring, imperceptibly, as taught by the tree


NaPoWriMo 2014: Day 16 -- The Little Lie

The Little Lie

I love you
But not yet
I love you
But not now
I love you
Please forget
I love you
I know how
I love you.


NaPoWriMo Day 14: What Lingers in the Mind?

What questions please children so new to this world?
Do you know where the bird flies?
Do you know why the sun dies?
Do you know what the clock times?
Do you know?
Do you know?

What questions catch youth betwixt and between?
           Is life really fair to both high and to low?
Where’s the grey in the palette of stark black and white?
Can I find my own way, my own road, my own home?
 My own space?
 My own time?

What questions haunt adults in the soul of their days?
           Where is the meaning in my day-to-day grind?
Why will you hold me and set me aside?
How do I play catch and release when trapped between:
hopeful youth?
beloved aging?  

Stay tuned, dear reader, for the next installment that answers the question of just what lingers
in the wise mind of an elder.