More Words, More Views

It's finally Friday. I love Fridays.


Second Beach, Washington

Stone sentries resist the waves;
sea stacks mire off the coast, remains of
sedimentary rock fused to the continent
during a torrid past life.

As the Ice Age and glaciers melted,
rising seas slice off all but the most
stubborn crag.

Nature never forces her magic.

[(c) 1999]

Words That Appear Timeless

Someday all of these meanderings will come to something and I will be vindicated. Until then, I dream.

When time again resigns itself to fail

Rekindle
the violet to the very
lady's-slipper
--- W.C. Williams

Choose how to close this day and then begin to alter
all the recipes for a setting sun, dip slowly into
oranges and blues ---- clear out the shadows.
Rekindle night by a fairy's wand

replacing snow with snow and rain with rain;
throughout the virgin meadows, grasses grow
to reach beyond the stars ---- if light is thought
and thought is brighter here; the violet to the
very end wilts

in a passionate way, smiling through pain
and time's most recent failure to recall the
meaning of itself ---- a lady's slipper
pause to cry.

[(c) 1998]

Another Day, Another Poem

Feeling better today. Did actual work around the house. Still haven't ventured far. Another one from the vault.

Confessions by a Youthful Killer

Your laughter hurts.
I cry but
no one offers comfort.
Outcast in a mass of faces
looking past
tomorrow.
Coats the cover truths
remain imprinted after
words and films
depicting death fade
into joyous springtime
flowers, growing into
weeds unnoticed.
Out of sight to suns
and moons, but not
to bits and bytes,
instructions told all
listening to demonic
rise to fall;
past caring for our life,
past hoping for redemption,
in place of tears, we
laugh and
shoot and
blow up what
we cannot have.
Acceptance.

[(c) 1999]

Been Sick

I've been coughing up both my lungs the past two days. During a lull in the action, I'll post.

At Midnight, We Waltz upon the Roses

You look but sixteen as we drift
among the roses set off by

moonlight. A pirouette begins
this sacred dance; lost spirits hover by as

ghostly images resolve to lie among
fool nature's clock. A kiss is but a rose

forgotten in the darkest dew; respect
it's love, for you will see the bright

of day enclosed by petals soft and
those (more sweet) withdrawn.

[(c) 1998]

Given it a Canadian Flavour

If I keep this up, I'll be really surprised. I have a habit a starting things and not finishing them.

In the Valley of the Moon, Alberta

Wind-weathered mounds of
what used to be Archaeopteryx,
gravel formed from eroded Pteranodons,
blasted by elements for millions
of eons before we arrived,
so long before we took our first steps.
Grasses bend in breezes
melded for centuries fossils of
Apatosaurus, Raptor, and Stegosaurs.
All that is left
of such stately specimens
is dust,
curiously raw.

[(c) 1998]

Things That I Just Have to Say

There are some things that I can let go by. Others just have to be written down, spoken aloud, passed along, enter the consciousness.

The following is some of what must be said:

Ambleside Fog (after photograph by Jason Cyr 11/02)

Under eerie darkened skies

she creeps

spinning her web of sweet deception

alone; she sees

the dawn of each new day’s reward.

The blades of grass left short by independent means,

left undisturbed by all but

fairy wings that flutter through as

whimsical lyrics, visible to only artists, paramours and thieves.

Her arias sweep away their misty past acquaintances,

and eye the stormy air ahead. She waits (as cats lives everlasting)

to dream and feel refreshed as warmth returns

her to her fabled resting place.

Among the clouds, she drifts for yet another chance

to live, to venture forth, to know her own existence.

[(c) 2002]