The birds are singing to one another now, They do not sing to us, But we are listening. New buds are growing slowly on the ends of branches, Displacing ever so slightly the air around them, Coming to our ears as a low hum, And we wonder: To how many monsoons could this movement be … Continue reading The Sounds of Springtime
Tag: meaning
I Will / Never / Forget
I will... Never / be the same person who used to rise at 5:30am every morning / ready within 15 minutes / on my bicycle in –15 degree weather / no gloves and a smile on my face / sun shining down / Greet each morning / embrace the new day / maybe on a … Continue reading I Will / Never / Forget
An Inexplicable Quickening of the Heart
I sometimes imagine death And that which follows as Years and years and years of Being torn apart, Current manifestation of Whole self Becoming So many Satellite selves Splayed across the universe, Each finding their way through All of the edges and bends Of time And space And chance, Collecting and coagulating In small huddled … Continue reading An Inexplicable Quickening of the Heart
The Fall of the Vapor Mystic, Part IV (What We Do for Love)
Why do I even write these days? Why do I try? Why do I try as hard as I do when clearly there are more effective and efficient approaches. Someone has it figured out... Not me. I see so many others who write poems that reach audiences of hundreds or even thousands. I see … Continue reading The Fall of the Vapor Mystic, Part IV (What We Do for Love)
In Each and Every Thing Which Crawls or Walks or Even Slowly Grows as Moss or Lichen
Know that Though I have said so many things To so many of you And though you have responded With such kindness and love that it draws the tears from my eyes as from a well These things are only temporary; I will be gone some day And there may be no person to speak … Continue reading In Each and Every Thing Which Crawls or Walks or Even Slowly Grows as Moss or Lichen
In All Things
In all things The blade of grass The drop of dew The girl on the other side of the world who does not know How much she really means But will soon Even if she forgets again soon after In all things Light And a potential for it to go out Just the same as … Continue reading In All Things
The Question
In love with the question, No answer would suffice.
Sisters, They
Sisters, They Sing so sweetly If only In a pitch Not meant For listening to.
The Stream
The stream had run Through the middle Of the property For as long As they had lived there But not a one Had ever known Why Or from where It flowed. Now They know.
Art Is
Art is An exploration of self To self An analysis Of what it means To communicate To express To feel The artist carves their statement Out of whatever medium Into existence From nothing A complexity Arisen from a force not accounted for Which begins At the center
