To stand before that raging tide and say, “no.”
the salt laden water rising to the throat,
confides in me such pride on which to bestow;
to sink beneath the waves and yet rise afloat.
For all the times that change found her overcome,
and would for others be enough to succumb;
for every kind word we have contemplated,
and all that we have yet to face.
A brown blanket draped over desert dunes,
the wind swooping in to pull at the threads-
cast the out like fishing lines, that
whisper of years beneath the skin,
breaching the surface timidly, here or there-
memories as winding paths into a future of
time sweeping into deep pools of darkness,
surrounded by sand blasted cold stone-
the blue of an ancient ocean petrified, like
a forest of artifacts from the day before,
some reposed in a past hardly spoken-
others greet the day screaming white noise at
the sound of a church bell at noon.
Tuesday- from the hollows of an old barn,
Struggling to live up to a repurposed dream.
“Do you see, against the city setting,
roiling white clouds of terrible purpose;
from here, not but cotton dabbed in darkness?”
“It could scarce escape me as the day drains,
the glint of windows shook, reflected back;
like orphaned laughter so briefly sustained.
I can hear it at the ends of my hairs,
though the sound itself is too far away.”
“That sharp line dividing the horizon-”
“As if the sky had broken itself cleanly,
the seam rushing toward us high and above.”
“The path to here from there is far indeed,
the seed of hope that flowers before us
was meant to bring prosperity to light,
but found the air up here far too hostile.”
“Conflict is the only air we breathe.”
“Sure, but conflict alone wouldn’t kill it.
Where at first it writhed searching for recourse
it now thrives, a phoenix reborn.
Such horror, and yet beautiful ruin.”
“May its glory rise to outlive us all.
The impact should be around here, shortly.”
“Time enough to live with ourselves at last.”
All the vile things coalesce,
segmented and fitted together.
limbs – sprawled asunder,
clawing at a sky hidden
behind walls of wood and brick
the screaming bound by form
hssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
ing until the mouth parts hurt,
the way the palm does-
one hand clapping;
not enough for an applause,
but enough to reprimand.
The back is not for laying anymore
one can only relax on all limbs;
on hands, legs and whatever are these.
The supine is panic and helplessness;
something the mind condemns vehemently.
From somewhere in the recesses
muffled by doors, walls, genetics;
a voice calls out to me-
Am I well?
Am I aware of the time?
Am I clothed?
Stabbing at the ceiling in six different places
in a posture that feels like death I
hsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
back.
No tears will come.
I fail when I begin;
where others succeed,
I end
and the will to accomplish
can not survive this struggle.
Where others fail,
I can not,
and when I accomplish this end
the struggle to survive will succeed.
I begin
to accomplish, not survive.
Succeed where others will struggle,
and when this I fail,
the end, I can begin.
This struggle,
can not survive to the end,
and where I fail,
I will begin.
I succeed when others accomplish.
I will not fail;
the struggle can end
where I and others succeed,
to accomplish this,
survive when I begin.
The ebb and flow can tossel the soul,
leave it stranded or dragged against the seafloor.
The wax and wane can define us in shades,
illuminate our faults or hide our virtues in shadow.
The peaks and valleys can break our spirits,
emptying our lungs or swallowing our perspectives.
the coming and going can be more than the destination,
overwhelming anticipation or uncomfortable obligation.
The systole and diastole can lead us to violence,
feeding the red rage or draining from us our essence.
Peace is only in absence,
the place that can only not;
where no harm can consume you,
no fortune deceive.
There was not much to contemplate
he began to ruminate,
here at the end of his life.
He had thought these last moments
would be grasping at threads;
his mind, desperate to live on,
flooding him with thoughts,
that must be thought
before the final curtain drops.
And yet his mind was blank,
left only to think
about the irony
of that blankness
filling itself with self-awareness.
The sunrise shattered by morning dew;
a carnival of colors dancing excitedly,
while its warmth wraps around –
like tetherball with no opponents.
The way rain feels in summer heat,
that comforting coolness, relief;
as a letter from a dormant friend
written in broken cursive.
The joy of fresh vegetables harvested,
from seeds sown of your own hand.
That long wait, the effort, vindicated
by a nourishing meal and a full stomach.
You are all these things to me,
you are indescribably more.
With exuberance, peace and pride,
a life is well lived when at your side.
Those eyes so oft transfixed
by only things they lorded over
would but on occasion dane
to dine on the extravagance above;
a passing glance at the moon,
a brief aside with the procession of stars,
the fascinating contemplations of ephemeral comets,
or the longing gaze into the darkness of an eclipse.
Long ago we could not afford this appreciation.
The stars were savage campfires,
the moon a wrathful god.
Comets would herald the end of man,
and an eclipse would end all else.
We could do no more than look away and feel safe
or look on in horror of what future we baited.
Stronger minds however were not sated,
and shackled those monsters to reality,
tearing them from the bosom of imagination,
so the world above could be a safer space to ruminate;
as long as we could make sense of the light and dark,
and still find comfort in the ground.
It was good,
until the darkness was swept away,
and all that is was light, be it day or night.
The sky, no more a blanket
but a bright bag zipped up tight
while we fought against it,
none of us ready to die.
I’m not sure now why it didn’t break,
beneath the days – turned years – turned decades,
beneath three children, four grandkids,
beneath a 50 year marriage that almost ended twice,
beneath two tours in foreign nations,
beneath coffins filled with pieces of his heart,
peppered here and there while he lived on.
Beneath countless bouts with viruses,
an embarrassing number of hangovers,
and one exchange with polio.
Beneath all the nameless failures;
the guilt, regrets and losses.
Beneath all the great successes;
the pride and the accomplishments.
Beneath every memory whether faded or strong,
it held…
he leaned on his cane to watch another memory made
…it did not break;
and for a moment he even looked rested.
Grow Gray With Me 