The rest is fearing
We are old enough to resist
Know there is great pleasure in GO!
The memories will come years later (if at all)
CALIFORNIA HIGHWAY – NORTH: A Bed Sheet Sign on an Overpass
Through what strange porthole do we
Drag our outsized dreams
All the while cursing its size
And not the size of our schemes
What is right and what is wrong
Unruled by the heart
Vaguely menacing headlines
Parading news as art
There is order in the forests
Though no king or queen abides
We fear dark hard silence
And the mute in life’s asides
Outside margins there exists
The right for us to grow
To a fullness that disturbs the gist
The city’s turbid ebb and flow
Pare not your life to other’s whim
Live the largeness of your dream
Ignore the porthole its jagged rim
That rips and disesteems
For me, I shall look for clues
Sometimes a lost endeavor
To a freeway sign – not a ruse
“The worst ancestors ever.”
WHAT DOES NOT DISTURB
We make out of the quarrel with others rhetoric but the quarrel with ourselves – poetry ~ Yeats
The hungry brat-god
Squatting over a world
Pushes his toy soldiers off to war
After his milk and cookies
What would happen if
The woman in his life
Told the truth?
There are no Kings
No Queens
No rulers in the forest
No language
No plan
No god
Just nature
And its vaguely menacing
March of days
Blooming seasons in line
With our attraction to ruin
Eugene Feldman: 1921 – 2014
Lucidity – blinking and broken
Has declared his life a night
A forgotten dimension
So fast
Where did it go?
92 years inside
The forest of human travel
Following the script
Of human hand
The hand that sent him to war
To love
To fatherhood
To the hearts of those
Who would wash his sluggish body
Wrinkled, tissue depleted
Immobilized by an angry destiny
And landscapes of untold design
And still he wondered why?
As the answer awaited at the forest’s rim
Where the path – well- trodden
Called – he is moving there now
Beyond that forest
To the open sky-filled field
Where the flowers will wildly bloom
In the spring of his step
Steps – light and inoffensive – like him
A child in this fractal world
Enfolding unto himself
Even as Nature reclaims him
Her son
Guiding him on that path
Swaddled in linen
Looking ahead in painless
Expectation