It was called a kiva
a circle of carefully
placed stones that was
now but a desert artifact
for wondering minds to pause
and reflect of those who long
ago stacked one heavy stone
atop another in what must
have been a quest to quell
fears of the unknown
and if not making the mysteries
known
then creating an answer that would
prove to work for some
and the others just
had to embrace their fears
until the moon passed
from the face of the sun
and the light of day
would shine
and fears no more
as sun light
would illuminate
what the eclipse
had hid.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Morning Broke Again
Morning broke again
and the peek of sunlight
chased ever longer shadows
across the desert floor
a Joshua tree's shade stretched
for what seemed a mile
and distant mountains too
cast longer shadows still
before their slow and long retreat
until at exactly high noon
the geometry of darken ground
disappeared for but a moment
and how long ago
did minds that thought
discovered what was
always there
mathematics
waiting to be discovered
to measure mountains too
with foot against foot
counting long shadows
and short ones too
some minds calculating
while others simply wondered
which came first
the math
or the mind?
and the peek of sunlight
chased ever longer shadows
across the desert floor
a Joshua tree's shade stretched
for what seemed a mile
and distant mountains too
cast longer shadows still
before their slow and long retreat
until at exactly high noon
the geometry of darken ground
disappeared for but a moment
and how long ago
did minds that thought
discovered what was
always there
mathematics
waiting to be discovered
to measure mountains too
with foot against foot
counting long shadows
and short ones too
some minds calculating
while others simply wondered
which came first
the math
or the mind?
The Poetry Book
It was a thin book of poems
that a long ago librarian
thought an excellent addition
to the collection
even though she opened
the newly arrived book but once
before dipping her crow quill pen
into the special white ink
to pen a Dewey decimal eight one one
to the thin spine
that tried her patience
that sultry summer afternoon
in July of nineteen forty one
then the library card
and envelope typed and glued
inside the cover
and later the poems were squeezed
between two larger books
and then forgotten
and for over half a century
before finally touched again
by human hands
and then dropped into a cardboard box
which was later stacked
among the others in a basement
to await
an annual used book sale
although the poems
were still
unused.
that a long ago librarian
thought an excellent addition
to the collection
even though she opened
the newly arrived book but once
before dipping her crow quill pen
into the special white ink
to pen a Dewey decimal eight one one
to the thin spine
that tried her patience
that sultry summer afternoon
in July of nineteen forty one
then the library card
and envelope typed and glued
inside the cover
and later the poems were squeezed
between two larger books
and then forgotten
and for over half a century
before finally touched again
by human hands
and then dropped into a cardboard box
which was later stacked
among the others in a basement
to await
an annual used book sale
although the poems
were still
unused.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Invisible Thoughts
Have you ever seen a thought
with your own eyes
before it escapes
and becomes
an idea
that makes
you blink?
with your own eyes
before it escapes
and becomes
an idea
that makes
you blink?
In Common
But for the circumstance
of sunlight beaming across
the ground at sunrise
the forever hidden fossil
would remain lost
but now cast an eerie shadow
that I happened to see
and later the anthropologist
said it was one of us
from so long ago
that if I were to meet
this former soul
today
that all we'd have
in common
would be some older
soul that walked too
and watched the same
sun rise each morning
and breathed the same air
and most likely
enjoyed
barbecue.
of sunlight beaming across
the ground at sunrise
the forever hidden fossil
would remain lost
but now cast an eerie shadow
that I happened to see
and later the anthropologist
said it was one of us
from so long ago
that if I were to meet
this former soul
today
that all we'd have
in common
would be some older
soul that walked too
and watched the same
sun rise each morning
and breathed the same air
and most likely
enjoyed
barbecue.
Friday, May 04, 2012
Taking Flight
The stream runs swift
as I step
atop the first large rock
of many
that lead across
the swirling water
like
a tightrope artist
my arms outstretched
tremble
at each step
the rushing current
reminding me
of
a false step
yet half across
a final dash
no time to tremble
I leap to ground
only
to find
right behind
my son
balancing
on the last stone
camera
in hand
above the whirl
snapping a shot
of a deer
now no longer near
that I missed
in my haste
but later saw
startled
in the photograph
of a leaping man
outstretched arms
as in flight
the deer
staring
at the farfetched
sight.
Tuesday, May 01, 2012
Cycle -- Take 2
Some times
I find myself
some where
on the straight line
of time
always trying to stand
half way
between past and future
yet my mind rebels
and never seems to find
the exact middle
tittering and tottering
my thoughts go
tug at the past
grab for the future
I hold both
and in that brief moment
I realize
it is a cycle
all the time.
I find myself
some where
on the straight line
of time
always trying to stand
half way
between past and future
yet my mind rebels
and never seems to find
the exact middle
tittering and tottering
my thoughts go
tug at the past
grab for the future
I hold both
and in that brief moment
I realize
it is a cycle
all the time.
Ode to Jimmie Rodgers
Out the train window
the desert in the fading light
rushes past as I rock and roll
to steel wheels hanging tight
to steel rails holding to wood ties
from trees long ago felled
and lumberjacks no more
carry axes or manhandle
whipsaws in forests
and darkness falls
the whistle blows
to warn forgetful men
and women
that when the stars shine bright
trains know no other way
than straight and fast
rocking and rolling
to long gone hillbillies
who once sang songs
that are
now but memories
to old men
staring into
the dark
desert night.
4/28/12
the desert in the fading light
rushes past as I rock and roll
to steel wheels hanging tight
to steel rails holding to wood ties
from trees long ago felled
and lumberjacks no more
carry axes or manhandle
whipsaws in forests
and darkness falls
the whistle blows
to warn forgetful men
and women
that when the stars shine bright
trains know no other way
than straight and fast
rocking and rolling
to long gone hillbillies
who once sang songs
that are
now but memories
to old men
staring into
the dark
desert night.
4/28/12
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