Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Through the Gate Slowly







A smallish creature alone . . .
a diminutive object on the harsh concrete,
hot and glaring golden in the sunlight,
a faint sheen of iridescence spelling
violet and red in the busy gray city . . .
vehicles passing by meaninglessly . .  .
a transformation oppresses the atmosphere,
an approaching storm restlessly pauses
on the top of the western hills,
like white stallions gathering
to race across the spaces of time
one chance in the pale
light of existence . . .
a last filament of sun tracing scattered molecules
across the brow of the sky is sectioned
by a flock of birds, distant and unheard . . .
and disappears as the storm races
quickly over the city
the fat raindrops plop and sizzle,
bounce and spread over the concrete . . .
while the smallish creature struggles through
the flood
to find refuge. . .

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I know why the worn tree bends and moves
and twists and craves reprieve

I know why the old tree hollows out his bones
as he prepares to fly when next the wind blows


I know why the gray tree sighs
beneath the waning moon
the stars move fretfully amongst his boughs
he trembles wearily
and groans with a moan so low
the field mouse scrambles to her den
to tend her young . . .
I know why the mossy tree dies . . .
he lays himself down
along the ridge
of ground and grows still
as first the fern and then the others
who looked with longing at his length
move onto his bones
to feed on the depths of him
to open his wounds
to remove him piece by piece
and molecule by molecule . . .
he escapes his rooted
confines and explores the forest and beyond
and sees the mysterious Southlands  on the
 wings of the robin . . .

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Another small experiment of mine using Gimp.    Not at all impressed with the red words on the green background - ouch it hurts to look at it . . .  But if I have to suffer. . . so do you!       OK OK
Once we walked
and then we ran
We flew through the grass
the seeds caught on our hair
Which dropped to earth
And grew somewhere
And gave us stars
To name and touch
Something to love
Something to watch 

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1 comment:

LittleFingers said...

Gee, what a beautiful poetry. I am happy to notice you look at the small inhabitants of our planet.
I am very sad to know bees are dying because of strong treatments on our fields.
If the bees disappear, it wont be long before we do too.