Tuesday, November 15, 2011

The Voyage of the Damned

Rushing, as I walked to
accomplish my errands . . .
turning a corner I saw
in the distance
a goal. . .
my destination.

The street seemed so far away,
and as I progressed I anxiously watched
as it never seemed to get nearer
and then . . .

I realized I was missing
the moment
and all the barely encompassed
here in the now . . .

I was missing
the golden glow of the fall leaves,
expiring against a silver bright sky. . .
I was missing the
Mandelbrot patterns around me,
the pine needles
arrayed on the damp ground . . .
the sounds of music,
the tone of birds . . .
and the scrunch of my feet against
the gravel on the ground,
each tiny rock a crystal bell . . .

I was missing . .
the steamy smiles of
passers by,
and the breath of freedom . . . .

As the goal
became just another passing moment. . .

I retrieved my treasures
like scarlet leaves
collected in a wicker basket . . .
and held in awe 
what senses,
reaching out like tentacles,
exploring the depths
and the heights . . .
were able to harvest
against the coming storms . . .

What is my goal in the end,
but death,
and a moldering
away in a grave
unsuited to
deep breaths of
Autumn flavored air . . .


An Autumn Moment

The leaves flutter down,
gasping a last refrain,
with colors reminiscent of a Turkish
carpet, arrayed on overgrown grassy lawns
clinging like starfish
facing their new horizons,
they feel the flesh of the soil
with splayed fingers,
slowly growing numb . . .
as molds fringe the brittle
textures, scraping away the flesh
to leave a fragile lacy pattern
of veins . . . slowly, slowly . . .
gazing sadly at the stars . . .
as they twirl away in their
nightly dance
across indigo skies . .

The scuffed toe of my boot
skitters through the leaves
committing some to their utter destruction,
and arbitrarily sending others
back into a flight
on Autumn breezes. . .
The cold reaches fingers
up my nose
and the laughter of
children is heard
in the distance . . .



Van Syla said...

Autumn has its beautiful colors and its deep scents but, as I think you express in this poem, those colors and flavours annouce the death... ruthlessly.
This poem is powerfully evocative and the pictures are gorgeous !
Thank you Barb :)

Wolfsong said...

Thank YOU, Syl, for your comment . .
I love Fall . .. but it does evoke the end of sunshine and the joy of Summer . . . and herald the coming of the cold and dark . . .

- Barb

CŒDES Pierre-Marie said...

... but when the snow carpets valleys, hills and mountains, wolves feel free again ...