Advancing Into Unknown Territories

Of A Certain Time And Place

Nostalgia

Some years ago it had snowed for a long, long time

and the very next day wrapped up in our laughter we built snowmen, 

sculpted snow forts and sketched snow angels too…

. . . . .

Bits of an earlier time remain

almost inseparable from who you are now

yet your story, once so particular,

lessens – pieces of it, in unexpected ways.

. . . . .

In time, when we are born

we inherit pleasurable landscapes

where love opens in generous doses

with a certain depth of permanence

and the high-spirited heart balances

full of form within the benevolent

whirlwind glow of childhood.

. . . . .

Pieces of it become an unforgetting part of her, 

as she follows the slither of the sleigh’s tracks still, 

being as she was then, breathing that same breath, 

embraced in earlier imprints, sensing their novelty

where almost she whispers, nothing’s changed.

A Numinous Presence

Stepping back, I am touched by a calmness,

felt here in this crimsoned forest, that soothes.

Not yet under the weather, beauty survives,

however soon enough the grey sky will darken, 

tucking itself into the deep layers of dream.

To Withdraw From Everything Known Inside

To be outside as in our youth,

to awaken from lethargy 

as a spirit of play arises within.

A tiny revenge to the days’ internal heaviness…

To Apply To It A Vocabulary

A subdued forest.

Inhibited.

The Calm, Quiet Breadth Of The Moon

Growing Older

It becomes more complex.

An Impression Of Insight

Taking pictures is savoring life intensely, 

every hundredth of a second.

– Marc Riboud

Outside The House The Sun Strengthens

It is something to be here among this accumulation of light,

waking again to new ideas whose concepts I try hard to envision –

influenced by a spell of possibility existing in a world of shift.

At Water’s Edge Captivated By The Sun’s Rise

Standing still, 

I’ve long considered

the tender emergencies

transpiring in a single,  

precious moment.

Eighteen Hundred Wide By Thirteen Hundred and Fifty Long

A different logic calibrated in this presence of pixels.

. . . . .

As if on fire, part of the background
retains some vestiges of summer.

A Point Of Encounter

In everything I do, 

I look for signs, traces –

a point of encounter 

between an external reality 

and a personal reality, 

emotion or thought...

– Jacques Giraldeau

Inverted Reflections

Coaxing you

toward its centre –

the reflection of

an unkempt woods.

Inside, without impatience,

intrigue is cultivated.

Order/disorder becomes

a gratifying thing glimpsed

in an outward glance.

Losing yourself here

you admire how

in the midst of beauty

and decay there’s always

a story lifting, prodding

parts of you awake

even as the sky collapses

and all becomes but a

silent afterimage

afloat in memory’s blur.

Lessening The Light Spill

Under a western sky…

Out There

The moon, suspended 

in that faraway silence

where a poetry aspires.

I Hear It Building – The Shadow, The Light

Recalling Another Time

(pic)

. . . . .

Just as I am

you are 

we are 

here together.

Having no way out

we wait

through it

we carry each other

away

beyond windows

where other shadows

lay pressed

and a little off skew,

laden with emotion

advocated in part

by a mind of winter…

. . . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=viN41AnA0uc

A Sense Of Newness Dappled In Rain

This is just to say –

to speak of small suggestions.

Showing through – 

the impressions they carry.

. . . . .

Enclosed in a moment, eavesdropping 

on what is revealed in different kinds of weather.
Out of habit it arouses in you a kind of halcyon ache.

This is just to say…

A Barrenness Bathed In Gold

Mid-Afternoon A Feather Lies Fallow

Maintaining Its Momentum

Eyes closed, the body breaks down, drifting half-present.

In an old-fashioned way its mind traveling elsewhere.

Turning, the hours delicately tapering off like a candle’s flame petering out.

All thought, emptied entirely of clouds, falling away.

Overall the soul is warmed, touched by the deep silence of sleep.

In The Context Of Another Space

The eyes pick up on its white perpetual hush.

Here and there bits of light are thickened by paint

so as not to forget the meaning of things deeply rooted.

Swimming Among Them

In this wilderness

I believe the poem began 

to write itself long before

this initial draft.

Inspired By What You Saw

The eyes stood for a long while looking at it.

Breathing it in an idea slowly developed.

Harnessed to its thought – an innocent hour
plump with words that would not take shape…

Having Left It Behind I Look For It Now

The pen and I surreptitiously try to follow it

in an effort to create a detailed likeness,

to trace a life swept away by time.

Even In This Light

Of all that can’t be kept.

Even so, the day kept on with a desperate kind of determination.

. . . . .

And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so?

– Raymond Carver

Something About Its Arrangement

Four Sundays Ago

Four Sundays ago they strolled the same path. And here again today, already underfoot the delicate echo of another day’s passing. Meaningful moments of life full of colour and sound occupying certain positions before whizzing by in the blink of an eye. At intervening periods of time tomorrow pokes through collaged with pieces of thought that immediately disappear toward other religions unknown.

Traipsing Through Its Transitional Terrain

All The Way Down

You find yourself pushing on

from wherever it was you had been…

Stirrings Of Memory