26.2.13
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.
25.2.13
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.
22.2.13
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…
21.2.13
20.2.13
19.2.13
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.
18.2.13
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.
17.2.13
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.
. . . . .
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
16.2.13
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.
14.2.13
Recalling Another Time
(pic)
. . . . .
Just as I am
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
laden with emotion
advocated in part
by a mind of winter…
. . . . .
13.2.13
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.
Out of habit it arouses in you a kind of halcyon ache.
This is just to say…
12.2.13
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.
11.2.13
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.
10.2.13
8.2.13
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…
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.
6.2.13
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
3.2.13
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.
2.2.13
1.2.13
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)