Something Traceable In Its Counsel

Staying Still To See What Comes Next

To be graceful and robust

in the face of all odds –

to sustain a hope to go on.

A Fresh Spring-like Breeze Rises

Its Vitality Triggers An Emotion

Aforetime

There was a joy, a kind of diversion –
seemingly with no end in sight,

that occurred while being absorbed in it.

Affinity

An affinity with the outside world

meshes well with the subtle oration

of all of nature contained within it.

. . . . .

Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth 

find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. 

There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains

of nature – the assurance that dawn comes 

after night, and spring after winter.

– Rachel Carson

With A Spirited Energy

Moving Stairways

If you change the way you look at things,

the things you look at change.

– Wayne Dyer

. . . . .

What we see depends mainly on what we look for.

– John Lubbock

Memory

– Alain Robbe

Ambivalent At Best

There are mistakes. It is not perfect.

It has limitations in this state of doing nothing.

It is run-down. It is flawed. It is wounded.

The weather has blemished its skin.

And yet…

You find there is more to it than meets the eye.

In an inconspicuous way

something like the sun, as if by experiment,

has set its imperfections on fire.

Asserting A Dialogue

Standing in one place.
Longing for the brightest star.

Reaching toward the sky.

Its Rebloom

All of it parts achieving their objective

nurtured by the avid compassion of the sun.

Rocks, Ice-Cold

Big chunks of ice – an inch thick

contained within a certain perimeter,

trapped with straw in a sea of black.

Water, ice-cold on the tongue.

Swallowing my thirst, it enters me.

The body shivers.

Rich In Shadow Under The Sun

As it was in that wellspring of fresh air

an older brother and a younger sister

enjoyed Spring's arrival in an artful way.

As amplified there on the pavement,

two tender shadows noiselessly teaming up

in an ethereal pool of purple and blue.

In between, a ball ideally balances,

round like the earth and frozen mid-air –

a vital part to the feel of the image.

In the sweet air between their ambition,

the impression of them blissfully suspended

forever in that place encourages a poetry.

What's Going On

In a house that is asleep…

For A Period Of Time

Ungoverned

The imagination.

Positioning ourselves into it we discover something
unanticipated, something playful about its nature.

. . . . .

The world of reality has its limits; 

the world of imagination is boundless.

– Jean-Jacques Rousseau

It Begins With A Recollection Of Things

That voice from beyond, thinking from within, reaching out 
to expel intense emotion – confronting/debating its forward movement.

. . . . .


It originates in one's soul – one's inner light.

Breaking Open

At play – the gesture of its colours, 

its peppy nature expressive of an idea.

Touring the garden we turn and turn again, 

receptive to the dramatic energy of all we see.

An Absence Of Blush

Outside the frame an arrangement of flowers

overhang in shades of pink, lavender, yellow and red –

each of their profiles flush with expression.

Places We Like To Visit

Observing the view, accessing pieces of it, considering its poetic intent

in places where the hours do not progress forward very fast.

. . . . .

It is all very beautiful and magical here - a quality which cannot be described. You have to live it and breathe it, let the sun bake into you. The skies and the lands are so enormous, and the detail so precise and exquisite that wherever you are you are isolated into a glowing world between the macro and the micro, where everything is sidewise under you and over you, and the clocks stopped long ago. 

– Ansel Adams

A Lovely Light Kept Glowing

'Daffodil' is derived from an earlier 'affodell'

a variant of Asphodel.

. . . . .

Time drifts. You think about that. 

You think about loved ones and others you once knew. Gathering each of them pressed snug in between deep layers of memory illuminates a different focus. 

Daffodils. 

You hold them in your hand briefly – and then they're gone. But they don't go away. They only fall asleep until the resurgence of another Spring. And then again they shine where the garden is lit. 

What was lost – returns.

In this moment of speech something not seen holds you. A longing effectively grips you in this quiet hour of night. Where you are a posy of light graces the window pitched in black

A long pause…

Night passes into dream. By morning the arrival of Spring. Awakening – you think about that.

. . . . .

A daffodil is a beautiful symbol

of hope and renewal.

Having Restored It

This arrangement is what the eyes saw –

the construction of it a close representation
in a very simple way, of its original state,
its gloss blemished by pigments of rust.

Recognizable Components From His Childhood

the 

A child growing up steps back into a well-known space 
imbued with a playful sense of sound and motion…

. . . . .

"All aboard!" hollers the conductor, with a hurried look on his face. Departure time had finally arrived. Toot, toooooot blasts the train's whistle – chug-a-chug-a-choo-choo goes the train. Glued to the window of a train bound for Frankfurt, a small child excitedly looks on. The train lets out a couple coughs before expelling an enormous plume of black smoke that floats skyward before mingling with the clouds. As if perhaps the brakes had failed, the train races onward into the day. Rounding a bend, the child listens intently to the high-pitched screech of the train's wheels as they zoom along the tracks. Before long the train pulls into the next station. A handful of passengers eagerly climb aboard, finding comfortable seats to snuggle themselves into. As the hour unfurls, the child stays fixed to the window, intrigued by the ever-changing landscape speedily passing by. Within half an hour, after a couple more stops, the train arrives at its final destination. All of the passengers leave the train. A few of them, including the child and the man remain on the platform in the sweltering sunlight, fascinated by the steady flow of travelers coming and going. Afterwards both child and man make their way up the escalator en route to Frankfurt's bustling city centre.

. . . . .

A grown up child, a man, steps back into a well-known space

 imbued with a bustling sense of sound and motion…

For A Time I Stood Above It

Out in a frost-stricken field saturated with light on a cold January morning such as this, a wintered leaf, in this way, lay careful on the ground as if afraid. After a while the robust sun slowly went down, succumbing to the appeal of sleep. Soon enough the naked leaf began to quiver, negotiating with a darkness pouring in. Unknowingly, for a time I stood above it breathing quietly beneath the mottled light of the moon blinking through an accumulation of branch silhouettes. 

Limitless

Utilizing its shift.

In Different Kinds Of Weather

Parts of it curled like a snake, the ends of the thread unseen.

Noticing the shadows, their peculiar hue and the frost glistening in the sun.

A single solitary moment pressed against the surface of blue.

Explore, Take Risks

Be original.

Contemplating It From Someplace Else

Looking sideways to the left of me

a row of static red seats…

. . . . .

In my mind the blurrings of a painting –

a scene, not of nature, sanguine in temperament.

For a moment I was lost in it re-imagining how

everything moved in that public space…

Constituent Parts

The presence of light shapes it –

the nature of its texture.

Establishing A Dialogue

Pinned to that spot.

Spring Opening

The heart of it

sky-lit.

The Day Is Spent

Colouring flowers.

Nestling in to a stillness.

Letting go what the hours demand…

It All Stayed Put

Much later, over by the window

the eyes balloon, circling the moon –
while a soul broods 'neath its glow.

It Smoulders Still

Where we stood

how was it – the room

ablaze on either side

of the glass.

. . . . .

So direct, so evasive its energy…

After, Comes A Seam Of Light

For some nights now I've stood in the gathering shade,

eyes closed half-remembering fragments of dreams –
elusive terrains forged in memory awaiting interpretation.

. . . . .


Dreams are illustrations...from the book your soul is writing about you.

– Marsha Norman

Crisscrossing From One Side To Another

Unlacing her shoes, momentarily she looks up,

away from the rendered purples and greens.
Restless, her attention darts toward a butterfly –
its kaleidoscopic blossom attached to a stone…

Amongst The Thorns

Against the sky.

. . . . .

As we struggle to make sense of things, 

life looks on in repose.

– Author Unknown

After The Rain

Can words describe the fragrance

of the very breath of spring?

– Neltje Blanchan

. . . . .

I try to teach myself

what it is its song imparts.

The Day Itself Confronted

Something innate is rejuvenated, encouraged by

a soft-spoken moment preserved.

. . . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e-FeKDBc04o

. . . . .

Human Interaction

Waiting for the subway train, contemplating 

the enigma of our passage – its curious markings…

All of us moving from one emotional state of mind to another.

At the end of the day meeting somewhere in the middle, 

witnessing the mystery of our universal poetry…

In The Silence Of Its Stare

A pair of human eyes.

That From Which A Song Arises

Let it communicate to you what it has to offer.
And one sleepless night you will sing loud its echoing song.

To Wake Up

Embraced By The Revered Light Of Spring

I throw to the sky my arms – instantly my spirit stretches playfully aloft. Adrift in a perfect celestial sphere of robin egg blue, my complete being becomes as light as the air. Lifting off, every part of me branches into parts of song, In lovely repeated sequences my soul begins to dance. Becoming not myself, I am – I am now far removed from the heft of everything remaining below. My spirit, as if unclothed from yesterday's moods, swirls and twirls up above the reach of the world, overwhelmed by the convincing rhythms found in the flourish of peace. Ambitiously my spirit  entwines with the small whispers of birds nesting off in the distance of some other world where delicate green glittering things and other signs of Spring are pressing out like the fragrant, pinkish-white magnolias in bud. And everything shimmers, studded with the sun's stream of light.

As if in possession of something precious, Spring bestows on us her random acts of kindness, working her impressions so as to build us up toward transformation – pulling from the inside out our spirit, pushing her poetry until, acquiescing, we cleave to its groove.

I Cannot Locate It

Life's teachings hidden

in strands of treasured metaphor.

Everything is intertwined.

Here Is Your Morning

Together, let us yearn toward it.

I Placed It Here

To be like this.

. . . . .

a ladybug appeared

walking on quietly alone

without intention

I placed it here

letting it stay

. . . . .

A reminder of Spring –

now just a few weeks away.

A Room Of One’s Own

A place in the fresh air

created out of natural materials

that one can call their own.

. . . . .

Fort-building starts with an idea

sparked by the imagination…

A Gift From My Daughter

If only I could sound out the words of its song that inside 
it appears to be singing – the bulwark of its heart finally broke open.