Enter the Tide

Breaking waves

howl slowly;

they rise, they dip,

a slow crisp

of light

hovers, then fades.

And then comes

the surging scream –

the small, silent serendipity,

that holds us down,

that  holds us together;

Like the invisible string

of lunar pull,

Like the One who beckoned

from the shore,

“Come, eat.”

Only this time,

I look away.

* * *

Meanwhile,

the tide

swallows another

breath

of the day.

Remember the Sky

See the moon

hanging up there,

all alone

in the black sky?

I had forgotten

it was there;

His pale. tilted orb

showing up

like a gentle reminder:

Beauty.

Art.

Mystery.

Science.

Worship.

Perhaps I should

look up

more often –

especially

when it’s dark.

Things Not Yet

If only

If only

If

Only I could

stop

wishing for things

that are not

or not

yet.

If only.

* * *

Another

voice shrugs

and asks,

“Yes, but

What then?”

Morning Light

Sometimes

You will wake up

under seven layers

of darkness

pressing hard

against your soul;

You will set down

your feet

and cross the floor

To find a

brilliant shard

of morning light

crashing through

the tiniest crack

of window shade,

piling up

all over

the bedroom floor,

And you will understand:

There is not a thing

you can do

about that.

I’ll Call Her Gladys (Demise of a Family Business)

I had a business article published last week in Family Business Magazine, called “Business Family vs. Family Business.” It was a decidedly professional piece, aimed at furthering my perceived expertise in this arena among business owners.

However. Since it is  Poetry at Work Day, I thought it might be interesting to take that article and transpose those same “work” words of mine into another vehicle entirely: poetry. In doing this, I am totally stealing Megan’s and LL Barkat’s idea of breaking “normal” prose into lines, except using my own boring material rather than someone else’s. (In reading it, I think it would help to listen to an inspiring chorus.)

Here goes:

———————————-

I recently met a woman –

I’ll call her Gladys –

who owns a substantial enterprise.

—

The only problem?

The business has been

consistently unprofitable.

She keeps it afloat

by infusing her own money,

to the tune of

several hundred thousand dollars

for each of the past four

years.

—

“How long can you keep that up?”

I asked

as we sat

at a local café.

—

She shook her head

and stared down into

her empty cappuccino cup.

“Not much longer,”

she said with a sigh.

“But things will turn around soon.”

—

Gladys, it turns out,

is so overly identified

with her business

that she can’t bear to face

the harsh reality

of her unraveling

situation.
—

Markets have shifted,

the competition is fierce

and her company’s once-sought-after services

have morphed into

a “so what?” commodity.

—

Instead of doing what’s necessary,

she’d rather maintain a façade

of smooth sailing,

with a chins-up,

“We’ll try harder next month”

approach.

—

She is more concerned with

the safety and protection

of her inner circle

than with facing

the hard business issues

head-on.

—

We may cluck our tongues

in disapproval over

Gladys’s eccentric denial,

but her situation is really

not so different

from that of any other

family business in which

relationships, tradition or comfort

are put above

the best interests

of the business.

It just may not look

so desperate.

—-

 

Fading

The moon is slung

low tonight

in the Eastern sky

like an offhand remark

from a casual acquaintance

disregarded,

slinking softly

in the aftermath

of a silent recovery.

Here I am

basking in the sorrow

while a soul is revealed –

hovering lightly,

it touches skin

and turns to sand.

Not to worry, my dear,

for tomorrow we stand

we watch

we wait

for something

as if

all our sins

will wither

and fade

forever.

Mercy

Mercy flies sideways

Looking for a way

To get in –

Her lithe wings

folding

Senseless colors,

Origami-like;

Construction-paper

ministry

to those of us

barely hanging

by a thread;

Those of us

Dangling pretty

from the kitchen

window.

My Wishes

And these are

my best wishes,

soldier-packed

into a holiday tin –

sweet as sugar.

Toasted,

and

delivered.

Desperate Advent

Desperate Advent

quivering

like a candle

flame –

Hope so

fragile,

the slightest whisper –

a gasp,

the truth

could choke it out

for good.

—-

Don’t leave me.

Don’t leave me.

Don’t

leave

me,

cries the wick

to the ghostly

curl of smoke

disappearing

into sorrow’s

vast emptiness.

—–

I waited

like you said,

but never

could have

expected

this.

—

* I wrote these lines minutes before I heard about the shooting in the Connecticut School. Praying for the desperate families.

Red/Green

Fire breathing

red
down my neck;

sleep it off,

dream it down

then

enter lightly

the green foil

of level depth.

Originally inspired by this prompt at Every Day Poems, but the photo above was the view as i wrote it. Somehow the two images merged together in these few words.