Grace moves slowly

round the room

Like a foggy mist

or the scent of your lover’s perfume,

Stopping now and then

to fix your collar

Before you ever notice.

*

Grace moves slowly

Round the room

Like a lazy parade

on a long horizon

forgetting all about the time

lingering to observe

the panoramic splendor

of sunlit slants on the floor.

*

Grace moves slowly

Stopping in places

It shouldn’t

Nor would you expect  –

Hovering over broken shards,

Catching the light’s reflection,

Defying the laws of physics

In the gutter’s shallow flow

*

Grace moves slowly.

She is oblivious

to your impatience

and your fallow objections,

All along admiring

the bright, white

expansive opportunity

of emptiness

*

So go ahead, and blow out your breath.

Exhale into nothing,

and rid yourself from

the tepid debris.

That cloud

was lifted

Long ago.

Photo image thanks to Nance. (Thanks, nance.)

with its circular reasoning

and maddening gradual ascents

It just sits there, shining,

While we run around like maniacs

In the vague shadows of your light

Wilting prose

Graced the facade

of fading grey headstones,

Marking rows of memory

And a little misery.

—

I make my way

down neural pathways,

But the cane is just a prop, a sturdy assist.

The tapping sound reminds me

of what I can not see.

—

Whispers of

grandeur echo loudly,

without a sound – only slightly better

than what we had

supposed.

—-

The Night

shakes its head

And goes

back to

sleep.

To take a small thing,

and reveal its essence -

Isn’t that

the sum of all eternity?

–

A slight of heart,

The turning of a few strings -

The squinted eye

does see clearly.

–

And we played without blinking

Lying face up in the grace,

confounding the beasts

and calling them by name.

–

All those years -

barely audible;

then it hit me:

God is still here,

–

in the wonder

and the neutral tones

and mostly,

not knowing.

–

With that, at least,

there is hope.

The thought occurred to me today -

fluttering like a pretty bird

into my attic.

An Intruder

landing, perched high upon a beam

Like a spirit descending

Without permission.

“Blogging is stupid!”

It chirped.

My hands shooed and shook

in a panoramic sweep

Clearing air and thoughts alike

Dispersing the thick, hazy strands

leftover,

from some other guy’s web.

Image by nance.

The sun crept up

over the dark horizon

unescorted, unnanounced

without a backwards glance.

—-

And I secretly watched

that fierce light bask in itself

behind the stillness of

a thousand naked trees.

—

Its beauty nearly ruined me.

carrying a stick and a box of pens.

“Well?” she asked, kicking the snow from her boots.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?”

I opened up a little wider

enough for her to edge inside.

She dropped her fur coat to the floor 

in an apathetic heap;

like a prowling fox

foiled;

spoiled.

I recoiled.

Then, reconsidered.

“Would you like to see my oil paintings?”

I politely inquired as her eyes scanned the room.

Ignoring my words, she moved to the kitchen table

and sat down.

“Let’s get to work,” she said, with a snap of her stick.

It was not an opinion,

or an option,

or even a misty cloud of inspiration.

But rather 

a matter

of fact,

like those pens, now scattered like snakes

running for cover

falling off the edge of the earth

“Get me a glass of wine.”

Her stick tapped the floor,

a metered rhthym

counting down

the innevitable.

This was inspired by my dear friend Nancy Rosback who really did just about shake me by the virtual lapels, demanding some good poetry. I am grateful.

somehow lead

the way,

slipping down

steep banks

of desire

and longing

and the wish that wasn’t there

after all.

This ink

runs before me

on yellow pages lined

like roads that take me

forever nowhere

While slivers of dark

diamond eyes

Peer through the trees

watching;

their mangled tents

lining the streets

like beggars hoping for

a holy word:

Go and sin no more.

Dry empty clouds

hover;

a blanket of warm air

falling all over me

like a blessing.

Image by Nance

This morning

I changed my mind

Five times

Before tasting

the first sip of coffee,

Or five fingers full of

apple-raisin-bran muffin.

This decision was not hard.

However,

I zigged left

And then turned right

Then circled back again,

All in pursuit of a worthy cause.

Or not.

This decision was not hard.

Risk versus obligation

Placed squarely on the scales

Safety or quest,

The pros and cons

perfectly balanced

Equal partners

In league with

abmbivalence.

There they lie

sideways on the tray

Lifeless and spent

Fish eyes staring back at me

Unblinking

As if I was the question.

The decision was not hard.

Thanks to Nan for the photo!

enough

for all that is

today;

even though,

well,

you know,

things are

undone;

redundant,

not well done,

flapping hysterically

hanging

like wet clothes

on a  tree.

I believe

I am

exposed.

Photo by Nance.