On the Trail - World I
She was called ‘Old Crone’
She most assuredly fit most people’s perception of one.
Stooped, shuffling along in a long black covering
She seemed to soak in any light, even from a naked Sun
Well hiding her hair, which in greasy looking tendrils
Stuck loosely out from her hooded head
Laying on her cheeks and like long, greasy noodles
Hanging down onto her neck which was blotched in red
Her nose taking over any attention left
Craggy and long, probably broken a few times in the past.
She appeared quickly at the edge of the meadow
Quickly making her way around the perimeter fast
Taking little notice of me
Except for a furtive glance or two.
Curious, I decided to follow
At a safe distance of course (wouldn’t you?)
One never knew...
Stories said there were witches about
Powerful ones, and this one
Oh yes, this one, seemed to fit that bill.
I followed at a safe distance into the woods
Then out walking, headed up a rather steep hill
Not really knowing if she knew of me tailing or not
For it seemed fairly too easy to track her
Even at this safe distance.
If so, she didn’t show she cared with any resistance
And why should she…
For when she came to the edge of a high embankment
She stopped, turned, and looking over at me
Said in a distinct, clear voice without any fear
Know, It is coming.”
And then simply disappeared.
On the Higher Trail - World II
The monk had been walking for days
His orange robes were dusty
And only a shade of their past, more vibrant, color
With the trim at the bottom frayed
With threads hanging out from the wear and tear
From frictions between feet and uneven ground.
If he was cold, it didn’t show
Though the steam that came out in a misty stream
As he breathed out his blessings old
Told of temperatures... chilly at best.
He came up to a rocky outcrop
And seem satisfied that he indeed had reached a high altitude
As looking off down into the distance
He looked at the fields of clouds
Laying like a landscape below
With multiple triangles of various mountain peaks
Poking through as they marched off silently into the far distance.
A sudden breeze blew unexpectedly
From an entirely new direction
That caught him by surprise
Glad he was, chuckling
That he was not caught standing at the edge
Turning quickly, he began walking smiling
In the direction the wind dictated.
A lone eagle gliding above
Gave out a long call, as he muttered to himself...
‘Yes, I know.. It is coming.’
The rich man laid his lit Cuban cigar in the ashtray
And read again the results of his trading activity
Over the last week
‘Ah’, he smiled to himself, murmuring
‘A very good week’.
He got up, walking across the large marbled floor
Finally making up his mind.
Yes, he was going to have it all taken up
Wired underneath, and then placed back
A heated floor
Looking fine, especially with the gold grout he had in mind.
No more cold floors, and with thermostatic control
About time, he thought
No need for socks either.
His man-servant came in
Offering him his morning Bloody Mary.
‘Did you find the right pickle spear this time’
He growled at the man
‘I am sorry sir,’ the man replied, ‘the store was out.’
Bristling, he downed half the drink
Then disgusted, threw the rest, glass and all
Onto the marble floor
Where it all broke and splattered into pieces.
‘Terrible’ he thundered, ‘Who can drink this swill?’
Turning back, walking to the ashtray, he picked up the cigar.
After blowing out a few clouds of smelly smoke
Without turning to even look at the man
He yelled.. ‘That’s it! Fired’.
Turning, he look at him to see his reaction
‘Get your stuff together, you’re through here.’
Surprised, he saw the man only smiling at him
Then begin laughing.
‘John,’ he said, daring to call him by his first name
And without the Mr.?
John stood there so stunned
He had to remove the cigar
From his mouth, to keep from choking on it
Such arrogance, who would dare?
‘John,’ his servant said
‘It’s OK. I was coming in to hand in my notice anyway.’
‘You see, It is coming… finally.’
As he turned, and walked out of the marbled room.
World IV - Oh sit me silent
Oh sit me silent
Demand me... speak to you
From wisdom’s well
Of deepest secrets, few men tell.
For those that seek truly
Quiet, humbly, searching they
No laurels for the grabbing
Just quiet pleading... ‘Show me the way’.
In quiet home, with storms outside
Unafraid from chopping wood
To with warm fire, then inside, abide
Letting forest solace spirit, in shelter good.
While deepening thoughts settle in, and linger
In elsewhere mind-places opening at hand
Inviting spirit to fly in unencumbered
To Travel free... in new opening ‘other’ lands.
Where forest creatures go playing gladly
And pet cats and dogs spend time there, away.
Giving them the rest, to come back and struggle
In the hurdles we create, in this earth-bungling play.
So here it is, a greatest secret found
There are two of each, in any me that roam
With I right there as conscious observer
Laughing naughty, at things the two have sown
Thinking me past, I’m only one
To act your druthers with
I spirit, chiming in, in fun
Gaily add what was coming.
Whoa, that enough
I see... we’ve just begun
A rhythm started, another higher Wheel spun.
And think I back in the Worlds I see
What warnings were given
As said to me
It is coming… now... let All be.
Copyright © Brian Rusch | Year Posted 2021