Decelerate Poems

Winter Tidings

Midwinter - means
transparent ice walls
pressed against shrinking skin.

Dead-eyed horses are revived
only by the steam of their nostrils.

No one predicts a beginning or an end,
'mid' is a frozen idea
in an ice-locked fountain pen,
it will not write even in warm hands.

Killer clowns' shelter behind
their fixed, blood flaked grimaces,
the whites of their eyes
reflect pinpoints
of a dawning apprehension.

Roads decelerate,
creaking through knuckled hands.
Chilled mounds toboggan off rooftops,
dump malformed snowmen
through unmeasured backyard graves.

At the hazy horizon of each grinding day.
midwinter blurs perspective.
This is the middling 'Mid'
a middle where the mind stops flowing
up or down.

Art

In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous ~Aristotle 

Snapdragons in bloom,
and I celebrate
ending yuletide gloom.

I don't deliberate
reasons for happiness,
I simply decelerate

from winter's crappiness~
tuning nature's loom;
enjoying flowers' flashiness.

Ease up

Loosening up to let go of control as slowing down soothing my soul
Options exist to decelerate now since feeling good to unfurrow my brow
Welcoming whatever comes my way by riding the wave to lean into today
Black and white fading to gray with the middle road keeping me above the fray

20 Days

Without an invite,
You took me in,
A perfect stranger,
Without further ado,
You embraced me,
An unexpected guest,
When I had taken to you,
Then I realized,
Then I understood,
I had a few days to stay,
Few days to sail with you,
Continuum of days to go
onboard with you,
The thought of these saddens me,
I try hard to put up a smile,
I try to blanket my feelings,
It's hurting deep within.

Day and night come,
The clock ticks away,
It's as if time is on a run,
Like the end of days is near,
Like doomsday approaching,
How do I wish time can be trapped,
How I wish it can be made to stay
still for a while,
Or at the very least made to decelerate.

Time - a fundamental quantity,
A measurer of events and occasions,
A foot soldier with his artillery,
A harbinger of separation,
I am of the hope that we'll meet some
time to come,
Then we'll no longer be apart,
Not anymore,
No space between us.

I Don'T Feel Like a Pirate

I don't feel like a pirate
As I travel along carefree.
My husband navigates
Us through the channels, as boats, ships, and
Tankers, accelerate and decelerate.
He is definitely the captain on this journey.
I don't feel like a pirate
I celebrate
All I see.
My husband navigates
As he operates
Our boat with out any castrophes.
I don't feel like a pirate
Yet, we are sailing the seas
My husband navigates
And trys to educate
With rigidity which destroys my serenity.
Now I feel like a pirate
As my husband navigates.

For Grieving Families It's Much Too Late

I grew up believing America is so great
Only to learn that its people live in a divided state
So many innocent loved ones dying at an alarming rate
Why won't congress put assault weapons on their plate
For grieving families, it's much too late
Why must the American people have to wait
For lawmakers to get it straight

Special interest money opening the flood gate
Politicians playing with the innocent's fate
Backsliding always allowed to skate
The American people need to dictate
Our solution that wipes Washingtons slate
On how we govern our states

To ban assault weapons that only devastate
So we can decelerate and no longer tolerate
All of these shooters twisted hate
By letting our lawmakers know we will terminate
Sending our message we won't allow them to negotiate
This epidemic sending our loved ones to heavens gate.

Paying the Toll

It greets me twice a day, morning and afternoon
Not pleasantly like a song from the musical, Brigadoon
No, not this structure that awaits me like a vigilant spy,
reminding me of the play's song, "There But For You Go I."

Each morning it slows me down as I make my way to work
I've come to regard it as a petulant nuisance and a jerk
I crawl along at a tedious pace, often hitting the brakes,
Red lights flashing as long lines form like slithering snakes

Its tempo in the afternoon moves slower than a larghetto
Never music to my ears when I decelerate to its concerto
The horns I hear are not from an orchestra, I blow one, too
But to its maestro I must pay or he'll never allow me through

I've come to know the menace well and call it a buffoon
because of its rudeness to drivers who have to sing his tune
Then came the day I heard the toll would no longer be taken
and the rascally little cubicle was soon to be forsaken

No longer am I forced to dawdle as I drive along the road
Though I think its ghost remains, traffic has swiftly flowed
I sing along with the radio, in a pleasant voice I now croon
but never do I sing "There But For You Go I" from Brigadoon

When the Soul Starts To Leak

To break and take some time 
we must To patch the holes 
from which our soul leaks

Recharge, reset, remember why
The pen we chose to embrace

 Still there arises a time for
Every poet that calls us
To decelerate, to stop,  back up
And evaluate what it is that
Spurs us on

 Is it questions such as these;
Does life temper our feelings?
Or do our feelings temper life? 

Are pain and joy exclusive?
or are they conjoined?
 Do pain and joy interrupt our lives?
Or do our lives interrupt our
Pain and joy?

So to break and take some time
We must to patch the holes from
Which our souls leak 

 But quell The quill we do accept 
 Though others may not understand
We do not wish to starve your feeding

It's just The need is there to
Decelerate, to stop, back up
And evaluate how best to 
Patch the holes from which
Our soul leaks and seek the answers
to those painful questions
So once again we can create

Grace

Your glowing smile, like children laughing, 
radiates like fire through frigid spells, 
your own merriment enriches, 
its appeal like distant bells. 

Your auburn hair, like gossamer, 
distilled by zephyrs' gentle beat, 
rejoices on your shoulders like 
the errant play of summer wheat. 

Your jaunty gait, while others wait 
to follow, as their lot must be, 
will overtake those in your wake 
with playfulness and joie de vivre! 

Though woes may darken your bright eyes, 
decelerate your sprightly pace, 
you ne'er will mention your despair, 
and that, my love, is grace.

Silent One Quiet Mind

Silent One?? Quiet Mind??

Silent one, quiet mind; no.
It never ceases, it never reposes. 
Constance is what it seeks.
'You', you wish to decelerate
You wish to slow its pace.
When?
Silent One, Quiet Mind.

Fatal Attraction

FATAL ATTRACTION
-------------------------
His lucent light illumines her eyes
His face outshines the sun
His ethereal beauty unveils the skies
Her vibrant vision swiftly succumbs

Her silenced tongue, his intimate touch
His intangible hands sliding/slithering
Spiraling down with a gentle glide
Her body cold and shivering 

His fiery eyes ignite a flame
Her attention he gains as she stares
Their lips entwine, his blissful rapture
Devours her heart from cares

Encapsulated, she can't escape
He clutches her in his arms
Her safe haven, her wedded love
His pearl preserved from harm

Her beating heart, a decelerate speed
Her aperture devoid of breath
His succulent waters drown her tongue
Compelling her closer to death

Solitary seclusion, her world in diffusion
Subverts her mind, subtracts her understanding
He gains her trust, thrusting utter confusion
Rest assuring her of a safe landing

She drowns herself to ceaseless sleep
In his grasp from detouring distractions
At her beauteous site, he rejoices and weeps
Absorbed in her FATAL ATTRACTION

Grace

...for Juvie


Your glowing smile, like children laughing, 
radiates like fire through frigid spells, 
your own merriment enriches, 
its appeal like distant bells. 

Your auburn hair, like gossamer, 
distilled by zephyrs' gentle beat, 
rejoices on your shoulders like 
the errant play of summer wheat. 

Your jaunty gait, while others wait 
to follow, as their lot must be, 
will overtake those in your wake 
with joyfulness and joie de vivre! 

Though woes may darken your bright eyes, 
decelerate your sprightly pace, 
you ne'er will mention your despair, 
and that, my love, is grace.

Grace

Your glowing smile, like children laughing,
radiates like fire through frigid spells,
your own merriment enriches,
its appeal like distant bells.

Your auburn hair, like gossamer,
distilled by zephyrs' gentle beat,
rejoices on your shoulders like
the errant play of summer wheat.

Your jaunty gait, while others wait
to follow, as their lot must be,
will overtake those in your wake
with joyfulness and joie de vivre!

Though woes may darken your bright eyes,
decelerate your sprightly pace,
you ne'er will mention your despair,
and that, my love, is grace.

Sensations

Street-lights golden nuggets on a plane
I shimmer with anticipation
Aircraft dips left like a soaring hawk
Golden eyes zero in on its prey

Aloft and descending turbulence
Undercarriage open like talons
Binocular vision so alert
As screeching rubber thumps the tarmac

Decelerate adrenal glands pump
Undoing buckles my thoughts floating
About casual normality
Within casual catastrophe

We have naturally come so far
Yet I feel so unnatural here
Aircraft mobiles cars cities and things
Overwhelming sophistication

Better to lie in my earthen bed
Feeling the pulse of my heart beating
Better to be the hawk in the sky
Feeling the wind ruffle through my wings

Love My Fellow Man

Eating a hamburger, chasing it down
With milk, I sit in the dismal
Heat of the August sun. The UV rays
Searing my leather boots, I perspire
Beneath my furcap and sheepskin
Gloves. And I am hunting. Patient for
Prey, clutching my rifle, I think:
I love animals.

Toothpick dancing, hair flowing, 
I drive my sportscar. A half
Mile behind, the plastic of my meal
Rolling to a stop on the ashphault -
I grin at the radio. And I decelerate
Amongst the gridlock. Trapped within
The clogged artery of highway, I think:
I love the outdoors.

Walking by the homeless, chin raised,
I head for a boxing match. Briefly,
Eyes ablaze and watering, I cheer
For my troops - for clips of war 
Telecast in a store window. And I
Lower my gaze to the sidewalk before
Strangers. Frowning at an obvious 
Immigrant, I think:
I love my fellow man.
I love my fellow man.

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