Poem written as a poetic response to this quote: “There is not a single soul among the trees, and I don't know where I've gone.” (Octavio Paz)
The path thins into breath.
Branches forget my name.
Stillness gathers at my feet.
Wind lifts the edges of my soul.
Shadows trade places slowly.
My pulse echoes in the bark.
A leaf trembles without falling.
A specter of the unknown appears.
The air tastes like fog.
I walk, but I am elsewhere
A restless wind stirs deep within me,
softly urging movement,
hinting of paths unexplored.
It whispers of risk
of roads not taken
of horizons unseen.
I’m like the ocean's tide~
greeting the shore,
leaving, and returning
changed~
never totally anchored,
never fully gone.
always listening
for the next soft call of
elsewhere.
Between Elsewhere and Now
Whenever I wander into the wilderness,
Nature opens like a quiet hymn.
Light trembles on the mountain’s edge,
And the lake holds the sky in stillness.
All feels complete—
Yet somewhere within,
A subtle voice begins to stir,
Calling me back to waiting walls.
There are hours unfinished,
Duties breathing in silent rooms.
But when I return to that familiar space,
My spirit loosens—drifting again
To the lake beneath green heights,
Where time forgets its hurried name.
Though routine gathers around my days,
That distant calm flows through my thoughts.
Why does the present slip so softly away?
Why can I not anchor myself in the now?
Of all the labors life requires,
This is the most delicate and severe—
To remain fully present
Where I stand.
You are elsewhere,
beyond where life is lived,
deep in some cave
of the head where only
a faint glow of sunlight
penetrates the dark
and casts the images
of your mind
upon an inner wall.
I call out to you
but hear
only your breath pause
and then the sound
of you digging deeper
into the concealments
of yourself, disappearing
somewhere into the silence
of childhood.
Paris is gay
Madrid sways
Munich's beer flows
Amsterdam's tulips grow
New York and Chicago
high grime and crime
San Fran and L.A. ~
Buddy, can you spare me a dime
(“Winter’s Edge”, 2018, original encaustic)
Elsewhere
The grey of mid November settles in
And my thoughts turn to elsewhere
Nights of dreams, mornings of long novels,
Afternoons painting and a wistful wish to travel
But as sabers rattle in Europe
And once again the world awaits war
The last place I want to be is stuck
Far away from home
And so I’ll just read and write,
Paint and walk with dogs
Letting the cold and grey wash over me
Not so much with pleasure, nor depression
But at least a hint
Of acceptance
(11/17/24)
Take comfort in silence,
When all is calm and quiet
The serenity of body and mind
Without a single thought in sight
You are elsewhere.
That is next to nowhere,
Or someone in between
It's a special place in my mind
Visited but unseen.
It is a place,
I often visit when life gets too rough,
To find peace and solitude
When the pace of life gets tough.
If your day is getting heavy
And proving too much for you to bear
Sit quietly by a window
And find the peace that lies elsewhere
Not always but
The Search is often
Engaged In writings
Of the past..
Such writings may be
Handed down from
Sages who have
Weathered the criticisms
Of the centuries..
A deference to their
Words is accepted
As the search ensues..
There seems also
The appearance of
A realization that
All of this is story
Equal to other stories
Of searching in
Other climes...
Today it's raining elsewhere,
Tomorrow they have a chance of snow,
How do we get elsewhere,
If we ever choose to go
We are getting nowhere,
Racking our feeble brains
My mind is Elsewhere
Can I get there by train
They have gone elsewhere,
Is this elsewhere near?
Do they have pubs elsewhere?
It would be nice to share a beer.
Elsewhere must be somewhere,
I'll get lost somewhere; I fear,
It's getting complicated.
I think I'll stay right here!
In South Africa, we imitate Thanksgiving, even "Black Friday!"
Is it business or American culture-wannabees
I hear awkward Howdys; "How U doing?" Narratives of "space ...customer care"
Just as plastic bags decorate sidewalks, veld, pretty cities. Krag, "power,"
Is out more than "on," and the same for water "Loadshedding,"
One of of very own phrases, as with 'State Capture' by WaBenzi
The newest tribe that found state funds for that German car!
Think of elsewhere
where the day
has grown old
perhaps with a remembrance
of what has trespassed
concerning what now goes
throughout these hours here.
Now what does it fit
to cry by uprooting trees
or cry by wrong paintings
or cry by a wrong directives
or even cry by whims
and caprices of abyssimal
or in fact even wrongly cry
oh! later you may
swallow it a going.
Daffodils grow out the back of my head.
I wish they were purple tulips instead.
My job pays well, but I don’t make as much as Leek.
I lament this fact, ruining part of my week.
My family is good, but Kim’s seems better.
I spend my life grousing, jealous of my sister’s sweater.
Crazy I know, and yet here I sit, irritated more than a little bit.
That my brother’s having a better life. This griping I have to quit!
Gusts upon the green blades buzzing with synergy
While morning sun rays placed its striped bee patterns
Cast upon my face like some radiant Zebra energy
From across the universal rings of Saturn
excerpted from "Saturn's" Rings posted May 2019 on 4-22-20
for Rithimus Divisa 3 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Gregory Barden
The slip-slopping of her slip-slops
filled the kitchen
while I sat, listened, waited,
and then the lounge
and the kitchen again,
slip-slop-slip-slop...
The passage was filled momentarily
and then the room adjacent,
and the passage again,
slip-slop back into the kitchen,
and I did not wait anymore.
Into the lounge again,
now no slip-slopping, just her voice.
I could not discern her conversation,
it was distant,
now ended dispassionately.
Again slip-slop-slip-slop to and fro',
further from me.
2nd April 1997
YOU CANNOT BREAK THROUGH
MY PRECIOUS ARMOR
MY HANDS ARE TIED
BEHIND MY BACK
MY LIPS ARE SEALED
AND MY HEART IS BROKEN
HALFWAY BETWEEN HERE AND THERE
I FOUND NOWHERE
AND HELD IT CLOSE
AND KISSED ITS CHEEK
I'VE BEEN GONE
FOR A MILLION YEARS
AND I DON'T THINK I'LL MAKE IT BACK
IN TIME FOR SUNDAY.
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