There is nothing on my mind,
no deep ponderance or pensive thought
that consumes or occupies attention;
just random idealizations
of the sun, the shade, the skies,
the changing of the seasons
when for a moment's brief contemplated interlude
I can breathe all of life in
the sea, the aromatic leftovers of someone's supper,
the hint of forestal petrichor upon the grass
the crunch of leaves beneath my feet
where fallen leaves now cover the uncut grass
and all the earth slows, seeks a rest
to renew the embodiment of what can yet be
in the futures that await.
Categories:
idealizations, america, analogy,
Form: Free verse
Greyed cloudscape:
Even the leaves
have, true to their name,
left the Sky.
Readying work is
done.
Flowers, matings, done.
Repairs and preparations,
all made.
The only work remaining
is excuses.
Exculpations of a worn Self.
Rationalizations
follow realizations
which have long
followed idealizations.
Winter is coming
like a 30 ton steaming
locomotive (crazy motive)
let loose, downhill, and
feeling late to station.
I remember, though,
that surely as the cowcatcher
comes, threateningly
racing towards my Now,
it carries with it
an end of itself
a caboose, a Spring.
And so, though Winter
comes, so too does
it's End.
Categories:
idealizations, change, philosophy, seasons, winter,
Form: Free verse