~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It wasn’t the current that woke me~
nor the moon’s cracked reflection
slipping between the reeds.
It was the hush,
the way the water paused
mid-sentence,
as if gathering words
from the silt,
from the bones of fish
who forgot how to swim upstream.
Then~
a voice like wet stones,
like roots unbraiding.
Listen, it said,
not to me,
but to the banks,
to the willow’s slow bow,
to the heron’s hollow legs
standing knee-deep in time.
I waited for meaning,
for a prophecy curled in riverweed.
But the water only chuckled
a sound like pebbles rolling downhill~
and flowed on,
carrying its secrets
to the sea’s open mouth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Knee-deep in stillness,
it waits—a question mark
pressed into the shallows.
Then, like a blade slipped
between the ribs of the river,
it strikes.
Nothing moves
but the fish’s silver flicker
of regret.
poem written for an online poetry class in response to the above image
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At dawn, the river whispers cold,
its tongue of silver licking stones~
those ancient teeth that never spoke,
though centuries have knelt and prayed.
The water writes, then takes it back,
a scribe with no allegiance.
The stones remain—unread, unturned—
like letters never sent.
And I, who came to hear their song,
stand knee-deep in their silence.
The current murmurs what they won't say:
Some things are best left unfinished.
Taxed To Death
Yes, we are all exhausted
And yes, we are all taxed to death
Money vanishes without a trace
Cost of living these days are insane
Too many burdens to carry
Frustrated to the brink
With no room to breath
Taxes to pay for our freedom
Money can ruin a marriage
Life is draining the middle class
Just to keep your head above water
Bills are never ending
Our government indulges in consistent spending
Just eat beans and rice
Don’t have a choice
Anchored down to the almighty dollar
Money torrent like water
Just walk off the cliff
Knee deep in blood
It’s all right.
The eye, inner cheek, thumb, knee, and leg.
Begging for relief.
The trigger thumb should be released today at one.
Hip-hip-hurray! Let’s not talk of the hip again…shh!
Perhaps, next week some news, some talk
about the knee…too long it seems, it was lumped
in, with lower leg sciatica pain.
Aye yi yi, the eye, I read,
is chronic (say what?!)
Yep, nurse practitioner did not tell all.
No one dumps the aging news on us
until we’re knee deep in the “stuff.”
Oh the pain…the pain…the pain!
No wonder sitcoms came to be.
We needed to lighten up.
Laugh it up, millennials -
I bet you see the light.
Fog’s cleared, now think pink.
No snow,
however the show
will be
where I go.
Knee deep in cotton candy.
I will joyfully
kick up the flakes,
heaven’s sugar flakes
In the pink
with the Buffalo Bills.
Okay a footfall…shhhh
football ;)
December exhales, cold, unfinished~
dragging its shadows like a half-empty suitcase
filled with heavy promises.
I stand knee-deep in what I didn’t say~
the clock’s hands trembling with the weight
of all I meant to become.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The old man sits on the rugged bench
running his fingers along the contours.
Dawn stains the lake pink, like spilled wine.
He watches a heron stand knee-deep
in liquid stillness—
one-legged sentinel
patient as stone.
His coffee thermos exhales steam
into the chill.
Memory drifts like dawn’s fine mist:
sixty summers of casting lines here,
teaching grandchildren how to thread worms,
their laughter skipping like rocks across the waves.
Now silence holds him gently.
iridescent dragonflies dance across the lake.
He shuts his eyes,
letting the water’s quiet heartbeat
thrum against his ribs.
I hold the glass, a heavy sphere,
And watch the seasons disappear.
A single shake, a sudden squall,
Recalls the winter of it all.
We walked through drifts of knee-deep white,
Beneath the streetlamp's amber light.
You pulled me close to block the wind,
Where warmth began and ice could end.
The flakes inside are sharp and plastic,
But memory makes them seem fantastic.
I see your breath, a ghostly cloud,
I hear your laugh, distinct and loud.
But gravity commands the snow,
To settle on the roof below.
The storm goes quiet on the shelf,
And leaves me standing by myself.
I cannot shake you back to life,
Through all the years of calm and strife.
So I just shake the globe instead,
And keep you spinning in my head.
I'm a guest in a body,
That allows me to be,
Knee deep in my reality.
Entering the heart I see,
Different aspects of me,
And what makes them happy.
Freeing the mind I find,
A database I left behind,
Of how it was designed.
I do my best to understand,
It always goes as planned,
The body has its own demands.
Born into the soothe of tide pools.
Hardly a ripple, hardly a care.
Infinity in the shallows so very nearby.
There are no treasures here
Only the seduction of security.
On the horizon you see shining things.
Maps to treasures that we're born to seek.
Knee-deep we frolic about.
Then slide into the thick blue
where thrashers abound.
There, destiny lies like a sleepy silver eye.
On a sandy shelf just above the abyss.
You reach out bit by bit,
But it's always one bit out of reach.
You've convinced you've given your best.
Heart pirates move in, gleaning the last fleck from your chest.
Return to shallows warm. A bit battered and worn.
Back into the tide pool of reflection.
The horizon scribes the journey from beginning to end.
Knowledge and wisdom came at a premium.
They were all out standing in their field
with an ass or two and a few moose
along with a stray Canadian goose
when someone let the Appaloosas loose
not a welcome sight nor pretty view
while the moose who cud did slowly chew
the well-trained colt did not bolt
or even buck to shuck us
the goose didn't give a honk or hoot
but the asses kicked up such a ruckus
and if mushrooms you have half a mind
to seek (not the magic kind of stalk)
be aware take care of where you walk
as there by the end of the week let me remind
the field was knee-deep if not chock-a-block
with what the livestock left behind
Pain To Greatness
Breath in the cold.
Don’t tell me no.
Run through the street.
Put on your hoodie.
Be a mystery.
Let me be.
Stay ready.
Hustle knee deep.
Knuckles bloody.
Get to work.
Row up hill, suffer.
Hustle till you drop.
Pain to greatness.
Feel the pain.
Push the grind.
No age matters.
Gray hair, I’m stronger.
No excuses.
My life keeps burning.
Hustle forward.
No day, tomorrow.
Level up.
Sweet hard.
Go into exhaustion.
All worth it.
Pain to greatness.
No talking.
Work.
I am tired of pretending
that anger is a flaw.
It burns through me clean,
and still they ask for smiles
while standing knee-deep in the ashes.
I wasn't born to swallow my tongue.
I wasn't raised
to fold myself
just so others could stretch.
There were days I begged to be seen,
and when they looked,
they flinched-
as if the truth was too sharp to hold.
But I've learned:
the sharp things are often the most honest.
I don't owe softness
to the ones who
only listen
when I whisper
Submission leads to sustenance?
In what world is this?
Death, dynamite, dominance!
Blowing Doom a kiss!
High cliff force in summer late?
Staggers in the gait.
O ye gods above, strife? Sate.
Too much on thy plate...
Drums played by the war gods?
Poets, by Fate required.
Nuclear my temper-rods!
Mercenaries hired!
Tyrant of tomorrow, time!
Knee deep in the slime!
Sullen silence slight sublime!
Wind, blow well each chime...
Mime, form well thy boxes.
Prisoner, poison pen.
Where the golden phlox is?
O dragon, from thy den!
Then again, old vampire:
Is succor still a curse?
Pinnacle, apex and spire!
Son, you could do worse!
Versed in rite and ritual?
Flickering fine and free?
Sing within me, brazen bull!
Fire fancifully...
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