The scale and might
is hypnotic - I almost
clamour for breath
as I look down
from the clifftop
into the churn
and deep throated rumble
of a swell heaving upwards
to gulp at rock, weed and air
in a frenzy of foam.
There is a strange
gravity exerted by such
power that seems
to pull upon the mind,
to feel my fragile life
lipped on the edge
of a plummeting drop
a mere step or stumble
away from death.
I anchor myself
to the ledge, dare to lean
forward and stare
into that which awaits
if I were to fall,
to glimpse nothingness,
oblivion or something more,
a floating shred,
the leftover foam
from the source of it all.
I found a lone wing --
the cat seemed sleepy
and content;
the mouse took an extra
swallow of whatever no
hurried breath to vent;
the sun had one less shadow
to cast less intent;
the tree branched a sign
cozy nest for rent --
and I continued raking….
THE AWENESS OF AUTUMN
Autumn has arrived;
Naked-tree lessons coming:
Survival canvassed:-
Naked trees canvassing us,
The nature of living faith:-
For some, living faith
Can often be a challenge;
And even questioned:-
Through Autumn and its Winter,
Let us be in Living Faith:-
Oh, how I’m longing to float to my death
Not e’er again heave sweet CO2 breaths
Each of us whirl with a dance all our own
Loosed by a mistral and heavenly-blown
All of our lives we’ve provisioned The One
Synthesized O2 with bright from the sun
Tasting the rainfall whene'er a cloud burst
Wetting our folds for the deep-rooted thirst
And now in the autumn endeavor the spring
Let loose our branches to dance and to sing
Trading our green for the shades of the sun
Zanzibar waits when our last waltz ... is done.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with Gemini AI / Meta AI software )
IN THE DOWNING OF SPRING
Autumn will soon fall;
Paving the way for winter’s
Cold nature of life:
Time for us to prepare for
Life’s cold-coming-challenges:-
It begins long before the pen touches the page,
in the quiet habit of noticing what others miss:
the amber morning streaming
through slatted blinds,
the heron lifting up from golden water.
To live this way is not to speak in rhyme,
But to breathe, to watch,
To listen for the rhythm.
It is the tea kettle whistling its low hymn,
Flour dusted across the counter,
The deliberate pace of walking slow enough
To hear what silence carries when it leaves.
You learn that nothing is too small to keep:
A river rock worn smooth by tide,
The wild fire of an evening sky,
The grief you thought would crush you into dirt.
Writing is only the light you bring back.
The poem itself was the breathing,
The wide eyes, the steady pulse,
The courage to face the grain of living
And find in it
A reason to begin again.
I don't like to brag, but I've seen it all
The virginal Springs, the legends of Fall
Where whispering pines, meet towering peaks
And raging rivers, raise babbling creeks
A fresh forest glade, festooned with fauna
Hot bubbling waters, nature's own sauna
Swam the Tasman Sea, hiked along the Nile
Even met a wretch, walking "his" green mile
Once I played the Met, and jammed with the Stones
Then won a big bet, while rolling the bones
Met the self-righteous, who claims to be right
And basked with the meek, who shines a true light
From Rome's Rotunda and Phlegraean Fields
To Chinese lanterns and Japanese shields
Sailed the Seven Seas, been around the Horn
Watched a nation die, watched a nation born.
I've seen followers and leaders of men
I've met the Pope, forgiving my sin
Saw too many rich, degrading the poor
I've stood at Hell's gate, passed through Heaven's door
I've traveled the moon, the stars in the sky
I've charmed the Devil, making Angels cry
Like I said before, I don't like to brag
Here's a toast to ME, waving my own flag!
GARDENING SELF
Fertilize your mind…
Dig away self-worthlessness…
Nature your self-growth…
foundation started
around us life emerges
growing constantly
insecticides sprayed
crushed, smashed, thrashed, hard boot-heel-stamped ~
still they resurrect
For Epiphany Poetry Contest sponsored by Constance La France
“Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.” ~ Ludwig Josef Johann Wittgenstein
As I embarked upon the world,
I absorbed an idea
that there was some great truth to find.
Coming to believe
that if I didn't possess it, I would be missing
something essential -
like a tin man without a heart.
How could I find this truth?
Would it be through hard work -
study or life experience,
or would it be powerful or divine,
an epiphany
delivered by some kind of angel?
On all the stops that I visited on the road to find out -
parents, siblings, teachers,
books, religious texts, gurus,
philosophers, artists,
people with degrees,
I asked, "What is the truth?"
and my mind became a jumbled, cacophonous mess.
I took a break from the road to truth
to take solace in nature.
For fun, I asked a tree, a hummingbird, and a lake,
"What is the truth?"
No epiphany -
I heard only silence,
beautiful silence.
Sunlight is like an arrow.
Toward the earth, it flies;
It warms us in the morning,
But it hurts the gazing eyes.
A leaf is like an arrow.
It moves toward the ground;
After it clings for long to the tree,
It surrenders without a sound.
A dream is like an arrow.
It gives the heart a direction;
It soars toward fulfillment,
When shattered, it brings affliction.
Life is like an arrow.
It cannot return to the womb;
It shoots toward its destiny,
Long or short, it enters the tomb.
Time is like an arrow.
Once released, it never turns back.
It takes off toward infinity,
Golden moments, it doesn't lack.
flowers bloom and die
natures cycle -- life and death
rotating beauty
A Hut In Forest
What a nice neat simple life
Natural all things
The whole house is one room, hut
All the Path-room is out side.
it rains everyday
the family sleep like birds
and work the whole day.
Tanka and haiku.
she is an oak tree
roots drink storms in deep silence
still she shades the dawn
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