God is playing pinball between the rungs of a double helix.
Silver balls of randomness and eternity, laying roughened paths onto the blackness,
tilted... "Uncertainty".
Thy curve hath taught
the rosewood how to sing
and my fingers
long roughened by cedar
grow gentle upon thy hips
returning unto the edge of thy ebony
Through forty harvests
rain hath polished
snow hath kept
the sun made sweet the grain
Lo, the wood thrush calleth
from the bough
where once this timber
drank the morning
Thrice I say unto thee
I love thee—
And another ring
God closeth
in the heartwood
=======
Ms. geologist
whisking roughened stones
far away from my soul
Divining for the slimmest vein of gold.
Sifting through layers of bending time
but finding only my pulsing fault lines.
My branch wasn't steady enough
for you to perch upon.
Like all the rest, you crashed into the invisible wall.
I gather up the thousand stones, misplaced.
Setting them back into their proper lane.
While patching the fault line of disgrace.
Ms. geologist is still digging back in time.
For a pyrite heart and a pair of amber eyes.
Missed geologist.
across the land westerly wind swirling
maelstrom hits the town wild wind whirling
roughened sea wind still twirling
The winters come much faster now
than once they did in endless days;
The sapling now a roughened bough
which in the wind no longer sways.
Springs interjection disappears
as quickly as the summer sun;
And fall? It counts the passing years
reveals the end has now begun.
Soiled sinners lecturing on the art of being pristine.
Innocents retreat to black pits and darkish seams.
God tucked away the red lantern and ivory ring.
Very few are rescued from the darkness within.
The good sheep are mixing gospel and fear.
Charlatans and sharks are circling in with shears.
Talking heads are in it for ratings and attention.
Town criers' race-baiting for a vote once again.
Millions gorging on fish and blue-collar greens.
Very few are sowing; they're just takers of the seed.
The horizon is deeply rouged and roughened.
Nobody cares enough to balm it up or buff it.
Bloated children are crying out once again.
Cupboard and pantry are running very thin.
The lullaby and nursery rhymes are dulled.
So, one day they decided just to snuff them.
Black crows preening atop a thorny crown.
The curtain of humanity came crashing down.
Somewhere deep in the soul of a dead-end night.
Heaven was nailed to a neon, no vacancy sign.
Saint Peter packed it in without even saying goodbye.
a roughened garden
devil's claw over blossom
stones like dominoes
estate sale today
fingering through memories
grief cold uncaring
sold to the future
children bouncing on the grass
laughter resurrected
Along the harbor shores at Gammel Strand
where other costumed fishwives ply their trade,
I trudge along the cobbled Danish dock
and barter with the catch to earn my pay.
My voice is harsh and roughened by the chore,
when once my petticoat was pink and lace,
yet now it reeks of fish and nothing more
while wind and sun is drawn upon my face.
But here, within, I'm still a princess bride,
whose dreams anew float on the evening tide,
yet start awake and washed with mornings ebb -
another day to wear a calloused pride...
In the beginning, so long ago
When the world was young, yet to grow
There stood the first men, brave and strong
With hearts fierce, and wills unyielding long
Their skin was roughened by the sun
Their hair, wild and woolly, undone
They walked the earth, unafraid and free
Living each day, wild and full of glee
The first men roamed the land without control
Far from the structures and comforts of the modern soul
Hunting and gathering, they made their way
Living in pure, simple ways
They slept under the stars, on the ground
Ate what they found, with no limits bound
The earth was their home, and they knew it well
Surviving with skill, no one could compel
Their spirits were strong, and their hearts pure
They lived each day, unsure of what would occur
For the first men, life was a grand adventure
Their stories and legends, still told with pleasure
Though time has passed and the world has changed
The first men's legacy forever remains
They were the pioneers, who paved the way
For us to live and thrive, each and every day.
Out of the wind,
the brown carpet is marked
prosaic like petals swept away
My snowdrops weltering in the winter
not even dead heading
can help their blind eye stalks
I feel like a pebble
roughened at the edges
and Im gifting no one
Mother nature has unearthed me
My eyes remain shut
I finger past the muddy morass
I feel blazed over
from the cityscape of lingering dreams
Not even the recurring home
joyous and warm
feels my pockets
I am a sunbaked bun
Of men and ships that plow the seas
And leave a vanished furrow
In unmarked depths of ocean field
Where a million sees lie fallow.
Men who cast with roughened hands
Hopes upon the silken crests
And visions to the salty breeze
Ships that touch the foreign shore
And paint the harbor frieze.
To whom it may concern,
Wishing to more learn
About the bearer, our ex-student,
He was a Great Sympathizer of ‘The Imprudent’…
Worldly wise and to a fault bright,
He was to become a familiar sight
In nearby restaurants selling African Salad
And European marmalade;
For both, often parting with four British pounds
The former sometimes ordering in mounds…
Was seldom appearing in our school uniform,
For which we did his guardian inform;
His craving for muftis of a shouting colour,
Besides the unusually paler…
Continually would laugh at his notebooks
And, not once, fleeing from his textbooks
All their pages dying to be opened
But in return childishly roughened…
Till date, not conquered by a fresh-smelling cane;
Rather only once cried to cowhide’s pain…
Just the Mount Everest he hopes to ascend some day
And from it's peak pick what would him well pay
We’ve, you can see, ENJOYED Billy Burn
And now it is your more fortunate turn!
Slowly, treading softly
I must guard my hesitant heart
Taking forward moves with caution
If any rebuilding is to start
I'm still wading wounded waters
Tidal waves of fear and doubt
Self-restraint and trust, a struggle
The gash was deep, still trickling out
Like a surfer prepares to meet the challenge
I still have roughened edges to smooth
And sturdy boundaries to set in place
For risk of further pain still looms
The waves of healing will ebb and flow
And unpredictable these endeavours may be
So too, I must master the skill to 'ride the ripple'
And find the blessing in the balance indeed
November 21, 2020
Oh ocean of that long-gone embryo
Careening stormy erratic, to pacific
Ever sculpting in navy-wavy trance
Atop your peaks diamond ambrosia
Never-never dreams, you've grown ~
Troughs, they stripped fear’s heart
Rendering a wanderer, now braver
Enameling away sea-shine opaline
as Nautili curling their striped sola
Soak me up to float down in blues
undulating in the sunk, spilled sou
roughened in a barnacle-concealer
Estuary-rich, unfurl the flowing life ~
(11/13/2020)
Calmness floats along the breeze
lightly brushing my face and arms.
Deep colors of indigo and bronze
splash across the darkening sky.
Silence - interrupted by nighttime,
tickling and buzzing in my ears.
Each sound a delicate offense.
Sweetness breaks across my nose,
as a sprinkle coats the blackened green -
breathing deep the murky veil.
Fingertips: roughened by crumbly bark;
soothed by satin covered leaves.
Soggy steps guided by trails of plush grass.
At one with Nature
in all her gleaming glory
and reflection.
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