Favoured is, the night alone
With its tombstone's lifting
Of what hid, hard-faced
Stoically behind.
Vengeful looking ghost, ablaze
Tear on indignant tear
With all its hurts, wrongs
Life's, parried, combined.
a shadowed
figure drifts forward,
ink-born,
unbound by
anything but trees that lean
toward his still path.
At first, the rope was thick as a trunk~
I could balance on it sleeping.
Then years pared it down to a clothesline,
then a thread, trembling with my breath.
Grocery bags became sandbags.
Stairs grew teeth.
My shadow pooled at my feet
like a dropped coat.
One morning, I unstitched the hem
of my own skin.
Thread by thread,
I learned the grammar of hunger~
not the sharp want of before,
but the slow, voweled enough.
Now the rope’s a filament,
a hair of light.
I tread softly.
The way he’s come seems now so long and winding
Tramping through the rugged hills of time
His footfalls, once so full of purpose, begin to falter
As if the destination is now further off
And the path no longer for the finding.
His will to walk is undiminished
(Please God let that be true)
The will to strive, to climb, to go the umpteenth second mile
The will to gather other pilgrims too.
But this dark place is littered with conflicting signposts
With other walkers passing by too sure
“This is the path and this the way to walk”
“This is the marching song to sing and this the way to talk”
As striding by on different paths they leave his questioning unfinished.
The questions dance inside his head, whilst answers walk with leaden feet
That stumble slowly to the place where ask and answer meet.
Then meeting, change to swifter,
Spin-blurred dancing feet
That turn and mock his efforts to be sure
And shriek instead to trust
And thus to know far more.
Yet in it all he knows
Beyond the fog
The sun still shines
The Son still reigns
As
Head down
Stumbling
Sometimes falling
Wondering
Step-by-step
By step
He makes his way to higher ground.
On morning walks, I pass by
Certain people every day,
But rarely do we say hello;
It’s not the New York way.
Occasionally, breakthroughs
May result in first a nod,
Then perhaps a wave or “Morning!” shout
Or not, which isn’t odd.
One woman greets me warmly now,
Yet there were many years
When she wouldn’t even catch my eye;
Who knows why she switched gears?
A runner I see frequently
Will give a sideways glance
But won’t take it to the nodding stage
In this strange New York dance.
This afternoon, though, as I strolled
In Sotheby’s,* viewing art,
I spotted a familiar face
And blurted, with a start –
“Hey – you’re the runner!” He turned ‘round
And broke into a smile.
“And you’re the walker!” he replied;
We knew each other’s style.
“We could discuss this further
In the morning, but we move
In the opposite direction;”
(Since we’re in our a.m. groove).
The whole encounter felt like
Just how New York stories go
And the next time when our paths cross
Guaranteed, we’ll say hello.
*the famous auction house
There are a few people who motivate me
When I walk in the gym to workout I see
Balances of challenges a sea of humanity
Some with limbs that don’t move normally
The woman in wheel chair with a green smile
She’s moving and meeting her own goals now
The man using his walker has courage so loud
That inspires the lot of us even the small child
In the pool they are free to move
Silly me too embarrassed to try to
I can’t swim and once had lessons too
I’m watching them as I do what I do
You may not know who you indigo inspire
Just by being who you are you lift higher
Yourself and others despite dilemma's red fire
You are an earthly star press on towards desire
Only an Alchemist can master the mist at the flick of a wrist, but here's the twist...
A White Witch can switch into a hag real fast and cast a spell that leads to hell-o Mr Skin Walker, your quite the smooth talker, but your energy is not quite the same....
Star dust sprinkled eyes
Drowsy wrinkled brain delight
Sleep walking tonight
River walker ran out of the pond today
They saw her coming, and some ran away
She is mystical, said the faeries beside the bay.
They wondered why she had chosen that day.
Her hair and clothes were silver bright
She had a glow that rivaled daylight’s light.
We stared in wonder, loving her cosmic might.
Everything about her felt absolutely right.
Periods of time,
found a footprint of mine,
across some way I once went,
placing my mark upon the skies.
The Walker
Sometimes, there is a sense that the road doesn't
roll out further, there is no vista of a highland or a slow-running river of sweet water to lazily swim
while remembering Marilyn in Lazaro's jewelry shop, a dream so vivid, not dim, as the years roll by.
It is time to take the boots out of the cupboard try them on, and feel how they make your feet walk
Travel light, a rucksack will do, and a solid walking stick to fend off dogs.
The upland has no rain, although it might shower
on the way there; at night, you can seek shelter
in an empty bear lair and sleep well till the thrush
says it is time to walk on if you want to find the place you know is there, over the horizon
In the dulcet knowledge of the longer one walks
the younger one feels.
The forest was in awe of the newcomer
She was a faerie type we had never seen
Being nocturnal, owls missed it, being asleep
Oaks were stretching their necks to get a peek
What is she? A princess? A faerie? A beauty for sure.
The unicorn is being led by her, and unicorns are pure.
We watched her advance, and a willow clued us in.
She is a unicorn fern walker, wise willow whispered in the din.
We had heard of such creatures but had never seen one before.
They made their way softly, barely crunching the stuff on the forest floor.
Where are they going? We asked, hoping she would stop to chat.
Both creatures disappeared without warning, right after that.
bedeviled by saucy angels
he takes a twilight walk
behind his eyes
the old world is fading away
left and right
were but one
unclimbable horizon
he quickened his steps
as if fast walking would
outpace the beating of his
homeless heart
as for the tender-hearted angels
they were undressing
always undressing
always demanding
he stay rooted in his earth
if he could
even if he couldn't
My cousin Aliyah announced she is a pet walker to the cousins.
Why would she say that? She walks dogs by the dozens.
My friends have other pets, most of them one-of-a-kind.
My mother kept saying “Aliyah can do it. She will not mind.”
So now I am walking a horse, parrot, lizard, gecko, and snake.
Wearing on my back a fishbowl with a goldfish named Drake.
The pig barely catches up, and the raccoon is a trickster.
The alligator holds us back; he is named King McLickster.
Do not forget Mr. Tibbles, Aliyah’s mom said with glee.
He is a foul-talking parrot who has a big crush on me!
And what about the turtle? Her dad said. He is so slow.
Yes, he holds us back Aliyah admits, wherever we go.
Why can’t you say no? I asked my cousin, concerned for her.
I started saying yes, and I could not stop, she said with a murmur.
She has a weasel too, he is sneaky as he can be said her brother.
I have a lead on a bat, said her helpful pushy old mother.
loud cracks and creaks permeate the silence
inferno’s roar is heard in keen ears of wildlife
terror is felt throughout the forest
animals flee, but many do not make it out
the blinding smoke and their fear leaves them helpless
some curl up, waiting for death
the fire walker trots through the forest looking for her young
not realizing she lost them several decades ago
she is the only soul stuck in this purgatory of flames
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