Sitting alone –
With two trees:
Black trunks, horizontal branches
Stretch a pattern on the sky,
And the bank runs down
Into pine needles,
Aromatic cones,
Coloring the way,
To the sidewalks on left and right.
That led to the horizon today.
They,
Are painted neatly
With two parallel strips of grass.
Nearby, a convoy of ships passes
Through blue straits and cliffs.
Now, I am in a sunny clime.
Then, over the horizon, they disappear.
Leaving invisible ocean waves,
Moving ceaselessly beneath
Lofty fields of heather and heath.
Silence calls
I hear the message.
‘Just take it day by day,
And don’t forget to pray.’
So I heard.
Or was it just a bird?
No matter—
I got the message.
Poetry is nothing but a vibrant play of words
A pattern against foliage –
The leaves being the pages.
Then I see, by chance,
A strange and haunting dance,
Gravity playing with grace.
Making this familiar space,
A place we call ‘home.’
My senses say it is real.
At least that’s how I feel,
While gravity pulls me in
And grace draws me out.
They knead me like dough,
Shaping souls compounded,
And then I left to rise,
While they chase
Through the skies.
Hiding in the clouds,
Laughing in the mist.
I even spied them kissed
By the splendid Sun,
Shining and smiling –
Like I am always done.
Then Gravity and Grace return,
And proudly say,
‘Look how I have grown up today! ’
And in an hour have new souls,
Fragrant to behold!
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