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how heavy laden the river flows
burdened by sugar congealing
under the weight of disingenuous
offerings in tribute to reflections
yes, the moon shimmers
and the glimmer is indeed
a dance reminding that chance
kicked a stone rippling
a perfect pattern of circles
carrying dreams to smiling shores
even the sun, an uncaring furnace
appears to play along
leaving a trail of stars
foreshadowing the coming night
as it bids adieu
unintentionally dazzling eyes
on its endless journey
I don't wish to drudge home just yet. So I meander along the lakefront, consider the sunset ... celebrate quietly the moonrise, trying to make sense of it all. I can skim a pebble 'cross the pond-as before … before what? Before this.
beholding reflections seems a wheedle
a cowardly castigation of the authentic
as though real needs a cradle to rock in
fearing failure should the truth disappoint
Oh, brave Orion, your belt belies a girth
of unfathomable expanse
your shoulder is unaware of your toe
alas
you've not a discernable head
a handicap had the discerning
bothered to consider such things
and dippers great and small
from which nothing is ladled
for a vacuum holds no bounty
where is the majesty in a bear who doesn't growl
or the cuddles in a cub who doesn't squeak in mock bravado
I count stars
each unaware of the other
failing math
I
note that each
star
counts me
failing reality
The night slips into reverie as do I. Dreams of nondescript meaning ride dots behind my eyelids. Sleep befalls unacknowledged. The sun ascends unappreciated and behind my back. I recall it sneaking away ... over there, at last glance … clever yellow girl.
oh my the glitter of glancing light upon the newly sequined squalls
that pound the castles long abandoned by their fickle kings'
endless ocean, ever aware that the longer the journey
the more poignant seems the metaphor … yet
though we are nearly the same thing
to consume you would kill me
you laugh splendidly and
beckon me forth
to join with
you
the rosebush in my garden once was grand
a million roses red beyond what red could be
years passed by and a thousand grew
still glorious and red--a joy to view
then just a few
and finally one
a perfect flower amidst a thorny tower
worth every wound and drop of blood
that caring drew
till finally a stem I still embraced
all that was left of you
a thorn to leave a wound to heal
and what that came to reveal
to me
I once had grandparents
and parents too
it is time to go home
this wandering and pondering
leads me
nowhere
yes, I must go home
where I once had a rosebush
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