Standing tall with beautiful petals
After awhile of being admired
A shadow was creeping upon me
It was a struggle for sun light
The weeds stealing the water
And wilting away
Until the gardener spotted me
Carefully dug me up
Without pulling my roots
Place in a pot and gave my light
Water down and supported my stem
Now I can grow
To standing tall once again
I am admired by others
But belong to my gardener
I have her to please
In her viewing pleasure
I couldn't have been picked by anyone else
The well-woven verse, the brilliant brushstroke,
The singing sculpture, remarkable film -
These are echoes, or so much apple peel,
Sweet, yes, but far from the beauty You reveal.
Reader, imagine if You will, a face,
Beautiful in its proportions, cream-colored grace,
Such as Venus herself might not possess,
But befuddled or bemused, and bodiless.
It might float like moon of white wine on the sea,
Yet it gasps like an asthma patient without an inhaler,
Never knowing even half of what it is to be.
The whole artwork is no less than the entire
Composition of a steady, fulfilled life:
Each gesture, each word, each movement amid strife
Skillfully rendered, each a poem of love,
Or saber fencing with Your beams above.
where in the sunlight all the dirt's dispelled
we take our leave then some will go to sleep
their blankets piled upon them in a heap
while in the forest all the spirits gelled
anticipating that when we excelled
at sport and art the answer would be deep
but nothing holds there's no place here to keep
our kindnesses the earth itself rebelled
none can permit the law to be denied
by those who are so bound to a far higher
that their hard hands are in the moment lit
by the illuminations of their pride
the incandescence of a greater fire
than can be understood by human wit
Threw caution to the wind;
sucked my breath in;
A leap of faith taken;
A leap into nothing.
tongue 's hesitating,
memories are fading,
a leap of faith taken.
Rare sorts of amazement.
I stand there, gazing,
this fear starts invading
before a leap of faith taken.
Motions to halt;
Emotions at fault.
Face says it all;
A story in making.
Yet I stand tall,
delusion breaking my fall;
"I'm in love with you, doll !"
Says I'm "mistaken".
See folly at play
but who is to say ?
that she might not stay
when I ask with patience.
A life in decay,
mind drifting astray
eyes shifting away,
heart succumbing to decadence.
Retracing, there is peace.
Pressure gone, I can sweat the small stuff.
I should have made a day of it
the city, the art, the food
instead a series of insignificances click into place
as i retrace.
Easy-peel thumb skin that cascades to the floor
as I sweep it and what's left is raw.
My nails scrape sweet grease from my prints
and the crumbs from the creases.
My eyes betray soft brushstrokes
to note the cracks in the old oil.
Knit slips from my shoulders unless
I anchor it with a fist
and the slopes of the tunnel are more pressing
than the train i missed.
Sweating the small stuff works a while
until mourning for the past year hits.
Shelled numb and left with loss
I want to exist.
Let life burn my senseless skin.
My hard dull ache aches for passion
but ultimate peace is cold.
And I long for lost moments.
The ones born and buried both in the past.
I stew in my sour air, and stolen words are my solace.