The river forks at big stone eddy
rending currents meandering course,  
its silence speaks not with forked tongue
as kismet's swirling eddies abide
     as if time immemorial;
     a river naturally cleaved
in two separate distinct directions
befallen destiny  without a choice


Spinning round and round in big stone eddy,
time just drifting by in the throes
of doubt — high water rising
beyond the bounds of earth
taking drowning souls up to the sky


Choking on a mouthful of unanswered questions,
suffocating on the parting words left unsaid;
distilling life into poetry hew from being —
trickling out like the spilled out sky —
taken down to the empty riverbed
leave lay' til it's all washed away,
in the music of the pourin' down rain


Freedom embodies metaphysical incarnations
riding the prevailing currents it can't control
Gravity-gathered  down to the shoreline,
manifest reclamation after the deluge,
from somewhere far above the high-water mark


Swallowed by all the darkness woe betides,
thinking you carry such a weight to hold...
It seems all got a handful of sand to toss
up into the wind to seed the clouds
The totality of eclipsing silence grows
that rent the stillness of a dream
of peace on an eroding shoreline


In an Eddy of Expectations & Disappointment
dark waters will ebb and flow,
imponderable as drowning hope,
leaving it all out there to dry after the rain

       believing in your heart —
        the best is yet to come


  Jesse Stillwater ... November 2018

I am no landscape, my
droning, drowning
dearest.

I am no sanctity to your
touch, no sea to strangle your
pleading, endless eyes.

I am stone to grass,
I am inscribed,
I am memoriam.

Healing leaves are now disrobed branches
on the edge of this wilderness.
Many tall Douglas Fir stand sentinel
over 100 foot tall amazing grace — the fleeting leaves
expose the beauty of the moss clad scaffolds
adorned with a lime-grey lichen lace
Nature is my refuge — solid ground to stand
in this harmony and peacefulness.


Jesse Stillwater — December 2018

Great great great
Great
Grandpa
Pa
Son
This is our time
We have been called
To say NO! MORE violence
Against woman and children
They can become great if we
Become the CATALYST

In the old French barracks, shelvings of cots
No ventilation – that was for officers
The night was hot, wet; sleep was difficult
No one knew anyone or anything

A siren. Life paused. Should we do something?
We barefooted outside in our skivvies
Hot. Silent. Still. Stuffy. Respirations
Is this a false alarm? Is it over now?

BLAM!
                                
Boom. BOOM! Boom-boom-boom-boom. BOOM!

And during a pause

a small voice said, “I don’t think they want us here.”

Are you a Viet-Nam veteran, old man?
     Yes, but I don’t own a motorcycle
And do you really love America?
     Yes, but I don’t own a motorcycle
And are you saved?
     Beats the H** outta me

I.

How wonderful to sleep in a soft, warm bed
Beneath a roof against the blowing night
Of wind and rain rattling each window pane
As winter falls upon this weary world

The busy-ness of day is all complete
I wind the clock and so unwind myself
My little dog burrows toward my feet
Contented with her life, with warmth, with me

And now a few more pages to be read -
How wonderful to sleep in a soft, warm bed

V: Deo gratias


II.

But good enough to sleep in an old, worn bag
Beneath a tarp against the blowing night
Of wind and rain rattling the plastic *****
As winter falls upon the weary world

The emptiness of day is incomplete
And bigger guys stole my cheap Timex watch
Now slithering rats burrow toward my feet
And bite to see if they can feast on me

Another night to be drained and bled
I remember - long ago – sleeping in a bed

R: Your Deo gratias ain’t much help

As a reward for my two-mile morning walk
Among the cookie-cutter homes,
And up and down the gentle hills,
Nevada flings the meaning of spectacular
Across the dawning sky.

A band of clouds that looks like giant scrambled eggs
First turns a neon cotton candy pink
With blue gray in the shadows.
As I walk with eyes turned up and wide,
It slowly morphs to brilliant golden.

Gasping at the beauty, not exertion from the walk,
I don’t need to look where I am going,
I know my feet will find the way.
At length the brilliant golden clouds
Begin to fade to silver gray and I am sad.

But then the Sun climbs over distant mountain tops
No doubt anxious to take a bow
For the breathtaking overature I’ve just seen
That will fill my day with sunlit memories
And remind me to next time bring my camera.
ljm