#receding
Show me a world
In which I’ve slowed myself down
To the point where I can see my own point of mind
My own line and where it ends
And when
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 12:29 PM UTC
February 28th, 1968 marked the date
Boyce Brandon Harris
(my octogenarian widower father)
purchased a small tract of land
constituting shadowed sliver
once hailing, hallmarking, harkening,
glorious vast "Glen Elm" estate,
which circa 1910 encompassed
a hundred plus acres of woodland
Pooh would Winnie
(including a pond frequented
by migrating Canadian Geese)
eventually zoned for commercial,
industrial, and residential development
(all in the name of productive land use)
particularly put into motion
courtesy Donald J. Neilson,
who transformed expansive woodland
rivaling shutterfly
sprouting like mushrooms towed stools
booming explosively
after ample precipitation
little houses on the hillside
little houses made of ticky tacky...
popped up overnight
transforming landscape
displacing flora and fauna with vinyl city
(minus spit of property papa bought)
manicured bumped uglies with wild wisp
reduced pristine niche leftover jot haven
squawking disoriented geese instincts
thwarted, where drained wetlands
a Arcadian past suburbanization
overlaying (palimpsest like) rural setting
trademark bucolic print Currier And Ives
stock in trade signature prints
landscape sparse human population
country aire sprinkled with family farms
fresh dairy, produce, vegetables
butchered animals free ranging
without synthetic injections
nostalgia faintly recreated here
Highland Manor Apartments
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
a slip of country revered
against a Paul Ling urbanization
nothing appears familiar
retracing roadways now major highways
frequent moments breeds alienation
familiar ground confusing, frightening, and perplexing.
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 8:57 PM UTC
her palette unfolded like a
sea of roses and you
remembered “trees
and couplets
of tomorrows”:
just enough to feel the
breeze and hear her
gently recede.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 2:48 AM UTC
sunshine lingers land
over receding tides
seashells on the sand
carring the ocean within
with a warm gentle touch
there silent whispers unfold
held to my ear I listen
as a beautiful story is told
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 1:01 AM UTC
when your spirit dims this light polluted sky,
my soul will be a floodlight through every gloom
as the seasons change.
whilst the world echoes my heartbeat,
it will be spring again
and your pulse will study the pleasant -
variations of these waves.
the node in the tree where leaves had fallen from
is testimony of the many summers i fell for you -
i never needed reasons to stay,
we forgot what winter felt like
and love was our blanket for every single day.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 6:11 AM UTC