there is room
to reconnoiter
there is space
to meet as friends
curiosity
does loiter
in the eyes
at either end
of a gaze
though isn't knowing
wants to take
the time to learn
to dance slowly
lest left feet leave
deep impressions.
on second thought,
twelve word poems
just might be
more user friendly!
in love
it is the fall
that is itself
reward
returned affection
gravy
expectation
vinegar
which sours
the gentlest
of glides
there's never time for what we say we love
the scribing of the odd poetic line
the run or bike or swim without a shove
perfection of a recipe sublime
consumed with work and keeping of the things
which, truth be told, turn owners into owned
and all the bloody paperwork that sings
in bureaucratic archives filed and zoned
the things about the things which we adore
how easily the meta draws us in
to languish in a state which we abhor
a telescoping corridor of sin
but truly, does the clock run out too fast
don't know, can't say ... I've got to cut the grass
The cusp of freedom beckons
as you gaze on new horizons.
the anchor of familiarity
compels no more
The richness of your presence
and the present of your love
are gone forever from the ones
who's presence you abhor.
They didn't recognize the treasure
while it dwelled within their
midst
they didn't see the light which banished
darkness from their eyes and lips
My fondest hope is for
the new horizons that you see
to be within the sphere
which limits my reality
Perhaps the gray malaise
will find itself transported
to the realm
from whence
you came.
Inspired by a g+ post by Uma Venkatraman
Shedding awkward like a shell
the water proffers grace
as in the darkness I command
a confidence I lack on land
to dive and float with faith
that I have found an element
with which my skills and strength were meant to
merge in like a second skin
darkness rends invisible
as does aquatic skill
so many that I swim about
imbued with fear, filled with self doubt
they thrash and churn and tense
their trouble puts them in plain sight
relief naught but a touch so light
turning panic into dance
dancing has inherent risk
intent misunderstood
leads to rejection out of hand
from one more comfortable on land
afloat once more adrift
reflect on path to better end
reconnoiter as a friend
curiosity remains
recognition slowly dawns
proceed, but without haste
for swimmers on the land may drown
they thrash and churn, appear unsound
need naught but a light touch
to gain some poise, some small insight
that worlds are different that's all right
every one merits respect
chastened floating in the sea
I dream about the shore
how to approach a second chance
perhaps a very simple dance or
collaborative verse
from common prompt each work should spring
exchanged interpretations bring
a meeting of both heart and mind
The chuffing Dino flagellates
meander in the fog
their last meal's song reverberates
inside cavernous maw
and through intestinal tunnels
before the bowels they reach
ejected as effluvia
their stench does fairly reek
reminding us that in the gray
recesses of our minds
the dragons linger quietly
abiding eon time
until the morning fog off shore
blankets the working boats
and gives them perfect portal
to the world of sea and smoke
so do sit still on rocks ashore
when fog's upon the sea
attend the solemn calving
in a silent reverie
lest with some noisy expletive
effluvia you'll be
Tender will the darkness be
when you at last submit
full of exquisite agony
so patiently applied
each gentle stroke
and firm caress
move toward the precipice
then hesitate ....
and draw away
to languish just a bit.
while on the edge
you quiver
soon to beg for sweet release
and in the fall the darkness roars
before the blessed peace
when satisfied you crawl away
where you can lick ...
your wounds.
inspired by an Eric Albin g+ post
The dark and I, we share the closure
and the space to breathe.
To be the unexpected guest
eliciting a chilled response
though perspiration springs
on upper lip and clammy palms
malodorous from stress.
Yes.
Being in the dark provides
a sense of fortitude and power
until that unseen, callused hand
just brushes on your cheek
turning tables ... sweetly
making predator the prey!
inspired by a g+ post by D. W. Metz
