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Posts Tagged ‘Poetry Poems’


the sound

of the North Wind

 

rushing through the trees

 

all night long.

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The frogs sing in

the sounds of Spring.

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Winter's White 2 Narrow

6:30 a.m., and winter’s white awakens me.

I’m putting on my snow-suit

and going out to play,

old man style.

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I just finished watching “The Fault In Our Stars”, a great tearjerker about love, eulogies, etc.

It made me think of what I would say if I wrote my eulogy, and I realize that anything one says or writes, is a part of their eulogy.

I think part of my eulogy would be an apology. Because I can come across as hard and unyielding in the moment, when I know that my intentions are good. And that’s because of pride. Pride is such a defense mechanism, a flawed way of protecting yourself. It is a dis-ease, a dis-ability. It’s a way of hiding vulnerability in the moment. Of not being in the moment. Or perhaps of being someone you don’t want to be in that moment; when the moment is all we have, and that most important moment involves people.

Humility on the other hand, is being vulnerable in the moment, open to the moment and flexible in relation to all of its possibilities. That’s the funny thing about being vulnerable. I don’t know if it’s something that you can spontaneously feel in the moment once you have reached a certain level of awareness. It is only something that you can practice.

It’s like patience. I don’t consider myself a patient person though some other people may, I don’t know if patience will ever feel natural. I think it is something you can only practice. I only know that to date, I do not comprehend the feeling of patience. But with practice ( like choosing to wait in the longest grocery line) patience is becoming second nature. I don’t have to think about it. Perhaps when one reaches a certain level of awareness, anything/everything becomes second nature.

The point being that for me,

humility in the moment ,

is an intermittent short in the wiring.

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When I remove my shirt
in the darkness,

blue-white lightning
crackles across it.

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Goldenrod huddles shivering outside my basement window,
enduring the blowing snow.

Inside, I am warm.

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Moon15

Much too early,

your silvery light entices me awake,

with the false promise

of a new day.

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Somewhere in the near darkness I hear the coyotes;

yipping, the sound of babies crying, and howling.

Like a blind man in unfamiliar territory

I grope my way to the front door

and open it to the cold night in the moon glow.

Awooooooo! I call.

Awooooooo!

Haughty silence greets me.

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Migrate dying children.

Do you leave the parent of your birth,
or are you cast off?

Or is your separation by mutual agreement
while you still have some life left?

Fall to the Earth in ones and twos and multitudes,
until you finally expire.
Lie dessicate on the ground,
or rot in sopping wet,
neglected.

Trod upon by uncaring feet.
Ground beneath the wheels of vehicles whose owners
have come to gawk at the casualties
of this yearly conflict.

Waste away as the cold and snow entomb you.

The irony is that most people will exclaim in wonder
at the color of the blood left behind at your death.
Or the golden glory as your spirit passes.

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stratus clouds embrace Lanai

silhouettes before a setting sun

their edges chiaroscuro

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