Pandemic I

A clean,

dry, and well

lighted place

carves out enough

space for me

to take up words again.

So cheap -  words 

seem to have

become - 

with chatter in

pandemic-speak all

the day long.

It took this long

for me to let a

niche be made

for sorting out of 

all things not only

un-related to the

pandemic, but not

related as well.

And so,

I sit in a shack

on the corner of

our 5 acre woods

in the Pocono 

Mountains, tracing

pencil lines onto

fresh pages of a 

fresh, new composition

book.

Knowing that I

would uncover things

that did not need

a pandemic to 

find ample worth.

Attentiveness of Snowdrops

The snowdrops -

as they slowly poke

their heads above the ground -

in spring - will hold themselves

against the cold

and wind and wetness

with a stalwart sense of

pride and deep attention.

Not like the people

all around me - who

crane their necks

and wrists to view life

through their phones and

digital devices.  Will we

become extinct because

we have lost our natural

relevance and connection

to all that grows with sun

and air and water?  Who can

say?  The snowdrops?

On the Gale

Struggling hard
into the wind

I think I saw
its colors fade -

dusted pigment
dancing aloft
on the gale.

A gradual disappearance
at the march step.

Slowly,
does it know,
slowly,
that its life
quickly comes to
its end -

this fanciful gift
of the summer cocoon.

So much force
to bring this
slender life to
live its lengthy season
shortly on this place.

And, as it pushes
into; ever into
the breezes and the
zephyrs it is slowly

simply slowly
coming quickly
to its end.

Farewell dear
Monarch, fare thee
well.

image from: http://www.monarch-butterfly.com/

Two Fleeings

In this day
and this age
we have seen two
great and immense
fleeings from ourselves.

We have stolen the
fire two more times.

The use of petroleum
and all of its by-products
has flung us beyond
our own space and time.
We can travel well beyond
the boundaries of our skin
and village with a speed that
is unprecedented.

This is our first fleeing.

The development of cyber
travel has opened our minds
to billions of points of
light and dark, burning themselves
into the cones of our eyes and
the neurons of our heart.  We are
seared with endless movement.

This is our second fleeing.

We have lost our hunger
for our own being, our own nature;

the one that is fed in breathing slowly
at the foot of a tall stand of pines,
swaying in the howling wind at sunset.

We can go anywhere and
know anything.  We can go anywhere
except within.  We can know anything
except ourselves.

In this day have we truly
found progress, or just another
way of avoiding the still
point at the center of the
universe of our own nature -
the empty space between our
heart and the Creative Father's?

Descent from the Mountain

As we climbed
slowly down
the mountain

leaving our Glen Angeli;
our Glen of the Angels

the expanse
of mountains and
valleys spread
before us

reveal a purpling,
darkening veil
shifting
as a shadow

over the barren land
and leaf bare trees

the only contrast in its
graying wake
are the pines

spread out
in patches

and bunches
all across
the land.

______

Ciao!

+Tom

The Tears the Dark Sky Cried

The rain falls heavy
on the ground
around our home,

carving rivulets
down to the lake,
down to the stream
just below.

I have heard
the tears
the dark sky cried
all night

breaking into the snow,
taking ice
from the roofs
and landing in
puddle after puddle
a colding mud.

The wind has now come
to set the tears
on edge,

and I am left
warm inside
carving words
from the air

and sipping coffee
as the day
and my rest
grow old.

___


Ciao!

+Tom