JoiningThe Man in the City ParkWe passed in the park.You wandered aimless,A grey, crooked stick of a man, brittle and etched by time.Flapping trouser legs, thin and wrinkled, as old as youheld by a bit of twine.I grinned, because I usually doAnd hoped you'd do the sameWhat a shock, when you eyes blazed back at meSeared deep in my soulWith a white-blue flame!As we passed, that secondIn the city parkMy heart caught, like a moth in a webthen soared with the eagle to the ultimate cusp.Not a word between us was said.
A BeginningA BeginningCast your eyes upon her, Reader. Does she catch your interest? Do you have the staying power, the stamina it takes to meet the beginning? Observe! Taste the shape of confusion, the swirling bands of fear that emanate from the singular figure. Do we detect an arrow ridden heart within that pure and radiant soul? Or are we praying "there but for the grace of God, stand I"?Come! Step back into the shadow and let our gaze linger at its own pace and with intrinsic desire. See. She, a small, fine boned girl masquerading as a woman, Tadpoles could happily pond in the hollows next to her bony shoulders. There is a congruity, a disorder between her lacy white long-sleeved blouse matched with faded and thin blue jeans. Small brown feet in plain monk-like sandals are decorated with coral polish
little pink offerings of hope.She bends close, almost at right angles, hovering over a tiny body lying on a hospital operating trolley. If you were privileged, reader, or sufficient bra
Dawn Begins Day Dawn.Layers of grey mist swirled and coiled across the bay as the sun poked fingers of light from the horizon. They hesitated, then lifted to reveal the desolate old pier
a shadowy structure that lurched crookedly out into the water. It stood on fifteen and a half barnacle encrusted legs. The timbers, which were bare and grey as old bones and polished splinterless by ages of sun and salt, caught the soft gold and pink of sunrise, as though specially painted for the day.A girl sat hunched against the early morning chill, a sole figure on the deserted curve of beach, chewing the stem of a piece of washed-up seaweed and facing the panorama of sunrise.
How I Fly How I FlyYou may tie that silken stringTo some part of meAnd hope that on a kind breezeI stay within your grasp.Be not surprisedWhen doth a tempest brewTo find that your armstretchDoth not have the reachThere is a payment due to meReward for common goodnessI float and fly through time and backNeutrally buoyant, reborn in skyI greet the inner corethe heart of the cosmosThe planet wants me for herselfWe share a million-years' secretI am just there, flyingBurning like electricityAnd resting at the edges of my eyesAre all the eons of history.So tie your silken threadThat clever slip knotYou finally see
The gentle trace will fallto set this small thing free.