In my digital dreams
of brutalised beauty
the last look loners
never look back
nostalgia is nothing
but an onslaught of senses
enigmatic eels fill up my screen
the rosie romantics
have lost their ideals
the violets are vanquished
by unseasonable change
i quietly quit
without yielding my self
to fanciful fractals ~
isn’t life strange
As the evening sun goes down
wild geese fly above the town,
a circling pattern in grey skies
with creaking wings and hooping cries.
As the darkening hour grows late
I feel that I could levitate
”Be careful there.
Don’t challenge fate.
Icarus made that dread mistake.
Hubris led him to a fall
and you may never rise at all.
Optimism is a clown ~
you may circle round the town
but then it all comes crashing down”
You are wrong.
As the evening hour grows late
I will rise, against my fate.
I hear a deep internal song.
The sun goes down, my spirits rise.
The sky is where I most belong
away from home
i think of old timbers
weathered by time
firelight reflects
on warm weathered wood
rattling windows
shelter lovers in tangled embrace
the old shutters tap
and swing back in the wind
in the blast of a storm outside
the weathercock spins
and turns twice about unhinged
this contrast of images
inside and out
where light does battle with dark
seems to sum up the world
where we cannot hide
and time is unfurled
but our hearts are well understood
quite long but don’t be daunted
What happens to someone like her as she gets older?
–from Luck, by Joan Barfoot
Answered
She loses her balance, starts to fall.
Once in the kitchen, three times in the hall.
Finds it harder to remember, spends more time alone.
Speaks her mind more freely, less likely to atone.
She starts attracting cats that come inside and do not leave.
Wears frays in her clothing–hemline, neckline, sleeve.
Starts forgetting passwords–sometimes the names of friends.
Her search for keys and glasses never really ends.
Starts waking in the nighttime to contemplate her death.
At midnight, has to go outside to try to catch her breath.
Counts the years before her instead of those behind.
She could live to one hundred if fate is being kind.
Will she live her last years with sister, lover, friend;
or will animal companions help her meet her end?
Will anybody mourn her?…
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Perhaps it isn’t wise to love a sailor.
Good things sweep away in summer storms
but the tides are unpredictable
and times have changing patterns
when the breezes shift.
I left my compass in the cupboard
wrapped in faded charts
and i couldn’t see the stars.
I should have thought before I lifted anchor.
I should have thought before we left the land.
I can only tell you that I’m sorry
that I had to loose your hand.
I love you in the morning when you wake.
I love you when I wait to hear you speak.
I love you ev’ry time I glance at you.
I’ve loved you from the start. We lost our way.
All the things you felt, you didn’t say.
Through storms and floods I tried to find your hand.
Yes, loving you became a part of me.
It didn’t break. It wouldn’t go away.
When you walk in the room, I start to breathe.
I feel you all around me ev’rywhere.
My heart’s too full to speak. No need for words.
So when the day grows quiet beside the fire
I may say less then, than I said before,
but wrap you in my arms and love you more.
You were a mess,
but I loved you.
I left,
but I loved you still.
You went through denial,
anger and shock,
bereavement,
acceptance of blame.
I loved you still,
just the same.
In your pain, I saw
how hard you were trying
to work your way through your loss,
to know yourself with more depth.
I was impressed.
Now that I see how you love me,
how could I love you less
The fire is laid.
The house is furnished
and here we are,
hopeful lovers,
passing by this way again.
No doubt the storms may sometimes blow.
We both still need to learn and grow.
This time though, it’s not the same.
Fear wont drive us both away.
The fire burns warm.
I fixed the roof against the rain.
This time darling,
through your tears,
you grew strong.
I couldn’t leave.
I had to stay.
You’re not alone.
We made it home.
I blame you for this darling,
with your torments, your fears
and your floods of hot tears
and the way that you tear us apart.
I was right to turn you away
but I should have foreseen
and I should have waited
to see where the river would flow.
There were innocent victims in this
and sacrifices of love,
for, from and of,
and more than one gift that was given.
I should have seen from the start,
but lovers are so often blinded
and mostly i blame my own heart
The Dreaming Path 