Fear can drive us to Nirvana
To meet its family there
A bevy of confusion
Of noise and rancor where
A sense of hesitation
And judgement all appear
Affect my self-direction
And pierces like a spear
Too long for just a ride home
Before I was brought here
In vehicles of splendor
By driver who was Fear
Still, seems that Fear departed
The family disappeared
And all the noise and rancor
Is in the rear view mirror
They were having a service at Harpers.
It’s about a block down from the community church.
The spirits flow freely there
And Honesty often erupts into a fight.
Twelve pickups and a few SUV’s
make an interesting congregation.
And each confession concludes with the listener’s exclamation of “No Shit!”.
And the man with a broken smile and dirty hands says, “Another round on me.” So the ex-football player with the white SUV knocks him off his stool until the bartender steps in and reminds them of their long friendship. Soon the shouts die down and Willie Nelson keeps playing on the juke box and two by two the patrons leave affected by the preacher’s words.
It’s so obvious
The misplaced words
Adjectives are weak
A beginner’s stance
This has no place here
Where I reign supreme
And decide who may approach
The elevated throne
Catching my breath at the suddenness
Of Steam
fills the air
As clouds travel hurriedly to their unknown destination
An untrodden path to the woods I have visited many times before in other seasons
Still I know what lies beneath…the Fall
Now covered in white
With Unblemished diamonds
And infinite facets
Yes,How good it is
To Love like Winter
The cow trundles through the diamonds
It Seems the fence was lowered by the old tree some time ago
Now To be cut up into manageable pieces
For the hearth and stove on cold nights
And the sweet scent of smoke will rise
To join the clouds and roam the earth
Just as the cow
Split now two years
Left a pile behind the shed
Layered then with Fall leaves and Winter snow
Each floating silently to the perfect place
I always go when sundown comes at four and the dogs sniff the cold ashes saying, “Make it warm.”
It only took one word
To turn on the light
To show us the room
We’d be spending the night
It had the essentials
The owner was rash
“No smoking or sex here”
And then he said “Cash.”
Rushed seasons add speed
The frost on top adds worry
Fir trees lift their arms
And new food arrives
For chickadees are hungry
And squirrel eats last
Snow is melting now
Exposing green grass beneath
Tulips wait their turn
Yes, a Spirit of the past.
Her number tells me so
Born in the flow of the Garonne
Still, quite hot that year
In Paris many perished
Unprepared for breathless heat
Still, the scent of moist evenings
And the warmth of those days
Swirls in the glassy
brown eyes of the young serveuse
theascendingspiral 