A Year of Poems – Day 223

Bats and the scent of flowers fly heavy in the air,
Behind the curtain of trees lights flash,
Fairies become something more than children’s stories,
The crickets and the evening birds join the wind, trees, and fairies
To become a living dream with ballast,
Till it all thrums with midsummer beauty,
Dusky and bright in the twilight.

A Year of Poems – Day 222

Battling barks batter the backyard air
As twilight ticks towards night
Worry cascades across the canine sky
And they call back and forth warnings.
Can they so easily forget the fast-sealed doors
That hedge out hegemonic darkness
Sealing them in with warm blankets
And hands that cater to their cares?
Or do they have a song we have not yet learned to love
With which they serenade the soft sailing stars
As they hunt across the primeval sky?
We shut both possibilities out
depriving our friends from reassurance and rapture.

A Year of Poems – Day 221

Matchless heights take the breath away
The blowing wind of speed shuts the mouth
Simple metrics that teach the etiquette of awe
Taught by the wind on cliff or mountain
In the simple classroom of height and depth
So that the student may practice awe
In the everyday encounters with both friends and God.

A Year of Poems – Day 218

Screens change every second
Mutable, shifting, careening
Around the spectrum of color.

We drive with reckless abandon
Never pausing at the overlooks
Never stopping for a picnic.

Food comes in at one end
And sits with us until
Thirty-five hours later

If digestion shows any indication
Perhaps we were designed to picnic on overlooks
And sit for a week contemplating two to three colors.

A Year of Poems – Day 217

Father with son in hand
Spread out like a Renaissance statue
Each one wrapped in separate opposing motion
The boy craning to look
Arms extended towards the sky then ground
Eyes looking at the passing dog
Then up to his father’s face
Mouth moving, screaming, talking
As he wriggles over-brimming
With emotions he has not grown into.

The father strives ever forward
He is the through line for the piece.
His is the path your eye follows
Before it wanders out to the frenetic edges
And his line never wavers
Except occasionally to glance at his son
But he cannot look for long
For his path once wild as an untamed breeze
Has now been bridled forward
He looks at his son as the
tamed stallion glances at the colt
with mingled regret, love, and impatience.

A Year of Poems – Day 215

It creeps around the edges of our hearts
It steals the minds of our loved ones
It rises like bile as the morning alarm rings
It clouds out everything till we see nothing
In the darkness of our own thoughts
Inky silence stings our eyes,
Just below the threshold of pain
True darkness is not in the night.
It slinks away in broad daylight
To live life with you alone.

A Year of Poems – Day 214

In the beginning, the hush before the storm,
the still voice shook the deep void.
It spoke no poetry as it rent light from dark,
for it stands separate from all other verse,
the moment all words echo yet cannot fill,
for from that word tumble suns and novas,
fireflies and the shimmering lantern fish
still sparkling with the syllabic wonder
of language sprung on the world by surprise.
Small wonder the birds greet the sun with song
Words would seem lacking except the word
took on the echoes and filled our verses.
The early birds may sing wordless songs
but we greet the morning with fresh flung hymns
for we have touched language when he touched us,
we have felt the echoes in our skin
so naturally joy bubbles up with poetry
since he took on the poetry of human flesh.