Posts for June 25, 2020 (page 5)

Late afternoon sun
projects the longest shadows.
Look past the angle.

Who knew that your entrance into this world
would paint my grey existance with technicolor hues,
and launch my soul on beautiful expeditions to galaxies beyond our spiraling Milky Way?

What joy you bring.
What a journey we chart.
What adventures await.

Happy birthday, my love.

I have so much work to do in my future,
I’ll to write papers,
Create projects,
Lead teams,
I’ll have to get up early to do my job,
Right now I’m doing nothing,
In a time where I should be doing something,
But I’ve worked hard for the past 13 years,
Hating what I’ve spent my life doing,
I believe I’ll take a break from it all,
And do what I love

glistens with the morning dew
a picturesque snare
nature’s net, a mystery

Good fences make good neighbors
pure water flows from the spring
down and around the hill
gently trickles through
the neighbors pesticide scrapheap

The whistle pig warbles his truth
Azazel’s charming creature of the deep
mocks our efforts to will the barn to stand
porous tunnels of doubt
and time tugs it into the ground

And Lilith
calls, calls, calls
far from the coast
calls me to the quarries
concentration powerless to contest
feet moored in the muck
ankle deep regret

familiarity breads discontent
I once knew so much in impudence
and then not so much in doubt
and now don’t know what I don’t know
in confidence

So strange seeing intimacies
from the back seat

like being dropped unseen
into someone’s bedroom.

Neck massages for the driver,
driver’s hand reaching

over to the passenger seat doing
whatever unseen tenderness,

maybe just a hand on a knee.
A world of gentle affection

to be cherished,
admired from afar.

Once was the finest
lady deeply loved by
a house carpenter.
He could not hammer
lest the rhythm be her song.
As he worked, he sang to her days long.
In full sun he sweat and built and felt
no wrong, of she a lady, he a carpenter.
Strong were the houses he did build.
Also those things he said to her.
His word was not of wood,
but stone.

Said the scholar with delight, “I’ve been sourced!”
The one great sentence that arrived unforced
had drawn a reader’s ovation.

The researcher’s one hundred and fourth citation
was the icing on the cake.
Win the lottery? She’d rather be endorsed!

I dreamed of drowning-
flashes of dark leaves 
and bright colors swirling.
I could not remember the words
to the Lord’s Prayer, 
they were tumbling out of order
as I struggled up through the sheets, 
gasping into the light. 
Amen, I said. Amen.

I stood vigil
til dawn.

I knew you wouldn’t be there.
I knew you wouldn’t be here
yet

it was only
an hour

and the moon was wrapping herself
in my words, the sun rising hungry
with expectation, and the birds…

the birds were
carrying the message
tree to tree.