Tag: #solitude

Away From the Light

Photo by Stephanie Klepacki on Unsplash

Let me go 
into the mountain’s depths
away from the light.
The sky holds nothing.
Neither does the sea.
Only the rock, the granite,
the depths of mountain
provides for me.
The mountain carries 
me down and away,
away from this light,
protecting all it covers
as I cover myself
with my grandfather’s coal dust.
I will carry this canary
with me, if you think I must,
as I travel deeper,
ever deeper,
into the mountain.

To Do Lists

Image courtesy of shutterstock.com

Morning drifts
away with chores
I assign myself:
The must do, the needs to be done—
An endless list to fill a notepad
next to the calendar:
Feed the dogs,
Clean and fill the hummingbird feeders,
Change the sheets,
Do the ironing,	
Neatly fold the sheets from the dryer
so they align perfectly on the shelf in the closet--
Leave no time to think.
Even less time to feel.
Keep all thoughts,
All feelings at bay.
Use the list like a whip and a chair.
Let no old cliché hold any sway.
Whip the old “nothing ventured, nothing gained”
into a new pose of Nothing ventured, nothing lost
upon the circus stand,
a much easier creature
to manage this way.

Ink, Time, Books

image courtesy of dreamtime.com
A few minutes every day,
at times, stretching into hours,
I write to you
in this book,
writing words
whispering mysteries
of the winds in the mountains.

At times, my words still,
shifting, settling then sighing
as moonstone white clouds rest,
caressing the tops of mountains.

I have burned hundreds
of ink filled books
over these many years
when disgusted with
the imperfection
of my scribbled pages.
The heat of their fires
never offered much warmth.
Now, I save my scribble filled books
though you may never see them.


Forty-five years,
I have written words to you,
yet you never knew,
and neither did I
until this moment.

What Moses Must Have Felt When Looking Upon God’s Back

Image courtesy of pinterest.com

This is an older poem that I’ve dusted off and changed around a little. The end is entirely new but in keeping with the hike in Colorado that inspired it. I was so struck by seeing the one tree leaning upon the other I did not think to whip out my phone to take a picture of the sight. In that moment of observation of the trees, it seemed a violation to do so. 


In the woods
two trees stand,
equally rooted,
firmly in the ground.

Yet, as if deciding
it a curse of solitude
to try and touch a Sky
who never reached back,
one turned 
to touch the other,
leaning its trunk
against its forest mate’s.

And so, I found them,
standing as lovers,
one resting upon the other,
limbs entwined in embrace.

I lowered my head 
out of respect mingled
with a bit of embarrassment
at glimpsing their
beautiful intimacy.


I  turned,
walked down the trail,
crunching dried leaves
beneath the fall of my heavy boots
as I continued on among the trees
in  silence and solitude.

First Day of May

Image courtesy of Givingcompass.org

 

Winds and rains came today.

I tried to follow the trail

They made.

But on this first day of May,

I was not strong enough–

To let the wind take me,

To allow pelting rain to abrade away

All my accumulated grime.

No freedom could I find

Within this day of winds and rains.

Every Rose

In breaking silence,

earth and sky kiss again.

At a toast of mid-day,

the moon shows her face,

a smile of grace.

In the glimmer of a star’s dance,

a thorn on dried roses prick,

a reminder of circumstance.

Catacomb of Colors

Wikipedia image of Rosh HaNikra grottoes

I can hide in catacombs of colors and never look to the sky.
My blood shed, bled out in tiny droplets of all the years of parting,
dripping, draining in the darkness
And carried away, scattered to the winds,
Leavings upon the ground, seedless seeds,
Sprouting up in colorless flowers of summer without colors,
Without the dreams of sunlight on their faces,
Without fragrance sweet, divinity in scents we can never forget lost.
We learn to live with regrets taken, earned, packed away
With the mortgage of things within our hearts, within our lifetimes of meaning,
Within our trying just one more damn time,
Drifting up in clouds of long-ago cigarette smoke.
Crush this dried out husk of me,
Scatter those particles of dust to the wind
And see if colors sprout once that dust settles upon the ground,
See if there’s meaning left within their regrets,
See if there’s fragrance, some elegance of divinity within a scent
To be remembered when there is nothing,
Nothing left but this wisp of memory
Within your breath.
Let go my hand, love. Leave me wrapped in the shroud
Of all my days and regrets shared along the way
To here, this time of parting. Leave me to hide away
In this catacomb of colors.