across the shadows

across the shadows, clinging to the trees,
in reticence: a silence long desired,
believing there’s a way, and pressing on.

when young, ignoring harbingers and signs,
but now aware, respecting of such things,
across the shadows, clinging to the trees

the noisy, fulsome way is now eschewed,
the brightest light avoided, like a plague,
in reticence: a silence long desired

and age comes on, as day gives way to night,
and hope is more of heart than chances seen —
believing there’s a way, and pressing on.


(Cascade form from YeahWrite via Rarasaur.)

I Talk Too Much

I talk too much, I always have,
Much to my family’s misery;
The rare days that I’m quiet are
When they can see the best of me

And so I took up blogging — writers
Are forgiven monologues —
To write of common things, and see
The glory in the underdogs

And yet, I have a real life, too,
With work and bills and banks and such,
And a long-suffering wife who knows
Just like my dad, I talk too much

Standing in the stillness of the sunrise

Standing in the stillness of the sunrise. Mourning
  the loss of what she hoped to find
  that wasn’t meant to be —

But giving up the past is part of not suborning
  her loving heart to thinking that
  to settle’s to be free —

There is a place for looking back,
  there is a time for crying,
  and none of us is good enough,
  but most of us keep trying —

For everything is learning when you just keep going:
  the book you don’t get down again,
  but leave up on the shelf

Standing in the stillness of her heartbreak. Knowing
  she’s better off to feel this way,
  than not to be

  herself

Snapshot: Her Evening

How she spends an evening —

Her landlord’s kids have strewn the walk with toys;
She smiles as she steps around a trike.
She hears within a laughing, running noise,
The joy of children to the childlike:
And after some brief play, she’s off to hike
The longish stairs that lead her to her room.
She flips a switch to chase away the gloom

That never really leaves nor really stays
(Except when tears unbidden come at night)
But she is cheerful on the worst of days.
She pauses by the mirror at her sight
(The wind has blown today – her hair’s a fright)
But soon downstairs she goes to talk and eat,
Before she makes her evening’s long retreat.

Up in her room, she thinks of what she’ll write.
Ideas she has, like waves or grains of sand —
She’ll work on three or four of them tonight,
Then stop to listen to a favorite band
Remembering, at once, his darkened hand
And that he is no longer by her side:
The man who played the groom to her young bride.

The house is quiet, all the kids in bed;
The night is still and peaceful in the main:
And love has never died within her head,
Nor been defeated by the throbbing pain
Of heart so full, it cannot all retain —
But still, the graceful night enfolds its own,
And love surrounds her, even when alone

for once there was

a darkness fell upon the room;
the sound of crickets all around —
the sweat that poured into his eyes
he wiped away, amid the gloom

he heard the distant rumble small
of trucks upon the highway near;
and checked the time – again, again –
to see if it had moved at all

for once there was a pyramid
of cans and bottles on a shelf;
for once there was another man,
a different guy, another self

who looked a lot like younger me;
but that could not have been, somehow —
for i had nothing, nothing then:
and i have all the answers
now