image borrowed from bing
“There is not a particle of life that
does not bear poetry within it.”
Wandering the width & breadth of landscapes
shared by the busy and the blind, I tend to
record tiny moments & events with my digital
lens & my poet’s quill; captured as my personal
tableaus of truth.
On some ancient barns and buildings,
where all trace of stairs & porches have crumbled
to dust, I am fascinated by those naked doors
to nowhere, extant but providing no access.
Wildflowers sometimes sprout out of bare brick,
clinging to life high above the street, creating
nourishment out of thin air and mist.
On a tombstone I read that this man died
the year I was born, so we must have passed
each other in the dimensional ether, soon
forgetting the encounter.
Rimless, but still geared, the rusted clutch
pressure plate seemed paralyzed at parade rest;
restrained by thistles it could only shift
the inert cogs of nothingness.
Most clouds caught & mirrored in fresh puddles
love to dance a wicked shimmy.
Piles of discarded signs in deep grass on empty lots
are where many politicians end up after the hurrahs.
A toddler’s red tennis shoe atop a bright blue refuse
container makes me wonder why it was never retrieved.
A twisted log, once a wave rider, now lies near the high tide
mark, unable to crawl any further, content to allow the sand
to weave it a warm blanket.
Dead flowers left on the graves of dead loved ones,
still sustain a proud beauty when compared to
the dusty plastic ones alongside them.
When a wide city culvert becomes choked
with thriving weeds, it remains a reluctant
garden as growth trumps flow.
I see far too many homeless picket fences,
no longer white, no longer functional, just
so many broken yellowed teeth in a sad wooden smile.
Fire’s passionate embrace on flesh or other combustibles
invariably leaves deep dark scars forever, permanent
badges of courage or chance encounter.
In Autumn I love to seek out the pumpkin dwarves
that cower in the cold shadows of their giant siblings.
Why is it that new windows recently installed in
empty houses do not spark inquiry?
Totem thunderbirds, eagles, & gulls possess
great spiritual power, but they reject all bread crumbs.
Behind glass, the hot house ladies always dress up
in their most colorful attire for their club meetings.
So many moments & significant things frozen
for future review and contemplation; they are
part of the cornucopia of discarded and hidden
treasures that are never-ending, and I will not
presume to effect change on them--for I am
but a humble scribe, and it is enough to notice
and acknowledge them.
Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB
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