In his esurient quest to entrap the passerine
The hunter forsook his foremost skill
The understanding of the hunted
Forgot that a clueless pursuit
Is akin to an endeavor at felling a tree
Using a blunt axe
Tag: poem
Winter, The Ending that Brings Forth a Beginning
Howdy winter
Why do you hide the sun
You rush her out with a frown and darkness you beckon with open arms
Eleven in the morn resembles three on the leeward side of noon
Into the witching hour seventeen hours you transform
Over the Michigan down you pull the dark nimbers
The lake touches the sky a stone’s throw away
Of their green and yellow and red and purple and orange, the trees you rob
Naked to the bone they stand
Their barrenness proclaiming defenselessness and desperation
The Olive Branch
Lace not an olive branch
With venom and poison
Lace it not
With the spit of words
Unkind and haughty
Lace it not
With foul breath
Ferrying untruths and hubris
Lace it not with the sound
Of ignorance and conceit
It is an olive branch
Stuck
The vastness of the trove bewilders
The enormity of the sea confuses
The multiplicity of tasks
Breathing, and cleaning, and refining, and swimming
The oodles disorient
Days of meaning
Where did they go
The days of lonesome bliss
When solitude was a priced jewel
Sought after with the yen of a thirsty deer
Looked forward to with the eagerness of a hound
When focus on goals
Impelled self-isolation
When the paradise of empty spaces
The serenity of loneliness
And the company of the self
Were akin to a masseuse’s therapy
To a body sore and sapped
Where are the days of meaning
The City
A swallowing
A disappearance
Like of some prey into the insides of the predator
Or of a needle into a bale of hay
It’s the image my mind conjured
The persistent one that still materializes
Whenever I picture a journey into the city
Revere
Wine
Crackling fire
Music
You
The night gets on
Time stops not
But you
You gotta stop
Just for the night
Line ’em thoughts
Of the empty full house
The empty busy street
Creation’s unfathomable grandeur
Line ’em thoughts with the crackle of the fire, the music, the wine
Revere
The Itch’s Longing, The Hand’s Wile
The hand has the itch on a leash!
When the Great Tree Falls…
From her cup of knowledge
I drunk
Her steady, inspiring guidance as my walking stick
I trudged
By the lampstand of her tender, loving firmness
I learnt
On her nourishing foresight and insight
I throve
Out of the trenches of unknowing
She pulled me
From Ant to Titan, Up The Hill
Images in your mind
Of ants building anthills in the savanna
A thousand times bigger than themselves
Phantasmagoria
Of a steady meek stream of water
Slicing through mighty rocks
Your eyes travel
Up the hill
The Caged Bird Sings 