Counting the Seconds @ Free Verse Revolution

A new poem I wrote about Time is now available at Free Verse Revolution:

Counting the Seconds

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Waves

It comes and goes
Like waves crashing
On the beach
As the tide rolls in,
Wearing away rocks
Into sand,
Washing up driftwood,
Jellyfish,
And the occasional corpse.

I’ve never had
The best balance, but
I try to ride it out
—I’ve been taking lessons—
Adrenaline flows,
Knees wobble,
Let its power propel me,
Fighting it would just lead
To wipe outs, rip tides,
And undertows.

Afterwards,
Resting on the beach,
Dripping wet,
Catching my breath,
As the tide leaves its treasures,
Preparing myself
For the next time
I think of you again.

5/8/19

Shadows on the Sea

The shadow stretches
And grows
As the sun sets
Into the sea,
Until all is darkness.

From daybreak
Until dusk
The clock ticks
Tocks, clicks
Down to the docks.

Seconds and minutes
March in formation,
Precise, steady,
A perfect procession,
Never deterred
From the destination.

Inevitable, equitable,
Never early or late,
Arriving just
When it means to:

At Camlann,
In London Tower;
On the Senate floor.

In an Athenian jail cell,
A Dakota doorway;
In a cornfield in Iowa.

At Missolonghi,
In a Paris apartment;
On board the Ariel
— or was it the Don Juan? —
Sailing into the west.

3/30/19

 

This poem was originally posted on FreeVerse Revolution.

Ravens and Crows

I saw one of Wodan’s ravens
— Or was it one of Badb’s crows? —
Through dirty bus windows,
Flying over hard and frozen snow.

Fly on, old friend, with your mission,
And the messages you wish to bestow,
While, across the rivers, through the mountains
To grandmother’s house I go.

But grandmother doesn’t live there
— Or anywhere —
anymore.
So, to grandfather’s
— my father’s —
house I go.

Rails ride into the night,
Past mountain, tree, and snow,
Darkened windows reflect back
Future fears I cannot know.

Ten full moons have passed
Since the Banshee gently wailed,
Calling me back to the valley
Before the light finally failed.

The last time I saw mother’s face,
So weak and fragile her body’d grown
Yet from her eyes, her loving smile,
That old fire still shone.

And now, across snow-capped Cascades
I am called back once more,
For duty, for love, for unpaid debts,
And a destiny I can no longer ignore.

Not the sorrowful Banshee cry,
But crow-caw; raven-whispers,
Wisdom from the One-Eyed Wanderer;
Warnings from the Crow-Queen’s sisters.

The tapestry the Weird Sisters weave
Is completed when the final knot is tied.
Prepared or not, the future will arrive
On schedule, never avoided, delayed, or denied.

And so, I descend into the valley,
The steel steed never slows.
Uneasy, uncertain, yet undeterred,
Ready to sail wherever this river flows.

The future lies in the past
In that half-empty haunted bungalow,
Watched over and silently guided
By brother Raven and sister Crow.

12/30/18 – 04/23/19

Shadows on the Sea @Free Verse Revolution

My latest poem is now available on the Free Verse Revolution blog:

Shadows on the Sea

And Jesus Wept

brooklyn_museum_-_jesus_wept_28jc3a9sus_pleura29_-_james_tissot.jpg

Jesus Wept
At Lazarus’ death,
Thought he knew
He’d resurrect,
Jesus wept,
As Lazarus slept
In a stone-cold crypt,
From which his sisters crept
On a moonlit night
While Jesus wept.

2/3/19

Image is from Jésus pleura by James Tissot

 

 

Nothing to Fear (Tanka)

There is nothing to fear
About entering the tomb,
Nothing will happen
That didn’t happen to you
In the void before your birth.

10/31/18

A response to Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 108, “Afraid & Grave,” #SynonymsOnly

I Can Still Feel You

I can still hear
The sound of your voice
In my mind
And in my dreams.
I can feel your hands
On my face
The last time we met,
The cold piercing
My beard,
There was so little
Life left in them.

I can hear the joy
In your voice
When I told you
We were coming
To see you.
I can still see
The light
In your eyes
When your grandson
Took you for one last
Walk in the park.

I can still feel
The sinking
In my heart
When I realized
How limited
Our time really was,
And the crushing
Devastation
When they told me
You were gone.

10/30/18

Haiku on Autumn Weather

Golden wet oak leaves
Mulch in puddles of decay
Earthworms turn the soil.

10-12-18

The Battlefield

wwimontage

An old weary soldier,
Alone on an empty battlefield,
Mud filled trenches and
Bombed out craters.
Still smoldering fires in the distance.
Every other soul,
Friend or foe,
Felled along the line.

A brief pause,
After the battle is spent,
Tattered clothes,
He talks to ghosts,
Debating with death
To lay down arms
Forever
Before the conflict continues.

10/8-10/9/18

Image is taken from a WW I Montage, found on WikiMedia Commons.