Joy from the trees - Poetry inspired by Gwendolyn Brooks

Joy from the trees 

When I recall the few seasons of gold

The oaks so tall and gusts of warm and cold

Stealing the sheen of sweat from my skin

Like God whispering You may sit again,

I tell myself, brick by brick, stone by stone

That Summer’s swelter should not stick around.

The gnats and no-see-ums, uncut blades of grass

Lows of depressions brought by fiery endless blasts

The light I love. The AM songs. The shoeless walks

On the green lush thickened lawn. And then it stops

And I feel the heat, the overwork, and hear the AC

Calls like the leaves’ crunch underfoot, remembering me

As if they’ve missed my being, in the heat of the sun

And they insist on my sitting with them for a strum.

The few autumns I’ve had, as they lengthen as one,

Won’t brick over the summer labor and  fun

But with the gold in the leaves and the gray in my hair

I won’t pluck joy from the trees, it will be falling right there.

Poetry - Saturday AM after Friday debauchery

Oars on the waters

Everything that falls

like a beat of a drum

leaves from a tree

- that’s so over done -

oars on the waters

driving 

you in 

or pulling

you out

one after another

closer or further?

you can’t tell 

from where you are.

You can't tell your There.

You can only tell your Here. 

---- 

tossed be the stones

burned be the logs

sticks and leaves 

the newsprint, the impetus

gone be the time 

it arrived like the stars

swooshing in ways that only stars

can swoosh, and tick be gone

so be my thoughts

needling and poking thru

my fabric

then retreat

--- 

If entwined, fingers in mine

we two step to the bridge

For A begets B

and so on we’ll see

skipping and laughing

into this

only pearls gleaming

at the feet of swine?

or diamonds  unearthed 

from a hidden mine?

a nudge now

and in we go

two drips into the waters

below.

 #SlapDashSat

Poetry - inspired by Anne Bradstreet

The Flow

You will not be bothered by the flow

In humility, in nature, in oneness

A step, or breath, a thought, as though

You’re perched to observe the abyss.

Seeing an ocean of progress and growth

Expecting is the downfall of life

To think my control will bring me love

Is to imagine a wave that will not subside

And if in retreat it disappoints my mind

I’ve lost the love that others achieve

A failure to all, an embarrassment in kind

I’ll stand alone with nothing but to breathe.