accustomed

 

 

endless falling...

     into the unknown
and should something
    momentarily seem to make sense...
the fear…

    of becoming accustomed.


~csr

 

 

behind the ears

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jenny-pics/

day arrives…

like an extra deep lungful

    exhaled upon surfacing

        from a dive.

rousing me…

  from dreary,

       damp,

     depths of despair

           into warm,

           waterless,

              waking  air.

though,

    in this realm…

      without you…

       i still am wet…

   behind the ears.

unfolding

Unfolding

listening

   is an interesting

   and peculiar endeavor…

   as is speaking.

one is required to hold

    what was…

    while moving continuously…

    into what is now…

      unfolding.

~csr

beneath this stratum

now… a long way down.

turbulent, flowing streams surge,

beneath this stratum.

~csr

within yourself.

i bear in mind

how poetry

    pales in comparison

    to the actuality of existence.

how nothing tangible

    is transferred

    via mere words.

the poet is merely

    one whom is able to help you

    become re-acquainted

    with something you already know…

    within yourself.

~csr

by morning... ash

with a crack! and snap !

    they launch into flight.

“fire sperm of sort”… roy says

    “with tail in trail.”

carried towards constellation…

   lifted in moonlight.

and there  is significance here

   yet

something far too simple

    for my complex ideas

         to wrap around.

suddenly  it emerges…
 it is life.

 yes,  there is vitality.

it started small…

   and grew…

   it began to propagate…

     attempt reproduction.

     it aged…

        became a steadier warmth

           an experienced glow.
then

     by morning...
           ash

~csr


 

all is alive

Saretta's Art For Feng Shui

i do not see very well

    into the future.
    i romance it...

        and it breaks my heart.

the past… i paint it…

     restoring black & white

     with techno color.

        an impressionist's reverie.

yet

when i course

     along with the now…

     in the  only true certainty…

        for a time...
   all is alive.

 

~csr

a young sprout

not every comfort

strengthens… and a pounding rain

destroys a  young sprout

~csr

their sigh

brawny current

   stirs sediment,
 and drenched words
   ascend to float up.

although

in a shadowy timber

  beneath a moon-mist…

    it is only the murky stream

   that savors their sigh.

~csr

the breath of night

motionless i stand…

singing branches… sway and bow

with the breath of night.

~csr

your beauty

moon, sea, earth and stars

boast endless splendor… yet all

want, for your beauty

~csr

the most me

i love it at daybreak
when there are tidal pools
before the day's footstep

always a parking space
on the street
on the sand

only the bearing
of ocean and
cool misty saline air

the mirth of gulls
and the shush of the deep

at my unvoiced thoughts

 

it is here

  that i sense

i am the most me


~csr

a time or two

they say “hope floats”

  although

i have seen it submerged

a time or two

~csr

to each ear a voice

within each song played

is countless expression… and

to each ear  a voice

~csr

the world

sometimes small things seem larger
  when up close.
sometimes big things seem to shrink
  with some distance.

perspective can be deceptive...

each has their

   perspectives...

 deceptions…

though

   is it the world that we see…

or what we see...

   the world?


~csr

freed from moorings

Art - Robert Stone

wake of reverie…

moves slowly across my thought.

as freed from moorings

~csr

 

told

seasons of love

brilliant and warm

then dark and so cold

agents of change
come and they go
to weather us old

clinging to spring
summer and fall
the winter seems bold

if only my heart
it's secret had kept
and never been told

 

~csr

this sea

in the sun…

  off the sparkling water

    i am overcome with the innocence…

        and beauty of both
           children and nature.
    and also
    the destructive potential
       both possess as well.
     how at any given moment…
       a child could crush a hermit-crab…
       switch from smile to grimace
         and knock down a sand-tower…
       or the ocean could swell…
         and drag us to the depths.
i love the ocean…
    it is immense…
     all my problems
        diminish beside it.
if i collected my tears…
  every one…
  could they ever approach
      the volume of
          this sea?

~csr

the lawn

ash and blood litter the streets

    as people run in chaotic patterns

     with smoke-filled lungs.

dam i smoked my last cigarette.

 

man with briefcase throwing rocks

   at a wall of oppression

     as a stampede of varying resolve

      charges against it.  

i think i should mow the lawn.

 

eyes blinded with pepper…

   blinded with blood…

     blinded with rage.

is this all that is on?  wanna watch a movie tonight?

 

some cry victory,

 others scream corruption…

    painted hands and faces…

    like war-paint… hmm…

i think i’ll paint the patio

 

an eerie cloaked procession

   moves to unveil their voices…

     almost zeno-stoic…

       like some tears that proceed down my face…

   and as the first ones reach the corners of my mouth…

  my heart finally breaks…

 

i better mow the lawn


~csr

a gift

a glint of divine
being in the moment, the
present is... a gift

~csr

Inspired by Connie’s Photo