Persephone

Through season’s fair and winter’s chill
I sit and ponder, still. Love has left me wanting,
waiting, lusting – quietly and patient.
Yet a chill I do confess has riddled me cold
as I grow uneasy, growing too old.

A feigning glance is all it takes
to bow a man’s fortitude to break –
tall and slender, taught but not tight,
sleek and elegant – that look is ALL right.
She set the pace on that season’s day –
and now I lay in waiting, wanting to prey,
effectively effected by her subtle ways.

Persephone, speak to me…
Where have you gone?
I’ve waited all summer…
Where are you, my fawn?
My bow is trained, my aim true –
Now all I need is you.

Yet winter comes, like it does,
every year – and to the cold season
I relent my fear…
Fear of loss, fear of love,
fear of loneliness, fear of enough.
And I’ll wait… til Spring,
when flowers dance
and you, my love, come again.

Sentinel

Steadfast and strong we stand
all along – waiting for the maker
at bay. Nay he come to demand
the sun – nor he taketh away.

“Rest easy gatekeeper,
tis’ but your first watch –
the winter is long and keen
like a hawk – waiting to sweep
in cold embrace; waiting to take you
to the next place.”

The mission resounds, falling on halls
of slumberous keepers – waiting to fall,
to enter the gate, to meet – to make;
they are the sentinels of fate.

And winter comes – as predicted by son
to guide these souls to place –
only to find a new batch of young
soon to assume their new face…
n’ worn faces of gate, the keepers of late,
say “Rest easy gatekeepers, today.”

Lend Me a Word

Lend me a word and I’ll share with you
a thought, a rhythm, a poem, a tune;
A question on which to contemplate
which’ll make our meeting feel like fate.

I’ll share a psalm, a song to sing.
By fateful stranger, you will bring
yourself into a vernacular story
of wisdom, love, death, and glory.

For somehow when you share with me
your word – your eyes – I will see
a world of love and kempt emotions,
quiet lies, secret devotions.

But do not fear for I will care
for your word and story,
as my goal is to share
with the wanting soul before me.

So lend me a word, I’ll bless your ears,
I’ll write to you so you may hear
the beauty that’s in every gust
of wind, of breathe, of quiet – of love.

Back Story: At least once a week, I ask a stranger for a word which I use as the theme for a poem. Typically I will gift the poem forward to the next stranger I meet. So, what should my next word be?

Windy

With taut sails, hair to curl,
dancing waves, flags to twirl;
blowing souls path to path
in direction of off the tracks.

Victims to, fortunes made,
lives to take – souls to save.
Get lost with me, but just today –
I’ll guide you til’ the morning.

For one day soon you’ll wonder where
I have gone, no path to share,
and take to directions set
in search of where we first met.

May then we’ll meet again
as you walk the path I laid,
and bring forward a different man
than the first time we swayed.

For if you do, my kiss will feel
like the comfort of a lover.
If you don’t, you’ll cry my name,
yet, in search of another.

And so I blow, day and night,
searching for souls to guide,
as my breathe is the greatest gift
I could ever hope to give you.

For you, Mom.

Kaiserschmarrn-amalamadingdong

With taut backs and tempered laughs,
ten km’s – no more.
Fate happed on a stranger’s path
from which we took our course.
Into gulch, and valley, mulch,
through river, into rain –
in search of inspiration,
and adventure – with a plan.

And crossing paths, we found (again)
a seeker in the night, drying by the fire
to his pure delight.
With a smile painted by the pyre –
his feet were bruised and wanting more.
In discretion – we talked upon
the aides and ails of the world.
Until he said, in the dark –
“May I hap upon you more?”

With the toss of a coin
he bummed a ride to town;
wasn’t the waterfall crossing nuff’
to straighten this nomad sound?
But laugh we did with eyes rolled,
our packs became light –
eating pasta, bellies full,
drinking into night.
So much so that he said again
“May I hap upon you more?”

And to the Sound we took at speed,
chasing, in the rain.
Again, talking quite a bit
about life and plans.
Greeted by waterfalls, giggling all the way:
we shared in gay occasion
as we took into the rain.
And soon the seeker seemed a bit
settled in his place.

Off the road and out of gas,
to the boonies, we ran a flat,
back to home – into the kitchen –
the lights fell to remission.

And as we drank, and ate, and drank –
questions came and went.
We delved a little deeper to
what many circumvent.
Crazy theories with wanting more,
origin stories aiding deep pours.
So much so the mood did shift;
how far we had come,
and better yet – how quick.
So much so, to the stranger, said –
“May we hap upon you more?”

And with cakes, we shared again
the last laughs that we’d take
with the kindly stranger that
bummed a ride to town,
and tossed a coin,
and cooked a meal,
and shared his crazy sounds.

And so is the tale of Routeburn,
how sad it must conclude –
wishing our newfound friend
well until we resume.

Perhaps wiser, certainly fuller,
on questions to contemplate,
as this nomad was a little crazy
but our meeting seemed like fate.

2/15/18

I’ve met some girls;
they seem nice –
their smiles glow;
it livens mine.
Perhaps I should
investigate
a little more about them.

2/19/18

It went well,
I learned a bit.
But I’ve said too much
and so I seek again.

– For Conny and Nora –