Moment Stands Still

I've been reading Robert Frost, and he inspired me to try something different. Earlier, I wrote one short quatrain. On the train from Chicago to Kenosha tonight, this spilled out. I usually don't rhyme, but again, there was no stopping this.

The Moment Stands Still
January 28, 2011

It’s 5 o’clock as the miles fly by
The moments stand still in a darkening sky

It’s pure and it’s brilliant when golden rays shine
Even beneath a silvery glow, it’s something divine

The tracks of creation are easily trailed
4-foot or 2-foot—movement prevails

Sketching and scratching to capture the scene
To slow the pace of our in-between

With marvel and promise just out of reach
Sirens beckon from a purple-black deep

The land is hidden but never silent
It whispers, it laughs, it weeps and it sighs
Yet another disaster we’ve failed to prevent

The moment stands still in darkening skies

Believe to Leave

I'm finally getting over, JUST getting over a pretty bad winter cold. After all, it HAS been (and still is) a pretty bad winter. Since the first snow in early November, it hasn't stopped in Kenosha, WI. Every morning I step onto the deck and there it is, in the air and on the porch, blanketing the ground and smothering the trees. I've not had to travel too much, so its been truly a winter wonderland. I'm ready to move on now though.

Anyway, feeling better, I've decided to try poetry 'forms.' Today's form is the Quatrain. If interested in learning what it is and viewing some examples, visit the WordShop website: http://thewordshop.tripod.com/forms.html. Here you'll find a list of all poetry forms and clicking through will take you to detailed explanations and solid examples.

Mine today is untitled and part of A River of Stones. I hope you enjoy it. And, as always, I'm open to feedback.

I've come to believe
Passing through,
Just passing through
Only means to leave

Words-Today's Small Stone

A world of creation by mere spoken word.
A mere spoken word creates hopeless desperation.

Butterfly Chariots

Inspired by Mary Oliver's "Wild Geese"

See the format below.

Butterfly Chariots

You do not have to be the wind beneath my wings.
You do not have to carry me through the fierce woodland, over the decayed trees of my life, amid counterfeit assurance.
You only have to hold my hand, be by my side as a comrade, and believe with words unspoken.
Tell me about your terror, your losses, and your map forward; I will bury your fears and injuries beneath mine.
I will translate the compass.
While the minutes sing of our journey; while the rivers cleanse the shores of our past; while the butterfly chariots chase our suns and moons only to be captured, and trussed to the stars.
Meanwhile, lay your soul on my pillow so our dreams will soar together, waiting for us.
Your imagination says what mine knows, “Somewhere, sometime, you are there. I am coming.”


And this is how you create it:

You do not have to be ______________________________________________________
You do not have to (do something, go somewhere, act someway) ______________________________________________
You only have to (do/be/act/say)
___________________________________________________
Tell me about _________________________________________________________________
While the _______________________________________________________________________
Your imagination says __________________________________________________________

Drinking beer and watching Nascar.

There are many base diversions to assist in our distance from reality.
Escape within our worlds, our minds, our endless frivolities to deny
the truth, expound on our magnificent knowledge acquired while
drinking beer and watching Nascar (football, wrestling, Jersey Shore, etc.)

Together We Loose

It's been a football weekend so there's been little more than cheering and beer drinking. However, as usual, whenever I read the poetry of a Facebook friend I am utterly inspired to scratch a paper. Here is the latest using the last sentence from his poem "The Moon Stone Poem."

"...where I jingled the stars like loose change."

Where I have walked, another finds a path. Where
I have sung, another finds a melody by which to
jingle his tune of a lone trumpet. Instinctively the
lessons we share is the firmament holding the
stars above, which shine a light on dreams tangled
like lovers on a midnight shore. Together we loose
the energy of probability, the joy and love to cause
change. Together we create and recreate the cosmos.

The Wind of Whiteness

In response to those who say to stop dreaming and face reality, I say keep dreaming and make reality. ~Kristian Kan

In the wind of whiteness I stand and wait for your
response. I imagine you calibrating your thoughts
to produce the most impact on my heart. Many of
those constructed words landing lightly will not fit the
who you think I am. Many of the misshapen you wish to
say will be too harsh for the unblemished silence surrounding.
To eradicate the barrier, skiing unimpeded by conditions is to
stop the rotation and this cannot be accomplished by mere
dreaming. Sadness and tears accompany the laughter
and joy. If it weren’t so, the picture would be erased from the
face. Blankness and monotony would reign the
reality and there would be no reason. For me,
I keep hope that change is imminent and we will
say “Welcome, please stay awhile.” For me, I
keep fear behind the padlock. I whisper, “Do not,”
and then I am able to believe that your response will
make a difference, your response will be profound, and
reality is beneath the whiteness, awaiting springs touch.

The Same River

“You can never step into the same river; for new waters are always flowing on to you.”
Heraclitus of Ephesus (Greek philosopher 540-480BC)

It may look the same, feel the same, flow in the same direction and even smell the same.
It is not.
The sun and earth slant differently.
Time itself has moved on.
It may seem as if life is cyclical, yet until life ceases, the circle is not complete.
A different wind ripples the water in another way, even if only slightly.
A sound stirs the air above and the water changes.
Fear not that one life is the same as another.
You and I, him and her, it and they—
We all make the difference no matter how minute.

You are not lost.

It may look the same, feel the same, flow in the same direction and even smell the same.
It is not.

I Have

Inspired by "I Saw You Look" by L Douglas St Ours

I have the power to believe that anything is possible
I have a relentless fear that everything close
       will pass away without knowledge
I have a never-ending view of my failures
       and nothing but clear space to fill with more
I have love and fear and hate without measure
I have friends who forget what it means
      and friends who wrote the definition
I have given and taken life and apologize for neither
I have thoughts that support psychiatrists, psychoanalysts, psychotherapists,      psychosis, psychopaths and the everyday American psycho
I have you
I have no doubt that it will come to be
I have stories to tell that have no words
     and words that have no stories
I have the energy of stagnation, the laziness of perpetual movement, inspiration and      intoxication, experience and explanation and
     I have no where to go
I have me
I have a guardian angel whose gossamer wings flutter
     scents of Jack Daniels and Marlboro while she drifts around my head telling tales of      heaven
I have ghosts who keep me warm in the chill of a dream and
     dreams of ancient ghosts calling
I have screamed in bloodcurdling whispers, praying for silence
I have wondered what it would be like to wander
     in a wasteland of serenity with worries
     covered in purple irises and golden daffodils

Friend Stones

Snow crackles, fire sizzles and the silence is comfortable. Another observation for: What is a friend(ship)?

Eclectic Poem of the Day

Keep your face always toward the sunshine and shadows will fall behind you. ~Walt Whitman

Keep the crumbs from biscuits served at

your morning table. Plant beneath the silver

face of a full moon to ensure the outspread

always of sheltering shade. Point your eyes

toward a mysterious horizon that dedicates

the energy for another morning table of

sunshine and harvest fruits. Hands join

and thanks given, yet the questions of

shadows descend uninhibited. Only time

will clarify and nurture, and none will

fall victim if steadfast as Standing Warriors.

Behind the mist of doubt there resides the

you who prepares tomorrows feast.

Family stones

A family is like a river of stones. Tension, friction and constant flow, smooths, shines and creates a glistening joy to hold.

Delight in the thing called Breath

"Every single thing you do matters."~Andy Andrews

Every morning I smile. I rise to my own laughter. That
single moment bursts into being and I delight in the
thing called breath. Inhale peace and love, exhale what
you can do without—hate, pain, loneliness. Choose to
do and not be done. The path we walk upon is all that
matters. Smash through the tulips—to hell with tiptoeing.

Name Game

This could be considered 'found poetry.' I was thinking of my small stone observation of the morning and noticed the names of the games on the closet shelf. I think they fit together perfectly to describe the tone of the world recently.

I look forward to comments.

Connect four to the battleship of a clueless memory and become the smartass of the operation.

Poem of the Day - Court is in Session

"We all live under the same sky, but we don't all have the same horizon."

We are not; we’ve passed tomorrow, and forgotten
all the sorrow. There is hope in whispers, for we still
live as one, question where, cherish why, peek
under how, caress when, and skip to the who.
The reasons obscured by words rolling downhill to
the massacre that waits. Nothing is different. It’s the
same. Repetition strangles contemplation, and compassions’
sky falls upon the heads eagerly raised looking for answers.
But, we stare blindly, listen deafly and speak mutely for
we haven’t a clue in this universe. Whirling dervishes who
don’t know our existence is minute; we are a sparkle of stardust
all floating aimlessly, touching one another recklessly. We
have borrowed time and refuse to pay the debt accrued to
the owner of our destiny. We request extensions, citing the
same leftover and rotted excuses, “we are the true beings of the
horizon and we owe naught.” Court is in session!

Dismissal and Denial

Outright dismissal of objective observations is abject denial of self.

My small stone of the day.

A pebble for the River of Stones

Fantastical illusions dance in the shadows
Tripping on delightful delusions

Poem of the day

"Above, branches spread a dendroid filigree across the sky."~ Angus Wells; Dark Magic: The Godwars; Bantam; 1992.



Above and beyond, over and under, wrapped within clichés’
branches is the truth wondered about; covered by fallacies that
spread mists over innocent growth, obstructs the vitality of
a crimson rise or a ginger set. Traipsing blindly we miss the
dendroid of potential that encircles the universe. The vibrant
filigree left unnoticed, unrecognized while our steps bear us
across unknown terrain. We stumble and falter within
the shadows. We creep along, timidly reaching out for a
sky that awaits our soar, and maintains the winds of forever.

AROS / A River of Stones

He winks - sun beams
Dries her tears
Storm clouds pass

New Year of Writing

My only New Year’s resolution is to keep writing, and to keep moving forward. The days of stagnation are over. At the exciting age of 54, I must do or do not, there is no try—any longer.

I came across a terrific writing prompt on the blog Not Quite Enlightenment Chicago poet David Buddha-Hargarten of Waiting 4 the Bus. Apparently, he picked it up from Donna Vorreyer. The idea is to take a 10-12 word quote, or a 10-12 line poem, use the individual words of the quote or the first word of each line of poetry as the first word in your line of poetry. I thought it was a great way to start the New Year off writing. It’s a different way for me and I’ve found different to be good for creating—gives me an inspirational challenge.

A Facebook friend, Cassidy Webb of Webb Weaver always posts quotes from writers, so I decided to visit her page and pull a quote for the exercise. I came away with one from F. Scott Fitzgerald:

Draw your chair up close to the edge of the precipice and I'll tell you a story.

The following is my first attempt at the exercise and I will most likely do it again—maybe even later today.

Draw from the deck of
your dream cards the
chair of Queens or Kings
up on which to repose.
Close by the fantasy of life
to sup at the table, to sip
the nectar of eternity at the
precipice of time, where mind
and heart are one. Where
I’ll whisper of promises,
tell tales created to entice
you. Surrender your being to
stories written by souls freedom.

dk
2011