Poetry Pages

that singing of the wind
where whispers rise into the horizon
echoed within the stratosphere
colors shatter in those prisms
thresholds into that summer solstice
adolescent passions
inspire reflections
connecting wherever
cherished
a moment in time

pathways that touch
within sacred winds
where in that journey
finds more than some can conceive
red canyons reach within spring fed mountains
where rainbows touch
within sunset colors
creeks run red from spring rain
polished sandstone lingers into
ancient spirits
where silent messages
reach within inscribed arches
undiscovered gulches
golden aspens
rise with oaks
showing mother nature
as she only can

caves echo
within the darkness
wherein that evocation
touches beyond that blindness
humid currents
lost within the breeze
and yet in the silence
beauty finds that voice
oblivious in the element

meowing below my window
insisting that he is yet to be fed
I'm just opening my eyes
for this morning
if I don't get up
he'll paw the door open
jump up on the bed
and take his paws
right in the middle of my chest
meowing
wake up
or curl up on the edge
and wait until I do
purring as loud as he can
his choice
but generally that's how
we start the mornings

autumn constellations
that reach beyond the moon
where comets dance
and distant stars glow
old gods traverse their path
yet some still revere them
from tales told when they mattered
these days ...
their myths seem ancient at best
and their relevance
to many
is a distant past

within those miracles
resides that mystery
abiding certain truths
that most take for granted
yet
in that wisdom
something tends to be lost
exactly what
some can't tell
but
some roads take one
into unexpected adventures
it's up to us
to make sense of it all

those fragmented thoughts that
rise within the context of time
where ideas rise and fall
within those moments
that sometimes shatter
or sometimes soar with the wind
never knowing whether
it will succeed or not
and yet that's the challenge
or the mystery
to see whether it can
one never knows what's around the corner
not what's ahead tomorrow
but sometimes it's worth the risk
to see beyond the chaos
or find more than the sands of logic
to find that path ahead
and keep reaching for the stars

remembering when youth touched my grace
pencils at hand
with paper creating
art as it is
dreams of somehow
finding my own place
in this unconventional world
where I didn't have a clue
of what was ahead
and then later trading drawing pictures
to creating my own poetry
forgetting that
one form of art
was as good as the other
and it didn't matter
as far as the format
my muse was let loose
it allowed me to show my creative side
although it took awhile
to realize it
and let what was inside
to be free
as far as the logic behind it
I didn't have any
I only wanted to create

that need for attention
even though
it's unwarranted
it's a public call
that's too loud
for anyone
to selfish
for most concern
and yet
some never can see it
even though
it's as plain
as the plaid orange shirt
that you THINK
is a fashion statement
of the day

to touch
upon the proverbial
moment
where chaos runs into truth
and is at best
an oxymoron
even though it will NEVER admit it
and why should it?
that memory knows it's own vanity
it claims and announces it
loudly and clearly
making sure
that it brings attention
to itself
even though
everyone knows
that it's the obnoxious clown
in the room

an old bridge with a dirt road
guiding down below
willows covering the bank
with a river
waiting to be fished
it's about six AM
not quite daylight yet
and I'm setting my gear out
tacklebox at hand
with two rods
a baitbox
and a foldout chair
to be comfortable in
I tie two hooks and a weight on
grab a nightcrawler for one hook
a piece of chicken liver on a treblehook for the other
cast it out to see what they are biting on
for the next pole I grab a scent bait for one hook
and a minnow for the other hook
no telling what they want
so I'm trying to be prepared
I cast the rod the opposite direction
so it isn't tangled with the first rod
and I sit down in anticipation
ready for the fish to cooperate
maybe they will
maybe they won't
but any day fishing is better
than sitting home working

southwest canyons
rising into the sunset
where red sandstone
towers into ancient arches
hear the cries
of those who walked before
waterfalls from creeks and streams
that trickle on
cactus blooms that paint the scenery
whispers of spirits
that laugh in the distance
spring pools that gather to quench a thirst
trails that whitetail follow
where if one looks
maybe a buck shows his antlers
secret paths
one has yet to discover
that birthright that touches within the heart

those backward directions
where if one can't read the sun
one gets lost
why?
maybe they can't see the horizon
to gain the direction that they are coming from or to
so the confusion bites them in the butt
been there
played that game
and won a medal for it
hasn't everyone at one time or another?
just another point of experience
that one learns
in the game we call life

old memories withstanding
sitting under an old cottonwood
beside the bridge
top of the park
with a couple of people
with cane poles
drowning worms or
using homemade doughtbait
trying to land a catfish or two
it's about 5:30 in the afternoon
where I was fishing farther up the creek
with no luck at hand
I ask them if I can join them
they reply...
sure, throw a line
I set my tacklebox down
grab a nightcrawler out of my baitbox
put the worm on the hook
and cast out on the opposite direction
so I don't tangle their line
about the time I get my line cast
they hook a carp
about 3 lbs
another Texas summer day
growing up

finding an overhang bank for the river
at the same time
looking at the currant to see where the channel runs
once that's done
I set my fishing gear for the night
then I gather firewood for a campfire
it's an old trick I learned from my grandfather
the light draws in the baitfish
to get the bigger fish hungry
I set up the campfire and get it going
then set up the rods
to catch a catfish or two
you never know
all one can do is try
another summer night for catfishing
maybe if I'm lucky
tonight I'll have a full moon
and in the morning a stringer full of fish