Monday, January 31, 2011

Slow-Motion Water Drop

Slow Motion Water-Drop

I feel sadness
like a slow motion water drop

Realization hits,
ripples out in all directions.

The blue sky casting mountains
across the rocking surface
cannot convince me
that death
is not
the only certainty.

At the far edges,
waves calm to tremors,
memory provides respite:

...Mountains loomed
in the clear
of a Colorado morning,
your voice
billowed white
into early air.

My heart,
like the stomp and stamp of hooves,
rocked the morning.

The boom of your voice,
broad reach of your shoulders
convinced me;

I am the bristling early bird
who gets the worm.

Now,
in the still
of a water drop falling
my heart aches
becomes aware....

Ripples,
once made,
go on forever.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Painted Rocks

Is it wrong that I want to paint tiny rocks
smoothed by wind and rain
into perfect, mini canvases?

What more useless way to spend my time
than turning something small
and perfectly good already
into a tiny turtle,
a bright green bug,
or a curled up garden snake?

Much better things have I to do
than sit for hours
till my hands and shoulders cramp
till light bleeds from blue to grey
and my no longer youthful eyes
strain on that fine detail
of the spotted markings
of a rattler

This pursuit is
utterly without purpose,
my skill not good enough to sell.
Once done,
with nothing grand to show,
I hide my creatures
in the damp earth of potted plants;
hidden gems
signifying a moment
I chose to do what I loved
for no earthly reason at all.