Journeys
Individual beginnings
are often small and
seemingly insignificant –
the embodiment of hopes
the realization of dreams
summarily entrusted
with the future
regardless of personal
consent or preference …
we are delivered – complete
with the crushing
expectations of others
enforced by the weight
of ancestral history.
Lives imperceptibly
become unique
honed through
an endless succession
of triumphs, defeats
and sporadic epiphanies
culled from all
the tedious explorations
regarding what defines
who we truly are
versus the designs of those
ignorant of or uninterested in
our chosen needs fueled
by our consecrated desires.
All the plans
secretly dreamt
the loves and hates
silently remembered
only to be forgotten later
the laughter and tears
shared or kept to ourselves
weave through life’s fabric
totally devoid of any
apparent schedule –
only the promise
of ample time to do
what we do best –
to wonder
Autumnal
Fall crept in
unnoticed
its melancholic
sigh echoed in
the worried trees
alerting them
the time had come
to toast their
blithe and airy
summer hues
to the crisp
yellow, brown
and russet shades
that herald
the somber
season of broken
promises and
unfulfilled
dreams
as the world readies
itself to become
frigid once more.
For Karl
He relished giving
us the history
of how Eliot
was already famous
the year I was born
as he took us along
with him through
the foggy cobwebs
of Michelangelo’s rooms
with all the surety
a teacher can muster –
introducing himself
as a lesser poet
who effortlessly
showed me how to
breathe in droplets
instead of tides –
with babies’ breaths
rather than hurricanes –
gently,
the way life flows –
quietly ticking away
on mute wrists
unnoticed and unquestioned
‘til later
when all our
urgent notions
float downstream –
leaping recklessly
from oceans of need
into burning
deserts of desire
to hasten
the arrival
of new creations.