On this afternoon
Food is of essential;
As Essen is of -to eat
In German Language.
In an upscale neighborhood,
There is a truck what sits on blocks;
Stuck out as a sore thumb.
Hard to miss,
Even in thick morning fog.
Standing sepia in darkness
High on taut tied stacks;
Set out afternoon before,
Recycled paper compact.
An act of sheer convenience leveled,
What leisure for these thieves.
Owner’s shocked face contorted,
When they walk out to see.
Nothing quite changes the feeling of comfort
As a thief’s malignant and distasteful way.
Leaves or Snow,
Bring Wet or Cold.
Clouds rolling in,
Skies set to spin.
We come inside;
Fast we run and hide.
Pleading with the weather;
To make things better.
Words fall on deaf ears-
As it would appear.
With hot tea moving on,
X’d calendars check what is gone.
Oh! these brisk autumn days,
Set out to make our ways.
Til the rains change
To frosty breaths which pain.
Real is as real as the best fakery that could;
if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t work-
And by not working it’d prove no good.
When the fakest of fake, take the best from the most,
don’t sob in the shadows,
bask in the light,
and give them a toast!
If I were
Made in the likeness
Driving around town in a small truck
What is black and spots of rust
Casually burning off dewed steam
Cruising around amidst a day-dream
Remotely relaxed at assigned red stop
Cautiously avoiding few local cops
Riding through this quaint little town
One would hope to not get found
A village in rearview present
Life, time of reminiscence pleasant
Coming down for family and funerals
City opposed typical, simple, usual
Though it were anything out of the ordinary
One might even see something extraordinary
Appearance placeholder; -one’s perception
Holding wheel tight, releasing tension
Midwest-mild resulting in interpretation
Contemplate while we cross this situation.
We leave this life as flit of butterfly
When we endure beyond our purpose;
Aloof words come by which materialize,
We are left stoical, still, and wordless.
Drift wood lie on the ground bent
Fixed there in midday sun ease,
Exhausted on mind’s fickle intent
Hard resting, come at fast release
Visible footprints mark this stroll,
Paths we meet coming toward,
Gambling dice we take a roll
Wagering what value we can afford
Making way we wander ’round
Pleasantly procured- what sight we sought;
Relishing that which we have found,
Making play with thoughts wrought
Likewise we stand the surrounding wilderness we stare,
Taking inside us breath, becoming alive through fresh air.
I recall the smell of fish from the brown water
And white caps rising high—
Brown, dirty… undulating—
Ducks stood in speckled sands,
Trash mixed rock…
And a cloud passes overhead
Casting a new shadow;
Ducks waddle under the dock,
And below they quack.
And I see boats
Moving across the River,
And I see that water
Has been moving past.
Inspired by Frank Herbert’s Dune: (source: Unbroken Thread): One of Gurney Halleck’s Tone Poems for Sad Times
What we do,
shapes the lives
that we make.