Posts tagged ‘love’

January 29, 2015

Winter Biking

While biking thru the winter months, in bitter cold and snow;
There is no excuse or reprieve, just cause to go.

January 25, 2015

Naive

Fickle love’s passing fate,
Seen a wretched cold world;
Sweet birdsong of the wind,
And a blouse lay unfurled.

January 22, 2015

On a Street in the Metro

The remnants of this weather on the ground;
Chemicals on a slick, snow plow.

January 21, 2015

The Reality of Free Writing

One hour of purposeful free writing
Had turned to my life portioned in words.
After a second read I knew it was shit,
Moments later the rhyme was absurd.

January 19, 2015

The Meaning of Happenings

Things just work out
In acutely unique states-
All around the world,
In many different ways.

January 17, 2015

Reentry Plan (Leaving Ireland)

Double-Decker Buses, Outlet Adapters,
Dirty Seagulls and Elegant Flats;
European Cafés, Dublin City, -Ireland,
So much to pack and bring back.

January 14, 2015

En Route to Belfast

Sheep and bus drivers,
The left side of the road;
Minutes from Belfast,
Center to North we go.

January 11, 2015

A Sunday Walk through Dublin

On the streets of Dublin razor-wire hangs from fences.
Seagulls and Magpies dive in headwinds, this sentiment.
From a far off land noting the usual; on the corner is a café,
In the streets are double-decker buses, along the River Liffey
The needy sit, cups in hand, shaking; while padlocks affix
Bridges dressed in rust, only to express an undying love.
On a normal walk on a normal day, thousands of miles from
Home, just on my way – away. I walk to the store for toiletries
And a view. I find a thrift shop and enter to the land of Oz.
Across the street is Religion; with a paper in hand I watch those
Exit from the church, off of their pews, they walk through
The traffic stepping to, righteous, holy, and unamused.

January 8, 2015

Ephemera on the Walls of Time (prose)

And the gravity was of another land,
another culture, another time.

Things we brought with: our past.
Things we can’t keep: anything.

Taking and giving chips at a time,
plumes of dust,
or sand in an hourglass.

Being ground down to smooth,
to thin, the purpose to prove,
with time; there is nothing taken
that is not given back.

These are facts.

Sitting at a table where once other
elbows rested, where once other thoughts
stirred, once out a window bright sun blur,
these buildings still once stood, as
they do now- and again.

Somehow, someway, here now today,
but can I take this away?

No.

It is right here, right now. That’s all.

January 6, 2015

Leaving Inishmore

Waking early in a clouded dawn to board a bus,
This bus takes us through the dark to a dock.
One warm ferry waits in stirring waters below,
It’s held there fast by thick ropes in tight knots.

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