Posts tagged ‘Europe’

July 16, 2015

An Evening in a North Forest

Loam, marrow, stone, and humus—
where open groves of pine bent in sway,
stained-wood new growth,
a green tent setup
and stretched between.

We went tearing, hard traipsing,
gutting fish at a low fire glow
near an old truck.

A sharp knife’s prick in
a valley’s deep expanse—
words far off and then gone;

neighbors chattered, birds chirped,
and the wind whistled
where we breathed in,
adjusted focus, stretched, and pulled.

It was merely coming through,
it was a mere passing chance.

It was an evening in a north forest.

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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 9, 2015

Je suis Charlie too

As the city of Paris explodes
And art is labeled illegal,
The telly screen projects
Frantic media people.

***

Where did our sense of humor go?

December 29, 2014

Day Two: Dublin, Ireland.

Sitting here with a view of predawn Dublin;
Lights slowly flicker on,
A dark morning comes to fruition.

Stretching and yawning moans,-cold to chill the bones through,
And the others are asleep while I write to you.

Electrical outlets and jetlag at present,
As the global news dances on a set.

From this now local residence, everything must be accounted for in this list’s existence:
Not to miss a flipped switch, groceries, taxis, euros, and pubs, a lit doorway in the distance.

Sitting alone,
Taking it in.

Thoughts of warm tea, or coffee.

The cold in my throat looms as heavy as the cold in the room,
And the sun has not yet risen to melt it away.

I wait for Day Two in Dublin, a brand new day.

November 20, 2014

Mislabeled Morbid (For née LB)

We live in a land of the past,
Books and pages are ways of old.

We are pieces of historic quilts,
Coming loose at the fold.

Proper prints of precious paper,
We have worshiped, day in and day out.

Those ancients come back to haunt us,
Specters float free around old house.

Preposterous monster, behold you!
So green, so vile, so askew-

Distant memories my friend, you’ve passed,
Now we make frightful light of you.

BOO!

There is nothing so morbid as fearing those of the dead,
It’s with great anxiety we’ve weighted them in our head.

*
My father would agree,
He was agreeable.

November 18, 2014

American Episteme

An American,
Building “knowledge”;
In label, name, and degree-

Ink on these pages;

Changing the reflection I see,
Of me.

…Apparently…

July 12, 2014

downtown alive

the downtown life;
bike,
bus,
people;
this traffic.

concrete jungle summer,
new-comers and city lovers.

the space betwixt is a waiting room for action:
excitement for concern,
mini-skirts, excrement,
and trash abandoned.

business casual, with cash they flirt,
although beggars with signs ask first.

there is always art, music, and thought to sell.

waiting is the pedestrian,
some adventure sought:
tourist; look at the mess we’re in!
bus-stop theatre, a show free of cost.

completely and utterly lost,
sticking out like sore thumb,
mind numbed.

through structures which shoot into the heavens;
box shaped, corporate; of consequence.

hotter than hell,
clothes transforming to shells.

spells, smells, and potions.

beyond tables,
the chairs,
the patrons,
and buzzing busy waiters and waitresses.

past signs,
commotion-
emotion,
causing big eyes-

knowing,
coursing
breathing
bleeding;

witness,
downtown alive.

July 11, 2014

Storied Weather (South Ridge)

Familiar clouds
tell of South Ridge
and distant relatives;
revelations such as this
come hard to miss,
a loss of words.

These were once
interactions,
turned keys,
and crossed-out lists.

Rain drops tapping my head soaking my shoulders.

We drove there in the morning
to leave by afternoon.

Now, I stand here under
dark spinning skies
watching
waiting
and hoping for you.

July 9, 2014

Tattoo II

Dark outlines
on pretty flesh;
a meaningful, forever, sentiment- lined sketch.

For life, for death,
a canvass to test,
bold bright colors; judgment: pretense.

Now art, now unique, now taut puffed; hurt when pressed.

Self-inflicted wounds to heal,
paying for this pain,
stories etched on the surface;
memories remain.

Now, what do yours mean? …

Everyone is jumping off of that bridge,
So I packed a parachute and lit a smoke- see?