Hallway to Nowhere

  • The Season Turns Without Regard(Poem)

    a leaf always upon the wind

    its color the element of fire

    yellow flame red flame brown-smoldered ash

    some spark sets all alight

    blown by forces uncontrolled

    we stand bewildered as the brick walls collapse

    while the match drops from our careless hand

  • The Revelation of Rainfall (Poem)

    rain carries sorrow hope joy despair

    each drop a tear for all you cannot express

    growth and destruction entwined within

    mirrored strands of the same process

    germinating seedlings given enough

    villages in a floodplain washed away

    each vital somewhere to someone

    stand with open heart and dare

    to be drenched in what water brings

  • The First Swallowtail of Summer (Poem)

    and it was dying on the sidewalk

    one delicate wing’s edge half-missing

    the black border jagged as if chewed

    the bright yellow interior poised

    as if to spill color onto the pavement

    in one last flutter before utter stillness

    such brief resplendence needing witness

    there on the sidewalk in silent recognition

    then off into the seasonal turn

    steps echoing on the cusp

    and summer was dying as well

  • Back Streets (Poem)

    done with the weariness of it all

    overbearing traffic, busy shops

    too many cars and the heaviness of trucks

    no longer trying to contain chaos

    within their narrow lanes

    resting in time’s change

    home now to mundane businesses

    and the occasional solitary walker

    who finds solace in abandoned dreams

  • When We Sleep Fitfully

    lost in dreams

    bridges lose their moorings

    chitter through barren scapes

    manufactored arthropods seeking

    their remembered Paleozoic glory

    roads untether from the earth

    slither over desolate terrain

    hardened serpentes with hidden fangs

    their venom’s effect unknown

    if you awaken to glimpse

    this inexorable journey in the dark

    close your eyes and turn away

    let it rest among the debris

    on the floor of your night

  • There Was No Child (Poem)

    only a shadow cast upon the wall

    faint shoe prints on the stairs

    a smear from fingers upon the jar

    laughter from games that never happened

    the scent of dinners never cooked

    warmth from arms never clasped

    but in the window glimpses remain forever

    of that constant playful grin

  • Great Relief (Not A Poem)

    I keep reminding myself that there’s no need to say everything I think. Indeed, I do best to say very little, because most of what I think turns out to be incomplete, incorrect, and often rubbish.

    Here are some danger signals I look for:

    Anything that has the term “you people” is not fit to be heard and is useful only insofar as it points back at myself. Time to revisit my own biases and also the 37 practices. Anything that sets me up as expert is immediately suspect and needs to be quashed. The depths of my ignorance are more and more apparent to me, and I know very little indeed. None of what I think is truly original. Every thought exists built upon other thoughts, and the whole ediface is shakier in coherence than a tower of cards. So why bother with sentences like “I think…” unless someone first asks?

    Anything that arises from negative emotions, esp those in the anger realm. Before I speak from annoyance, anger, or even outrage, check first the source, the intent, and the probable outcome. The first is usually not what it appears initially, and as before, circles back to me and my attachments, aversions, or confusion. Similar case to be made for intent. As far as outcome, safe to say that invariably differs from what I imagine.

    Here are questions I ask before rushing in and allowing words to rush out:

    Is this necessary? Is this wanted? Is this valuable to the listener(s)? Most importantly, is this kind? (Not “nice,” which is a different attitude, and one with which I don’t truck.)

    I will revisit this page often. If you read this-and truly, there’s no reason anyone should-if you have any suggestions to add, please do. I’m an old judgmental bit of livestock but I can learn

  • Can You? (Poem)

    ask for words

    for script

    pour this into a cup

    drink slowly

    let meaning slip into the heart

    then

    scrape letters from the dregs

    eat them one by one

    bitter and sweet

    tasting of wisdom

    tasting of tea

  • Bigger Windows, Different Trees (Poem)

    hours watching the sky

    light that changes every second

    summer weave of branches

    textured movement of clouds

    illusory drive of time

    underlying these fluctuations a stillness

    the pause within the flicker of a leaf

    the infinite moment between exhale and inhale

    the ever-present calm of the gap

    no one that sees, nothing to be seen

    only seeing

  • The Dead Whom We Honor (Poem)

    those who came before us

    whoever we are, whoever they be

    do they mourn the current destruction

    or rejoice in the smaller joys

    do they care, the ancestors, the revered ones

    the sainted and the destroyers

    they who change roles depending on view

    will the little happinesses that anchor our lives be enough

    and if we call out in desperation

    these having ceased to hold, will they answer

    all their wrath, all their wisdom

    what becomes of them unheard

    the forgotten gods and the abandoned elders

    now crumbled remnants in the dirt