Life in Meter and Rhyme,

Unless you agree with "Forrest Gump" that Life should be like a box of chocolates where you have no hint of what's inside, I would like to borrow from the art of the Chocolatiers and give a suggestion of the flavor by the colorization and the patter of the swirls, if thee care to indulge me?

“ Icicles as Art, and Other Intimate Insights Into the Inland Empire “

I look at the natural sculpture

created by Nature at her leisure

and I am seized with awe

as I was by the cold as I stepped

out of the warmth of my apartment for

the chill area embracing

my City, my State, my state of mind,

my Nation.

If Spring is capricious with her warmth

so too is Winter with her gifts of snow;

a solitude as illusive as moods,

Mending souls and healing hearts

by silencing the clamour of growth,

illustrating the transition between

random, demanding movement

for the slow drip of winter

down a solid sphere.

Moment by moment,

drip by drip, and I am

seized with cold and awe.

♥

" La Nina, and Other Intimate Insights into the Indland Empire "

The clouds are definably white as they stretch horizontally against

the distant blue horizontal line of mountains

the Sky stretched overhead as deeply defined by their white contrails

as thin as pun candy speared vertically away from the rounded tops of the blue hills

as they rest on cushioned layers of wet clouds escaping the pull of the wind

that would disperse them across the waiting blue sphere of sky.

" Rain on My Window, and Other Intimiate Insights Into the Inland Empire "

The trees shiver and seem to swell

with the returned flow of sap

the returned rhythm of life

the warming earth

drawing up sap along veins

empty with their winter's sleep.

If Thee sit quiet for long enough

you'll heard Mother Nature

seeking reassurance from

Father Time.

♥

" Reflections on Winter From the Fourth Floor Window

and Other Intimate Insights into the Inland Empire "

A Poetric Invesigation into the Inland Empire

La Nina brings changes foreshadowing the world our children will know

accepting what they find as the way things have always been and always will be.

It makes me wonder about the 'world' I took for granted when I was younger,

the people and the traditions I was discovering for my own for the first time,

yet La Nina, in concert with the earth below must have danced her stately rhythm

while dinasours grazed or molten lava oozed and God and His angels

were the only ones to watch.

♥

" Creator and the Created "

100 Free Verse Poems celebrating life

In the Heart of the...Ocean

There is movement and depth in the heart of the ocean

With as much above as below but suspended,

held, in place against movement, which activity only

briefly

disrupts,

Resumes,

without conscious thought yet shaping consciousness

of the depths above and below thee.

As haunting as the cry of an Orca pulsing through

the form which suspends it, in repudiation of its solitary

existence, a shape unlike the others darting around it,

Waiting expectantly for the answer from a heartbeat it can not hear

or feel, but knows is beating out there, and listening,

to the cry

Of the first soul, the returned soul, united

as the sobbing echo dies

Folded away as a lasting memory by the ears which hear it go

As the ears which heard the reply

and the massive shape in the pellucid depths

Who questioned but no longer doubts…

Moving toward the beat of the greater heart.

♥

In the Heart of the... Stone

a pulse beats in keeping with the Universe’ rhythm

quartz accuracy locked within the titian bowels of a second

as it passes patiently from this one to the next in failed anticipation

of respite

for the promise of the catalysis which buried it to return

and shine the sun’s ultraviolet hues through it again

and allow it to sing

in keeping with the perfect pitch of the Universe’ rhythm

the roar of dinosaurs, the thundering lizards of yore

who lived and breathed and bred and wept blood

shed tears to wash the face of the rigid crystalline forms keeping

quartz accuracy locked within the titian bowels of a second

as it passes patiently from this one to the next in failed anticipation

of respite

for the promise of the catalysis which buried it to return

To allow it to sing

in keeping with the perfect pitch of the Universe’ rhythm

the song which once lulled monster babies to private dreams.

a pulse beats in keeping with the Universe’ rhythm

quartz accuracy locked within the titan bowels of a second

as a breeze moves across the barren landscape

now a sea, now a marsh, now new stone

laid on stone

quartz accuracy locked within the titian bowels of a second

as it passes patiently from this one to the next in failed anticipation

of respite.

The cry of a hunter, the silence of his pray

across a landscape assumed to be naturally indigenous and immobile

while below - unguessed -

a pulse beats in keeping with the Universe’ rhythm

quartz accuracy locked within the titian bowels of a second

as it passes patiently from this one to the next in failed anticipation

of respite

for the promise of the catalysis which buried it to return

and shine the sun’s ultraviolet hues through it again

and allow it to sing

in keeping with the perfect pitch of the Universe’ rhythm.

♥

In the Heart of the... Storm

There is an absence of form within the movement of the storm
yet form is a product of function even when unintentional.
posing en edge to the whirl of complexity and perplexity
organic and changing quicker than the mind can comprehend
infinite and varied yet limited to the capacity for change
organic, fresh, fixed, fused with purpose
meaningless, chaotic, form defined
by what it is at that instant in the heart of the storm.

Indescribable, indefinable, changes mix with the inviolate
clashing, will opposing will, both determined to succeed
at any cost, the resulting confusion embroiled
with uncertainty yet linked to a cosmic recognition
that matter must change and design is merely an outside
imposition on the desire for flux and change
The absence of form within the movement of the storm
yet form that is a product of function, even when unintentional.

the core at the heart of the storm is imperturbable
impenetrable, impossible, immobile-locked within the whirl and clatter
and change and demands and chaos for change sake-
infinite and varied yet limited to the capacity for change
organic, fresh, fixed, fused with purpose
meaningless, chaotic, form defined
by what it is at that instant in the heart of the storm.
posing en edge to the whirl of complexity and perplexity
organic and changing quicker than the mind can comprehend
by what it is at that instant in the heart of the storm.
.

♥

In the Heart of the... Fire

There is movement and depth in the heart of the fire

suspended, held in place, against movement,

which activity only stirs

briefly

disrupts

resuming

without conscious thought yet shaping consciousness

of the depths above and below thee.

Heat, movement in the depths

pulsing, confined but defiantly arrogant toward constraint,

flaunting its sphere of mobility

its sphere of influence

within the conflagration

briefly

disrupts

resuming

without conscious thought yet shaping consciousness

of the depths above and below thee.

molten core, restlessly, conspicuous consumption

consummation, desolation, loss

mass given to energy, energy dissipated

giving warmth and movement

briefly

disrupts

resuming

without conscious thought yet shaping consciousness

of the depths above and below thee,

but wondrously compelling to watch

the storm and vivid display illuminated

within the heart of the flame.

Site hosting by Web.com