Imp-possible

Once, I was immortal.
Once, I daily leaped mighty chasms
And tall mountains.
I dug rivers and lakes.
Civilizations were born
And died
By my hands.
I was brother to deer and rabbits
(though the kind of brother you might avoid at all costs).
I was the mighty hunter of the forest,
A young demi-god in blue jeans,
Sweeping through the world,
Bending it to my whim,
Afraid of nothing
(except chickens and dogs and snakes).
Cloud catcher,
Sun dancer,
Explorer of a thousand stars.
I was brought low by a spell
(or as I learned to spell, six of one…it’s all about words).
First word:
Don’t
Then:
Can’t.
Finally my divinity was stripped away
On the day
I learned
To spell
Impossible.
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Empty sky song

On the porch at night,
Dark breeze blowing over me,
Singing softly to my self.
My song drifts out
Into the night,
Past and joining with the
Whispering leaves
And the
Songs of crickets and frogs.
My song drifts out
Into the sky,
Into the vast empty sky above,
Out into the stars.
Swallowed up in the infinite black.
I’ll keep singing
And maybe…
Maybe…
I can fill that sky up.

Mode of travel

Every breath is a step
On my long journey.
Every breath is a step.
Every step is a choice.
Dense fog covers the road.
I can’t see the what lies ahead
and only dimly remember the path behind.
I peer ahead
And see dim and half-formed wraiths
Twisting through the fog before me.
I strain to see the roots and holes to come,
Remembering the ones that caught my feet in the past.
I step hesitantly, arms held in front of me,
Eyes focused where I can’t see
And mind focused on too-well remembered stumbles from the path behind.
I must look like a half-blind madman
Shuffling and twitching along,
Afraid to step
and
Afraid to stay still.
“Fear is the mind-killer,
Fear is the little death”
To quote a better writer.

Every breath clears the fog around me.
My steps are actually covered in sunlight.
Where I am is very clear,
The path under my feet, firm and sure.
Were I looking where I am
Each tread would be easier.
I’m walking in a circle of sunlight that I never see
As I stumble and grope,
Panting in ragged breaths and
Peering in remembered fear into a fog I’ll never see through.
It’s exhausting…

Breathe in.
Take a step.
Stand up straight.
Take a step.
Lower the arms.
Take a step.
“Be still and know that I am the Lord.”
Take a step.
Look around.
Take a step.
Take a step.
Take a step.
Will I travel in sunlight,
Or grope through fog?
Take
A
Step.

Blue-shift

There is a Blue-shift in the air,
Mr. Doppler says something is coming.
I can feel it,
Like a tingling in my spirit.
A change.
A taste of ozone in the suddenly freshening wind.
It’s that time before the storm.
The world feels
In motion,
And still,
Waiting,
And Reckless,
Poised to leap, and
Already mid-pounce
If you catch my drift.
I’ve been waiting for this change
For a long while now.
I don’t know how it will play out,
If it will carry me up
Or throw me down.
After all,
Storms can blow your house down, or
Put out the wildfire raging straight for you.
Life is in the middle of the storm and peace is on the other side.
Either way,
I’m ready for this one.

Senescence

Senescence. Good word.  Senescence is what happens when a thing reaches biological maturity and slowly drifts into a physical decline. This time of year makes me think of it.  The leaves turn and fall, and the blue in the sky leaches into a gray slate.   I’m reaching a place of senescence in my life. It sounds a bit depressing but, truthfully, I find it to be a very restful thought. Leaves are most beautiful at two points in their lives, in the spring when they’re new, and in the autumn when they erupt in brilliant color.  I like to think that maybe my life is getting ready to erupt in brilliant color too.  I’ll trade a little physical capability for a little peace, a little wisdom, and a little perspective.  Summer heat can wear a body out.  I need the autumn to pull back a little and rest.  This is a time when the world becomes like a sepia toned picture.  Maybe that’s a metaphor that only holds meaning for me but it evokes…simplicity.  A thing to keep in mind is that the world finds a new autumn every year, followed by a winter and then, remarkably, by a spring.  I might be senescent but I’m also moving to a new spring.

Undirected Sensory Love Song

I see her smile
(her eyes crinkle so I know it’s a real smile)
And that’s all I need to see.
I hear her laugh
(the unplanned laugh of unexpected happiness)
And I know my purpose.
Her scent recollects
Spring mornings,
Summer days,
Autumn evenings,
And Winter nights.
Her hands are slender
(and fit in mine perfectly)
But strong.
And her lips…
Her lips taste like the ambrosia
That my Grandma makes at Christmas time.

Breathing

It’s time to take a breath.

I feel like I’m in the eye right now, right in the calm center, surrounded by walls of wind.  I also feel like I’ve been in a long, careful, slow motion dance, trying to stay where I am, but also stay out of the killing edge of the storm.  It’s a tiring thing, always having to anticipate and adjust and shift and change.  I actually like dancing. This dance, however, is to steps I don’t like and to music I didn’t choose.  Anticipation is no more than guessing, really,  and constantly adjusting means I’m rarely where I want to be and never going where I want to go.  Living at the mercy of the storm means I never get to follow the path I should be on.

I remember one of my teachers, years ago, teaching me to breathe.  Now obviously, he didn’t teach me to actually breathe.  He taught me to settle my mind. When things are hectic beyond hectic, I take a breath and focus on that breath. As I inhale I feel the breath fill me from edge to edge like a balloon. As I exhale, I settle.

The wind doesn’t stop.

I can’t control the wind.

I control me.

I focus.

I act rather than react.

I move rather than am moved.

That’s what I need to do.  I need to focus on the path, not the wind.  Then I can move.

Time to take a breath.