Every now and again
Quite often, to be honest
It’s important to just stop
Interrupt the flow
Of negativity
And touch Earth
Literally and figuratively
Grounding
Being grounded
Is of itself no map for the lost
But if my feet aren’t on the ground
Then no map can guide me
Nor can I find my way
Such delight
It seems
The artist took
With godly visage
And none too small
The chisel hammered
With whimsical caprice
A fitting ode to Gods
Whose whims become
The stuff of legends told
Gentle lines
In weathered stone
A beauty marked
By time
Patinaed, etched
Distressed
By life and the elements
Beautiful all the more
I knew the wolf
To be a wolf
But in the forest
He was kind to me
So did not think
To give a shout
Let Grandma know
Wolf was about
April fool, tis me
No fool
The Woodsman, he
Fortunately
Or for dessert
Wolf would have had
Me
Cropped and framed
Colour corrected and edited
Burnished and patinaed
To make a picture
That tells the story
I wish to remember
Words arranged in verse
Form a matrix of possibility
An author’s intentions
A reader’s interpretations
Layers deep
Miles wide
All this also present
In a single word such as
Aum
Love
God
Beauty
Perfection
Each a poem with all the
Subtle renderings and possibilities of
AngelouÂ
Frost
Dickinson
Shakespeare
Plath
The final meaning rests solely
And rightfully with the reader
A light which burned
For ten short years
Burned thrice as bright
And yet…
unseen
Like beacons in
The darkened sky
Which lived and died
Aeons ago
But whose light
Has reached us
…Only now
Though in that beam
Cast by hands and heart
Long gone
My spirits rise
I find again
…Delight
In starry starry night
But there are times
Places
To not mind being
Lost
The walls seemed sculpted
Textured
With saturated tones of
Warmth
And so I walked
Aimless
Lost in the beauty of the
Walls
Until suddenly I was
Outside
Safe, yet wanting to go
Back
Sometimes it is
OK
To lose my
Self
Pix to Words 