In the midst and turmoil of daily life where do we cross to find ourself?
A Bridge to Our Self Once Taken — a free verse poem
I came across a bridge and lingered before crossing
Stone and mosaic moss, it slept before me
Paths worn and tired, it tempted untold souls
Arched to perfection, its completeness concealed a blessed cruelty.
The stone bridge echoes of departure and arrival
It spans time like a mirror of thought
Reaching across from expectation and desire
It touches down in uncertainty, battles yet to be fought.
It urges us to abandon safety and…
How to know if the choice was right, a review when cuddling after 40 years.
The Disclaimer : I am not boasting the years I have accumulated, that is not my intent, I was fortunate and I recognize everyone has their own road to walk. I do not want to admonish anyone nor thump dictates into another, that would be pointless for no road is smooth and all paths have bumps which give the journey dimension.
The Location and Time : In bed at 4 A.M. thinking of what to write when I rolled to one side and found familiar…
Standing in No Man´s land, a charred post views our heroes.
The post stood alone, brittle, bereft of kindness, a peering eye.
Between the trenches it watched as man´s hubris sputtered by.
Raging courage, to quell the fears, it saw men blindly race to the fore,
Soon to be slaughtered with guts hanging in mud, terror turned inward with gore.
The post was merciless, strewn with wire, channelling a poisonous pain-filled parting,
At young men, with innocent loves tendered, who saw the light of life soon departing.
Posts, nought but wood, made a line, a christening, decorated with razor wire,
A mountain of struggles compounds daily in the lives of many and the struggles are not new. They may be different but the idea of enduring difficulty, in whatever form it manifests itself, has been around since Neanderthals first scavenged for food.
I wonder if, during a deluge on our primitive world, hundreds of thousands of years ago in some darkened hovel or cave, two early beings shared a desire for protection from the elements and a morsel of food, perhaps a hind of wild boar. Boars in those times were immense, and a hind was enough for eight, let…
How to find your future.
I cycle a lot. My road bike takes me over hundreds of kilometers every week through some staggeringly beautiful landscapes and some revolting commercial abominations, such is the view from the saddle. My mind often exemplifies the rotation of the pedals and like a hamster on a perpetual wheel, I am drawn to the same pursuit of mental anguish that has plagued me since I was able to reach out and grasp at that not within my immediate sphere.
I gazed at the road below, trying to find my future. Enraptured by the idea of…
A mental painting of peace in the morning, a short, free verse poem.
The stillness of the dawn speaks to me
My heart paints a picture
Emotions are colors on my palette.
What colors entice the expression of my spirit?
The early canvas of the day beckons to release its purity
Each morning this virgin innocence of the day stretches out to guide me,
Lures me, to step upon the purity of intention and venture forward
Two colors have I.
The hues of joy yearn to burst forth, to dance upon the unblemished landscape of hope
bursting with vibrance, imbued…
Pursued along the beach, the path of choice leapt toward me.
I was being followed. I was pursued by something I knew, and also knew not. I abruptly turned and stared at my pursuer. Was it to be my attacker, that which would crush, maim, or destroy me? So often that could be the case. This time it stared at me and I stared back. The challenge wafted in the air, crippling any possible forward motion. We stood poised like fencers about to lunge or parry. Torn in three directions, my breath hovered. …
Whether it is nobler in the mind or in the heart to seek help.
The famous phrase that Hamlet uttered has had a multitude of interpretations and applications as to its meaning, delivery, and intent. My discourse is far too pale to attempt to rival the understandings of greater minds and more learned souls on the intentions of the Bard. However, I wonder if, in the backwaters of Hamlet’s disturbed thinking and torpid actions, there lingered a greater fear.
The fear of asking for help. The inability to ask for support. …
When will the past no longer be used as validation for the future?
The little patch of medium I inhabit is once more ruffled and offended by that which I see as inflammatory and of little applicable relevance or even consequence, though its existence and necessity to be understood is unquestionable.
While reading yet another article on racism within America, a land I see as one using the vehicle of vile racial segmentation as a means to answer the woes of a poorly constructed society based on survivalist greed, I am plagued by angst toward the manner in which the…
Kamakura based writer, lover of Great Danes, vintage cars, good red wine, bonsai and the Bard