Awakening

The rain in early spring falls slowly
And the newly budding
Life smells soft and vibrant

Grass is still shorn short
From late autumn chopping

Glistening faerie-buds
Dancing on blade tips precarious
Puddle-lakes looming below

Bare branches stark and lifeless
Barely resist the urge to sprout

The air is crisp but alive
With new beginnings

The soft-sharp breeze brushes
Hope for approaching warm-wonderful
As drain pipes sing dirges of the
Old world washed away

Spring stretches its yawn across the world
With breast breath-full and fingers outstretched

Slowly opening


Alive

I now subscribe
to that theory
on living first
introduced by Mr.
Gump

being
called by loved
ones and other
acquaintances

Forrest Gump

which states that
one’s experience
in life is that it
(life) frequently
resembles one’s
experience
in choosing
chocolates from an
assorted box
wherein one
is never quite
certain of the
exact kind of
chocolate he has
chosen until he
has already
committed to the
choice

Given this
and other
considerations
I must tell
you that I
am happy to
report my
continued
delight and
amazement with
having recently
reached into
this proverbial
box and
found



you

The slow curve of your back
Conforms to the bend
Of the mattress beneath you

Decrescendo down from your
Neck and shoulders
Sliding placid through the
Middle of your spine

Rising then, up to the soft
Curve of your bottom
Blossoming around
The perfect bend of
Smooth hips

The flat fluorescent lamp
Reflects off of your muted skin
Creating an oasis of light
Which splashes from your arm
To your waist, inviting

A majestic oak sitting in the
Middle of the field, the
Green waves in the wind
Rippled the long grass around it

The trunk was mighty and wide with
Tall arms of yellow, orange and red
Branches reaching high into the sky
Full fingers caressing the floating clouds

At its base the untouched mud and
Pebbles made happy homes
For creepy crawling creatures

I wondered at once what this tree
May have seen through years and years
Of standing in this field
The little sapling slowly reaching higher
Every day until that very day

Who may have stood in this very place
What battles may have raged around it
What love was made beneath it

But I dismissed the thought

Better that I didn’t know

Let it be what it is

A majestic oak, sitting in the
Middle of a green field

Black steel glistens as
Giant girded arms
Push and pull the
Massive wheels
Along the track

I am the engineer
With my small striped hat

I guide the machine along
It’s predetermined course
Stretching out for miles

And I see the track as it lay
Across the fields
Of wheat and barley
Bending in the gentle
Breeze I create in passing
I close my eyes knowing
The machine will pull us
Forward for wont of will

And beneath the lids
Of my eyes and deep
Into the recesses of my
Soul I see that as the
Track lays out for
Miles upon miles upon
Miles that somewhere
Deep inside as I glide
Along I am also
Out in front
Beyond where the
Eye can see

With my
Hammer