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The Words That Could Be There

(Pictures I took on various trips I have made through time itself 

 Although at the time, I had no words for what I saw, though

What I saw had words for me in a language I barely knew.)

Sometimes in life, a lone flower is all it takes

To splash cheer in our dusty throats, to point

To that which is magnificent, to recognizeThat sometimes you don’t want to be picked.

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The deep cuts we feel 

May hurt, but see the beauty

 From time and weather.

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Even those in the shadows

Have a purpose, providing support,Contrast, depth

For those in the warm castled spotlight.

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Who watches who?

Gripping the bars of life

 For all we have, In order 

(and order is crucial)

To steady ourselves.

That’s fine,

 But make sure

You look around.Someone’s watching 

 And there are thingsThat demand to be seen.

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A spindle, dead and climbling towards heaven

At the edge of its comfort zone.What’s its story?

Is there rhyme and reason to two of them?

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Being blue is for the birds. Even the bald eagle.

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Gnarled nerves uprooted

Tangled pattern of growth exposing

The past that once was, exposing

What is no longer here.Or is the essential tree remaining?

Does it not still provide life?

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The ages creep to the inlet

Their protracted journey not seen by the human eye

Until it lurches forward, in a blink,Unable to stand, much less walk, only float

Like a dead man, silent in the still waters.

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Out of nothing,Something.

Which is nothing if not 

 Anything That mind imagines it to be.

Which is, at least,One thing,

 But not, no, not The only thing.

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Don’t tell me the heavens won’t descend on us

In some coming apocalypse,

Closing the viewTo all but the angels

Who ride dark cloudsTo perch where we no longer live,

Where we no longer 

Raise toasts to what we did, eat,Or mate.

White acne’d mountains only hide the approach

That is whispered on the air Currents full of reproach

To the gray beauty brought alongAs a giant’s madness.

Yeat’s slouch is caught between the saddle

Of stones that no longer sleepBut cradle the future

We sometimes fear.

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We nestle against the mountains

Which stand against time and weather 

Testimony given to rising days and sinking nights.

The eternal golden sunset of a summer dayRides the whispered cloud wisps in front

Of the sheltering peak.

It is a divine touch

In a divine landWhere I have been given

The midnight sun

That always sings

In my soul.

I should climb a treeThe better to watch and sing.

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The rush to the sea

Smoothes all barriers along,

Finds happy watchers

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(Shhhh! King Kong lives here.)

 

As we go forward,

Do we approach the end of it all?

Or does the endWith soft padded feet, hidden movement and whispered threat,

Come for us?

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Light fingers into the crevices

Small and largeIce and rock 

Blue and green.

Frozen and liquidWhere shadows hide in fragile time.

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Laying around just rocks! But nowhere can we go, it seems, without eyes watching.

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The white ribbon slashes

Against the grain of graniteTrees manage to stay out of harm.

Watching

The spill slipping over the topSlowly fanning to a wider base.

“X” marks the spotThe very center 

The treasure heart

Of it all.

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Thankfully we have had guardians

To watch over us

.

In the middle of it all, even today

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Progress tilts.

We go forward

But sometimesTo the side

Just a little

The latticed steelThe nerves Required

It’s all required

To get to thereFrom

here.

Getting there

Is important.

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Though we might despair 

At what tumbles over in life

Through the mist of tearsWe might see a rainbow

Given enough time

And sun.

The end of one plateau

Is the beginning of another roving river.

SoGo where those in wooden barrels

Have never feared

To tumble.

Just cross your fingers for luck 

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The end is often the best part

The last seen evidence of the beast

Returning to its depths,Our minds thrilling to see the place where

“ Here there be monsters”

AlthoughWho has turned out to be

The monsters

When all is said and done?

 Never mind that.

Just snap the picture

For god’s sake!

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