Biography 12/11/23
BIOGRAPHY 12/11/23
We have reached the time when there is no time
To entertain the audience with revelations:
Lightning bugs rise from the grass -
As dark ensnares us, the way is lost.
There is unsteadiness when stepping into boats
And giddy joy in the first soft serve of summer.
The heartbeat notes in the background
Stir and wake us when thoughts confuse the dream.
Time enough to ponder unimportant things with clarity:
The red dog cowering on the basement shelf—
Golden horse grass drying in the hot summer wind—
The speed of the escaping turtle from the hole you dug—
The imp of consciousness pulls splinters from the pile,
Reminding us not to forget:
The foundations we build on are not enough
To raise towering monuments to lives of small consequence:
Of what importance is your first recollection of carpeting
And the caress or slap of mother’s hand?
She said, “I don’t know how to,
Can you teach?” But I couldn’t either
And still cannot, though I’ve tried many times.
But I cannot deny the kiss, the kiss.
We rage within the sound, deny its music,
And end it with sudden violence.
Wind was all I heard, forlorn whispers
Pushed into and through me,
Recording moments with every gray shade
A slender pallet might hold.
Return what you took to where you found it,
Do not try to revisit the house that disappeared.
Because, with her short, sudden yelp, my childhood stopped:
I have a picture of that angel on a bare white wall.
We are clay, we are shaped, we dry, hold the form—
We bathe in fire to become ourselves... until we aren’t...
Storms then smooth the scribbled etchings...
Until we are rocks, rounded by wind, tumbled in sand,
Polished and smooth, reflecting the stars and moon,
Warming by day till the final sun forgets to go on.
Aging memories return - perhaps they can teach us something...anything. We forget what we thought was important and try to savor the lessons learned painfully. We wait for revelations to come after, and some do.
