Now with the Ides of March gone
There lies only dead leaves
Dead fruit, dead doves
And Spring flowers.
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May 6, 2014—Only The Silent Can See—A Journal Excerpt
Tangled together in clustered chaos, rising from the soil.
No bark alike. No height specific. No two seeds the same.
Are we so different from the natural world, I ask?
Tangled together in clustered chaos, rising from the bed.
No skin alike. No gender specific. No two wombs the same.
Are they so different from us, I ask?
The answer cannot be sung. The answer cannot be heard. The answer cannot be praised.
The answer shows itself every so often, in between the tangled clustered chaos, where only the silent can see, where only the silent remain.
infinite visions.
This feeling hangs like ancient fog
over tree limbs lined by new day dawn
where single filed ants march on
the air is still as new born fawn.
His heart beats infinite visions.
broken leaves at sundown
broken leaves at sundown
set fire to the trees
drinking from the heavens
of nature’s crystal spring
yellow jacket bumbling
curious honey bees
as blades of grass we tango
bound for eternity
that lone bird this morning
My friend is back
that lone bird
this morning
he’s brought a friend
and wouldn’t you know
here I am
barely awake
and jealous of him
though not to spoil their party
I ear my headphones
stretch and bend
It’s got to be 60 degrees
and while I run
I think of them
happy among the trees.
The morning
I’ve missed you
said the morning
to the man
at the top of the hill.
I’m so sorry
said the man
to the rising sun.
Don’t be sorry, be present
said the wind.
We’ve missed you, that’s all
said the trees.
And we’re glad that you are here
said the sun.
Thank you
said the man
at the top of the hill.
Now go
said the morning
there’s so much more for you to see.
So the man began
his descent into the valley
this time
with only his shadow trailing behind.
rand0m th0ught #105
it’s not the socialites with expensive cars
that I envy, it’s the people who butter my toast
and their diligent nature, that like fall trees,
I can’t help but look at in awe
two sparrow
This morning, a sparrow
gnaws at my ear, his absence
is all that I see, while sunlight
casts shadows on tree limbs
I hear, nothing but sparrow clearly
while stillness, and calm
fly all through the air, impressions
a Renoir scene, two sparrow
take wing, like dancers I hear
them tip toe paint gracefully.
Words Of An Average White Male 