Breathless

in a world
where beings inhale
the stuff of life

I find myself breathless
where to breathe
this
stuff of life
consumes, confuses and constricts me

If I were a tree
no birds would rest
no squirrels would play
for the leaves are falling
and Spring has forsaken me

like any other day

Shadowy remembrances
four-leafed clovers
flies, wasps and ants

Sun in bloom
butterflies dancing
and the green painting

Human sounds
overpower Gaia’s song
with such ignorance

Today, like any other day
is full
of disappointing moments

a summer rain

Innocence in the moment
of
Change

Sudden it comes
Sudden it awakens innocence
Sudden it reveals

and within a whisper of time
the rain departs
leaving its scent of eternity

and our newness

~

My latest piece written on Typetrigger

We are such little things

A poem I wrote back in 2017 seems to be very much how things are today.

~

Could there be a time when kissing is outlawed
when tactile pleasures are banned
when the human race shall become
a non-contact sport

There are fears of contracting any one of these new found diseases
or even the old ones
which in our fragile make-up
our poor breaths of life
they breed

There is the virus carrying fruit bat
or the parasite carrying mosquito
and a whole number of little things to which we are oblivious
as we go about our daily grind
for the human body is under attack from the moment it is born
to the moment the little things win

We must continue to make love with life
we must continue

for we are such little things

Rainwater

With each step
we write our lives
with quills dipped in rainwater
for as soon as it is written
it fades under the glare of happiness
or is washed away by storms of solitude

The mere act of dipping
is enough to send ripples along to the roots of Gaia’s smile
where she drinks in the questions of us mortal masterpieces
for as soon as it is written
our souls, our spirits, our hearts and our minds become
lost in the frustrations of being unable to comprehend
the reasons why we are given such beauty
only for it to be washed away

The act of being kind to the rains as they fall
brings its own rewards
for when we write our lives
with quills of love
we shall be given
in return
the truth of how to live in the now moments
of how to flow over storm-crusted stepping stones of haste
and of how to write with rainwater
and know there are no answers except for those we create

When we write with rainwater
the sun shines
and the storms rage
as we breathe
know and feel
the beauty of existence

~

Another poem from before that seems to resonate with the way things are going nowadays.

From 2017 published in After the Rain.

When the dust settles

When the dust settles

We are born seeing the world as a solid place
with different surfaces: earth, air, water, fire and so forth.
All solid in their own way.

We go about our lives interacting with each surface
creating things using a mixture of these solids which includes ourselves.

Sometimes when there is a silence there comes a clarity
and the dust motes begin their slow dance of finality.

If you sit long enough with the air around you becoming still
you’ll come to see things in their natural states.

You’ll receive a heightened appreciation of your surroundings
and with your senses reborn you can watch as the dust settles
to reveal a blank canvas where everything permanent, solid,
has an ambient essence of life with a different atmosphere.

You’ll see.