Could be a song from the 60s.
A wild and chaotic cluster of color,
purples and greens and splashes of yellow.
oh, the colors
Tag: prose
Martin Luther King Jr … Justice and Riteousness
Alabama 1955
the nature of january
the nature of january is cold, raw,
it’s bottoming out,
the point of nothingness,
dare we say hopeless,
when there’s nothing left to hold onto but the skeletal remains of what’s eating away at us.
quiet
Quiet.
For the parts of us that are out of sync.
For the parts of us that want to sleep. Sleep deep, and out from the grab of reality. Sleep as long as it takes for acceptance to numb perceptions.
I guess the silent hibernation of a hard cold winter will be here soon enough, but there is a glimpse, a blink, a desperate longing, for something quiet to hold onto.
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etikser
winter shines watery
winter shines watery,
clear,
like a looking glass,
but not quite,
like looking outside,
through one of those old,
very old,
glass window panes,
everything looking glazy,
just a bit off,
swirly and wavy.
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etikser
way up high
way up high
where the north winds blow
there’s a song that calls
and soothes my ragged soul
way up high
where the north winds blow
there’s a tune that winks
a rustle that sighs
there’s a hum that waves and smiles
and calms my ragged soul
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etikser
antonym
a day of puddles
when jeans feel too fancy
when rain-drenched leathery oak leaves drip
lifeless
and thick saturated clouds oppress
photographed 11/25/19
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etikser
and the moon rose
“and the moon rose over an open field”– Simon and Garfunkel –
sometimes the line of a song plays
over and over
for years and years
inside your head
maybe ’cause it paints a picture for you
inside your head
sometimes the best pictures you have in life
are the ones that you see
inside your head
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etikser
the sounds
I stop and look around,
and think how I can convey the sounds I’m hearing.
Well, I can’t. But I can try telling you.
There are always bird sounds.
Usually, the sweet tweeting bird sounds you’re probably imagining right now.
Sometimes, though, blue jays or crows battle each other, or warn off intruders
with loud kaw-kaw-kawing.
The other sound is running water.
Not rushing water, but a trickle.
The gentle, trickling sound of a barely moving stream.
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etikser
the time of the season
Last night I looked up in the sky, and saw a tiny light flicker, like a firefly, way too late for the party.
I waited….
….for another flicker.
Nothing.
So I moved my head this way and that, and stretched my neck to see more of the sky. Suddenly there were many tiny lights.
Ahh, stars of course, playing hide n’ seek with what’s left on the tall trees outside my window.
In July, August…you wouldn’t see stars in that part of the sky. You’d see the dark shadow of leaves. But we’re moving fast towards winter.
Cold nights. Leafless trees.
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etikser 