Chasing the Wind

I am clutching at my foolishness

Dashing  the wind to the four corners.

A fruitless pursuit  to satisfy the efforts

The futility of possessions and aspirations required.

Only to bow to the successor

Who has gladly accepted my labors

History merely repeats

Circling the spheres.

Solomon in all his expressed royalty and glory

Looking down upon his hollow chocolate bunny

Should have listened to the whispered pursuits of wisdom.

Now clamoring at his doorstep.

As I hear the breezes bellowing at mine.

Recognition beyond belief

Tolerance weighs into acceptance

I humbly admit defeat

And vowing to myself

Not to tarry or belabor

The trodden path

Of four corners

Again.

"Better to have one handful with quietness,

Than two handfuls with hard work

And chasing the wind." Ecclesiastes 4:6

Through The Looking Glass

Life brings us detours, a burrowing through the soils and sands of time and memories.

If one could be Alice would they peer through, or avoid the dimension altogether?

If time were of the essence of yesterday being today, would we live our lives differently, or continue on the same mad rampage? 

The quest, the detours, the tunneling through....the questions...ahhh yes the questions still remain.

The future leery at best , would one laugh at the days to come?

Or would they wait in silent agony as another day thickens, the passing of the sunrise?

Why is it we fear the lurking in the midst, the shadows we don't see?

What have we to gain when we choose to abstain?

Another writing of the will, strong, weathered, not forgotten, the hands of time.

Click nearly half a century later. Click Click Click...

HOW CAN ONE MAKE IT STOP?

The withered hands of the clock.

TICK TOCK TICK TOCK!

Are the dark days behind us as we enter into the light?

Perhaps it was just a dream and we are just beginning.

The softening of jazz playing in the background.

Baking chocolate chip cookies.

Forfeit not loss if we shall choose to gain..

Remain be still and know that I am He.

He who will walk you through the dark tunnels.  The leery midsts.  The weary shadows.

Never shall I leave, never shall I forsake.

My hand will gently guide you and I shall remain.

All that ever was and all that will ever be.

I shall be He.

He who will hold your hand when it is weathering and shriveling in to the gust.

The silver glimmer dust will never leave.

It shall be a part of who you breathe, who you choose to remain to be. 

"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death....

Prancing about in the snow, not a care remains.

Learn when life's weary breath gets in the way.

Of who and whom you were meant to be. 

The sweet simplistic dance in the snow.  The silent covering of the pureness of essence.

Laughter and kind embraces.

Nary a word.  Your sunrise your sunset. Children at play. The serenity of dawn. 

Where is my rabbit? My guide?

Shall I wallow into a world of hallucinations and daydreams, or do I gently place my feet upon the soil?

The trodden soils.

Laced with tears and fears.

Doubts and hopes.

Challenges and triumphs. 

Burrowing through the tunnels.

The tunnels of time.

"Twas brillig and the slimy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe...

All mimsy were the borogroves and the mome raths outgrabe..."

(I'm feeling a bit like Alice today...so I reposted this...)

Lenten

The man with the psychedelic smears

and the tattered tears

in fragments of a robe,

I have come to pay him servitude

upon tranquility.

His word healing

my blood smattered hurts

nailed to the wall

and lying in pieces on the temple floor.

Tiny tiny pieces as they fall...

I am learning to fail

and fall

forward,

placing my blood-bought blows

upon his crown.

My foul apparitional image

distorts

and asserts itself

in reflected glass

unwilling

and unable

to see the prisms.

I climb the steps

toward Lenten.

One heartbeat closer

to the journey.

Vegas

Is it zumanity or humanity to explore the sensual libations

An indulgent paradise prying into the carnival of carnal pleasures?

High above the stratosphere

The strip will tease

With illusions and delusions of grandeur.

The slots will awaken and shed your temptations of inhibitions

Groveling in the innocence of lipstick smears and merging breasts.

Young women taught to put on the burlesque breath

A pilfering headdress upon succulent skewers

To taunter  in the smoke-filled pupils of desperation and lust

At the risk of the aging players hand.

Masques are masked in frolics of glistening chandeliers

While the crazy horse peeps upon the Paris Colosseum.

Crowds pressed in as butterflies flitting about

Looking for nowhere in particular but everywhere

Sweltering heat, children drag on, forced to face the immersion of platitude.

Minstrels on streets seeking to devour, to promulgate

Finding themselves aside the pillars of bridges

Hands placed strategically begging for mercy.

Here the baubled come to play

In smoke-filled cabarets

With sinister bunnies and doves flying into rafters.

While cabbies become junkies

Their dreams crumbling before them,

Foreclosures emerging highest in the nation.

What can be learned from this smattering of matters?

An oasis found in the land of drunkenness and excess

Each yearning to place that final penny

Searching for the land of plenty

Only to find it doesn't exist.

(This isn't my personal experience of Vegas...but I looked beyond my rose colored glasses.)

The Author's Voice April 2011

Greetings Fellow Bloggers,

I will be enjoying some solitude in the land of stimuli for the next few days.  The photo is a hint of where I'll be staying. (Wish me luck!) My brain has been a bit fried and hopefully the words will come back to me. I am celebrating a belated anniversary.  Therefore my blog will be quiet for the next few days.  I look forward to hearing from you upon my return. Blessings, wealth, prosperity and serenity!

Lorely

The Soils of Serendipity

It hurts to love

So much sacrifice

Wrapped up in brownies

With a glaring grin

Of cynicism

And farewell.

The thank yous

And how do you dos

Lost in art

Culture and celibacy

Realms passing by tomorrow

Manners and sweet nothings

Or good for nothings

One only knows...

Sentiment once again finding her way

Through the basements

Of soggy souls and winters

Baby blankets tossed aside

Amidst a flurry

Of  clutter and lint

Dust bunnies claiming

Overtaking

No more I scream

Enough of this fake alabaster

Bring back the cream

The gloss, the moss

Of sweet serenity and

Long forgotten Sundays!

Trails to explore

Amongst the burning rays

On glowing skin

Always a reminder

Of the inner beams.

The dropped legacy

Shall find its way

Even if it has to dig 

In the dry parched dirt,

Exposing the innards

Of the desiccated land.

Those days will be reclaimed
Siphoning moisture

Found in the bulbous nuggets

Cherishing  them to bloom.

William's Surrender

Plagued for many years.

A person who lives in his wallowed barred wall of regret

Remorse yet still waiting upon.

Loving him with a vengeance,

Laden with numbed trepidation and fear.

Hollowed and unwilling to read  or write between the lines.

The words speak-easy

Sealed with a shallow kiss, parlayed upon.

Self mutilation, destruction and waning.

Across a half century.

The infantile still wanting to be fed with formula or milk.

Pressing upon false hope

I seal the letter

Yearning into the wind

Please

This time

Let it be so

I put up the red flag

Against the wood

And I wait

Another yester year has passed

Maybe just maybe this time...

It  Will be different

I grieve a silent homage

For my brother. 

Paragon

The abhorred providential plan

A wayward son

Brute in manner of pariahs

This profligated fierce curse

Will find his way through

Sobering peril.

Mirroring the love of God

"O' Absalom, Absalom"

The father cries out!

The cheat and humiliation

Dying to human potential

And resurrecting

To spiritual strength.

Vulnerability.

Trials in batches and bundles

The bottom of the dry creek bed

Propagating  persisting  perseverance.

Unfinished frames

In the thin slices

The visages of beauty

Unproduced

Unpronounced

Yet to be awakened

With determination

And prosperity.

Natural inclination

Plunging into the

Vertical and lateral depths

Seeking the absolution

Behind the seeming encumbrance

Flexing the dormant muscles.

Finding the affluence

Partially amassed

Concealed

At the termination of the trail.