Ink in the Blood Posts

Dewdrops

there is

a hand

we’re given

not talking cards

or the hands to hold ‘em

this hand

is about time

the ticking hand

of time

that quietly ticks on watches

louder on clocks

it ticks past the 1

past the 2

past the 3

past the 4

past the 5

past the 6

past the 7

past the 8

past the 9

past the 10

past the 11

past the 12

into the afternoon

into the night

into the morning

one single solitary second

ticks to the next

single solitary second

and even if all the clocks

all around the world stopped ticking

on wrists and walls

time would continue turning

the internal clock keeps ticking

so silent

so hushed

we forget

in the rushing

to get there

that we are turning

continually turning

round and round

changing form

becoming more

becoming less

balancing the scale

in the stillness

of a second

one solitary second

we can find

what we seek

in any moment

of any day

of any week

of any month

of any year

it’s there

in the smallness

of a single second

it’s there

like a drop

of dew

on a blade of grass

that shone like a diamond

in the sea

sparkling

against the velvet

of the night

TL

“A Wink and a Smile”

at the top

of the tree

the star

is lit

and does

not

blink

at all

but does

I’ve caught it

winking

as if to say

hello

and then it

stops

for days

and weeks

on end

it sits there

staring out

and watches me

move about

deep in thought

it jolts me back

like yesterday

when it blinked

and blinked and blinked

on and off

on and off

on and off

to get my attention

then stopped

and stared

back at me

TL

Tulle

the ruffle of the waves

the longest train

of dress

could I walk

forever

in it

TL

Connected

a flock of yellow

leaves

just flew across

my window

wonder where they’ll land

maybe one will wind up

in small hands

and they’ll know just what to do

adults tend to step on leaves

or sweep them away

like trash

children are different

they pick them up

and make them new again

and twirl them in the air

and take them home

to keep forever

traced on paper

and shaded

in color

the veins of a leaf

uncovered

like the roots of a tree

that slowly grew

up

TL

Thoughts

and everything

that was

was no more

this is hard

for the thinker

to accept

things need to make sense

death does not

make sense

to appear

one day

only to disappear

another

to love

and feel everything

then nothing

to love someone

you can’t bear to leave

or ever live without

but you have no choice

in it

what agony is this

to leave

and be left

mere mortals

live knowing

their ending

is tied to their beginning

there is a returning

a pause

and we fill up our time

with everything

and anything

to avoid

this knowing

what thinkers know

but could not

and cannot

comprehend

as those before

those here

and those after

could not

cannot

and will not

comprehend

we connect

through time

in our thoughts

in being

as we are

sleeping then

is a gift

given

how else then

could we bear

it

for in slumber

deep beyond

we can forget

for a while

what in waking

we cannot

TL

Spring

and

then

after all

you wind up

in a music box

closed

or in some mill

of wind

wandering

or in a dibber of dirt

where seeds go

not to die

but to live

TL

Imprint

walking

down the path

the crunch of snow

the feeling of forever

frozen

like a deer in the distance

 watching

already the icicles are dripping

and it is green again

the first flowers open up

a butterfly appears

and reappears

baby birds high in the tree

waiting

the seed low in the ground

growing wild hair

in a garden square

there are no lines

a bridge over water

lily pads and swans

buzzing bees and chirping crickets

ants and gnats, flies and fleas

ticks

the oceans are warming

sand is turning

it’s busy on the street

under the shade of a tree

time slows

the leaves are yellow

like the moon

a restless rustle in the wind

side-step the puddle

up the way

there’s a little bird standing in the sunlight

its small head raised

still as a statue

like a prayer

then it feels my stare

in a glance

gone

TL

Lost

there’s a

gray kitten

in a concrete cave

starving

there’s a chicken joint

across the street

a grocery store to the right

a bank to the left

but money’s no use

this creature is a casualty

of circumstance

fear of the unknown

keeps it frozen

it drinks the rain

and watches wheels go by

were it grown

it could hunt

somehow survive

there’ll be Christmas music

playing soon

on every street corner in town

high above

the concrete cave

where wheels go by

TL

For Grace

if you

continually destroy

the innocence

of a child

you know not

what you do

the trauma turns

the child

into an adult

immediately

an adult incapable

of trust

like a stray

out on the street

that runs away

when you try to call it

and give it some food

and water

a safe place

it just keeps running

into blackness

far from the love

it never knew

were it not for

grace

TL

True

rich or poor

old or young

throughout history

in times of war

in times of peace

in every country

the edge of the sea

the cliff

from the prairies

to the palace

tiny towns

big cities

remote villages

in the middle of nowhere

on a trail

looking up

at the stars

down at the dirt

all of us search

and some of us

find it

and some of us

just don’t

some settle

or give up

or have no idea

it can even exist

like that

it’s different for each

of us

so many songs bleed

so many books tell

so many movies feel

and a rich man would give it all up

a poor man die trying

a woman walks the floor

pacing down the aisle

with her roses

trembling

when she reaches the end

and stands there looking back

at winter on the ground

at fall whirling in the wind

at spring opening up

at summer burning hot

will she smile

or will she weep

maybe both

did she find it

after all

did he

TL

Stages

there’s an

empty space

where grass now grows

10 decades ago

there was a house

there

in that empty space

where grass now grows

there were ruffled curtains hanging in the kitchen

dishes in the cupboard

furniture heavy on the floor

art on the walls

flowers in the vase

food on the table

candles lit and blown out

doors opening and closing

little paws tap tapping

music good music

voices in the hall

loud laughter

silent tears

brushing teeth

and washing faces

changing clothes

and shoes

writing and reading

watching and listening

making and breaking

planning and packing

messes to make and clean up

washing and wearing and washing and wearing

taking things down and putting things up

lying down

and getting back up

turning the water on

and turning the water off

like the lights

and the stove

alarms

and timers

the television

each room

had something unique to say

something old or new

like a play up there on stage

the cast and crew

the story based on a book

narration

opening scene

I Act

intermission

II Act

intermission

III Act

no intermission

the curtains close

the house lights come on

and go dark

the seats sit empty

like the room

the house

everybody left

they all left

and went home

TL

Tiger Woods

I never ever

really

wear red

preferring black

or gray

but today

I wear

RED

TL

Restoration

the ash

has been swept

the rains

have come

and gone

like footsteps

on the street

the rise and fall

like the sun winking awake

and the moon yawning to sleep

wherever in the world

the remains

keep

preserved in the memory of the mind

the heart of a child

TL

When She Was

the princess

at the pond

stood in stone

at the end

of the path

a row of red roses

in her wake

she was once

so young

and beautiful

but over time

the seasons

overtake

summer and winter

so different and so the same

had left her

faded

forgotten

all but the butterflies

remained

as the leaves fell

into the pond

like petals

from a flower

her statue a shadow

in the sun

a silhouette

by the moon

TL

Revision

contained

wrapped within

people in their places

mostly lost

found

sucker for a story

the first page

not the last

I like beginnings

where it’s possible

and easy

all the mess in the middle

skip that

I hate roller coasters

and the way it ends

endings are so final

a tiny dot

.

at the end of a sentence

that had so much to say

but ran out of space

I love happy endings

not the sad ones

like Titanic

I hate that movie

every time I watch it

unsettled

what happened to the magic

the magic in the movie

the story

the script

the revision

Jack lives

he gets to live

why didn’t he

get to live

where was the edit

the final edit

somebody sick that day

he should have lived

Jack …

and his Happily Ever After

with Rose …

I hate that movie

and that stupid song Celine sings

.

TL

The Stone

the fade

of light

natural

artificial

or otherwise

the curtain falls

when it falls

in all stages

big or small

the progression

of time

turns us all

over

and

over

and

over

like a stone in a tumbler

polished

after the turbulence

the grit is gone

like the mud it laid under

silent

inside the stone

a million stars spill out

like sunlight on the sea

glimmering

TL

In the Night

inside

the glow

of a winter white

rose

I climbed

a spiral staircase

and found

a thousand years

sound asleep

at the bottom

of a weeping

well

in slumber

I woke up

and walked

in circles

searching for

the switch

that would turn on

all the lights

and in the darkness

of the night

I stumbled

over the moon

TL

From Tee to Green

you push

a giant toothpick

in the ground

and place a ball

on top of it

and grip the leather

and take a practice swing

‘til you hear it sing

then into position

your body

and mind

and so it would seem

to the spectator eye

such a simple thing

to get from tee

to green

in short order

and repeat it

year after year

no matter the weather

the up and down

the hazards

but a glimpse

of what you see

on tv

or around a tournament town

doesn’t begin

to graze the surface

the struggle within

there are so many elements

in play

that test who you are

who you think you are

what you’re capable of

what you think you’re capable of

and in those hours

of bend and build

there is a quiet

in the dew drop mornings

the biting frost to blazing heat

the torrential rain to not a drop

the barely a breath to whipping gusts

the blue skies to crackling thunder

the dusk to dark

it’s all there

on courses long and short

the lessons

the private lessons

unending

the reassessment

the adjustment

the learning and re-learning

the simplifying

becoming less

becoming more

constantly evolving

continually revolving

from the ground

up

TL