Pinned now to a glowing gaze
that waits on the bough.
Colder air crawls across
the balcony, but I’m still held
holding these small movements
in the barn owl’s stare.
Some animals are not regarded:
the squirrels shift as background
and we shadows lumber beneath
their trees. But the owl is a presence.
Maybe it’s the mere placement
of eyes, a face almost
that gleams the intelligence
of reach. Even from here
I note the subtle adjustments
to sight as it ponders and shifts
along the branch, seeing me.
Maybe it’s mere impatience,
waiting for my absence
so it can lunge again
at the frightened mind
shielded by the bush.
Maybe there is nothing,
just a space floating between
two similar, unknown faces
that cannot be articulated,
at least not yet. One of us
disappears, and the other
returns to moment.

Written for Eugi’s Weekly Prompt.

Some Parts of Nature

Image by Bikurgurl

The wanderer’s gaze once again reaches
for taller things; there is sublimation to be
had, but all that comes is memory: a teacher
who, years ago, claimed that trees could
feel. The wanderer was once a student
and believed that meant absorbing whatever
air surrounds; he believed the old man
foolishly, but soon learned other things,
such as the fact that trees are not twisted
with nerve endings like humans are.
The wanderer knows that trees are beyond
us, different structures that can be imbued
but not totally held. However, the gaze still stretches,
becomes shadow among leaves and boughs.

Written for 100 Word Wednesday.

Versus Field

He never told you he was
an individual, an eye carrying
sky. The grass barely shapes
around him, a thought fills
with greenness, but the grass
receives little, just the smallest
thought the sun has already seen.


There was once a sky
bound to leaves, violets
swimming across the hill,
lights gathering dimension
for your eye. I’ve done away
with myself and the sky.
It now drifts by our door
grayed into dust or something
similar. The leaves
paved-over with black,
and the hill is distant
in the shadow.
Will you wait for me
to see the face
of tomorrow, gather
up its eyes and watch
as I twist them to ash?

A Lecture on Leaves

Not too long ago, I was outside and saw within
my gaze the swaying of leaves above. A voice
came to me. It said, “You need to make a decision.”
It was my own, yet, it came from somewhere.
There was this need to push my life elsewhere,
to build something. I was merely outside, existing.
Others, my friends, had careers, some even families.
The swaying of leaves, the sun spreading across
my skin. They were not for me. They could not be
enjoyed. The future sat coldly, a stone gazing out.

You’re expected to enjoy life, to appreciate
the warmth. But you can’t be useless. You are
not the swaying trees, the sun bending through
the leaves. I needed to move, I needed
to learn, to gain. The trees, the water,
the air, the distant birds: nice, beautiful things,
but they are objects. I could have sat there
forever, but it would have been meaningless.
Meaning. Purpose. Passion…I had been waiting,
but the day was almost done, and the silence
of this moment had gotten old.

This poem is a bit trash looking back on it now. May rewrite it in the future.

Life at the Beach

Grey water lapping, empty
sun gazing over.
But the dead man is not considered
by the wave-tossed shells surrounding him.
They are too busy growing
new hands, digging into soft earth.
No eyes, no minds, just an impetus
to be hidden in watery sands.
They do not consider death,
but it’s there, a ghost
in their mucous arms,
a knowing barely known.
The shells soon bury themselves
and the man is left alone, on the beach
unnamed by any feeling.

dVerse – Open Link Night