Wavelength, Existence, and Love

The simplest lies under the complicated,
Andy Goldsworthy to Feinman,
It is everywhere, hidden.
The waves, the gentle sloping of a sine curve,
Throbbing with knowledge and potent desire,
The energy to get things done.
It’s in the light, the sound.
How we see, how we listen,
And how we can be assured of our own existence,
in the mirror and at the forum. (you have to hold your hand up to see that it is there)
The simplest sign, forming the most complicated relationships (I love you for your voice, your eyes, and the shadows under your brow. )
I love how the light finds you.
The sine curve lies under the entwined.

Old Boats

Out upon the fields of water

beyond the seas of grass,

the dried - out husks of once

fine boats bob with every speedy

p

a

s

s

.

Their wakes have long since sunk

beneath gleaming skin,

Cormorants rest on the rusted

hulls and watch the teeming

c

h

a

n

n

e

l

.

Looking Up...

Delicate clouds hang,

Suspended animation,

Shadows on concrete

I Cannot Write A Poem

When I sit down to write a poem,
The words come tumbling down my pen and
Arrange themselves on the paper.
But not today.
When I step out my door,
Prejudices hit me with a force and
Attack my mind with animosity.
But not today.
When I sing a lullaby,
The floating wraith of sleep is driven away and
Advances on slumber as predator on prey.
But not today.
When I aim to love,
The emotion evades me and
Apathy assembles as I watch the world burn.
But not today.



I am not sure I like this poem..... any improvement thoughts?

Song of Day and Night

O'er the lip of hollow's hill,

The moon pulling up sun by a spider's web,

Hefting day over her shoulder,

She sinks under the horizon,

Entangling the stars in her black hair,

Slipping into the realm of stars and white luminosity

Giving up the world to sun's heat.

Does anyone have any suggestions on how to make this poem better?

The Puppeteer

Wind blows the year around

in a circle.

Wind catches us moving too fast

and pulls us back,

Moving cautious, urges forward.

Breeze in Spring and Summer,

Force for the falling and the slow rising.

Wind chasing its tail,

Ruffling the leaves as a mother to a small child with a new discovery held in the hand.

Dancing of the shadows as the puppeteer flits on

to another tree, to a different audience, or to none at all.

An Ode to Drying Laundry

T-shirts hang by their tails,

Dyes blown by March wind,

Daffodils flit nearby, lending their aroma,

Clothes, chased by their shadows,

With each waft detergent slips away,

Replaced,green grass, dogwood,

Laundry at night, moon infusing,

Shadows hang, almost dry,

Dawn- folded and baskested,

Closed drwaers or draped onto bodies,

Fated to be washed again,

And hung out to dry in the daffodil breeze.