The Defined Line

Everything else besides this
is blurred. The line that
separates something from
more is smudged;not defined.
Smoke that drifts...

Between the smallest, an
electron, or smaller, there
is a line, and then there
is nothing.

Add a particle of the tiniest
object to a void, and it is
no longer a void. The physics
have changed, and there are forces
at play that turn the universe.
But add the biggest to infinity, and
nothing shifts at all.

Woods

What wonderful city or
Strip of fence could ever
Measure even with the
Power and energy behind
That scraggly bark? What concrete stretch
Through Park crawl can
Compare to the slender
Tendrils that frame the sky
And ultimate jigsaw? And!
What person as profound
And withstanding can a
Wood or stand of trees
Be? Dappled light is
Sifted through the
Branches and poured
Upon the leaves as
Fallen angels lie under
And sleep in death
And watch their friends
Beautiful and clinging.

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?