Quietly watching Sunday still
Low sun shadows play on bright
White curved birdhouse lines soft
Breeze convulses last leaves clinging
Hopelessly to late fall branches
Slowly dancing single golden flake
Falls to the leaf carpeted garden
Reflecting pond shimmers between
Islands of floating green and purple
Headed ducks motionless waltz
Bare branched thick trunk
Giants reach in skeletal strength
Eyes closed slow breath still
A revision of the earlier version of this poem posted 11/8/15
Halfway through the day I sit in pajamas with a lead heavy heart.
I wonder if a hike with my camera (my escape, my joy) will help.
But the leaves are all gone.
The landscape is as gray and sad as I am.
What beauty can I capture today while I’m hollow and empty?
I glance at the news with a dizzy aching head.
Then I read splendid, gracious responses by generous
Souls hoping for nothing more than for love to prevail
In our chaotic world where, again, hate has boiled over
Washing away innocent lives in rhythmic waves
Never ending in their cataclysmic destruction.
Unfortunately, sorrowfully, we are experienced mourners.
We have learned that the black ache of
Stunned horror and disbelief will fade
Allowing peeks of light to infiltrate and eventually brighten.
But permanent scars linger.
Can a repeatedly broken heart escape
The impulse for self-preservation?
If our hearts harden, we’ll be lost.
Quietly watching Sunday morning still
Low sun shadows play on bright
White curved birdhouse lines
Soft breeze convulses last leaves still
Clinging hopelessly to late fall branches
Slowly dancing single golden flake
Falls to the leaf carpeted still
Reflecting pond shimmers between
Islands of floating green and purple
Headed ducks motionless still
Bare branched thick trunk
Giant reaches in skeletal strength
Eyes closed slow breath still
A declaration. A deafening blare.
Smacking waves disorient, unbalance,
the uninitiated one recoils,
seeking pacing. And prudence.
The trill of overwhelming urgency
and flooding need burdens, bows.
Wait. Step. Back. Away from the din.
Debilitating racket unseats desire.
Yearning and sorrow drowns
In unconsummated love’s wake
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