Happy HollowDaze

Magazine cover by Norman Rockwell: Public Domain (pre-1929)

Magazine cover by Norman Rockwell: Public Domain (pre-1929)

BUZZKILL ALERT – THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY.

Not warm fuzzies, but something we may wish to remember
in this season of high expectations and harsh realities:


OPEN THE STARK STORY

Existential Moment

Black Hole

Black Hole

2014 WayneSL

That existential moment
when finite and infinite
eternity and now
can, will, might
and probably not
swirl and swell
and do not come to rest
yet we persist…

Mineral

Colossal bust of Ramesses II

Ozymandias Busted. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons.

Waynesl, 2014

What will be made of my ashes?
More than thrown bones
or leaves that lie
in a cup?
I poured the ashes of my father from the plastic box
and tried to see a man there
a life.
Not even pain remained.
We who were left climbed a rock
in the desert where his last glory had burned
and died
long, long, before his body did.
The backward Santa Ana wind
spread those minerals over sand and stone
indifferent, undifferent in their import.
Methodical Joshuas now incorporate that dust
into thorny, twisted limbs.
Neptune may accept me
And make something of my bones
Some coral or a nematode
Or shark.
The hearts I touched may heal
The minds remember
And if these words find shelter with another
Eternity will make of them my seal.

On My Mind

The mop and bucket I use for my workouts

The mop and bucket I use for my workouts

FaceBook wants to know what’s on my mind.
Why the hell is ANYthing on my mind?
Must be SOMEthing on my mind to get me out of my warm (too warm?) bed
to stagger around a dark, quiet house.
I must have something
in the shadows
of the back of my mind
bugging me.
It’s in there with the extra box of macaroni
gathering dust like that jar of peanut butter.
Why the hell am I awake at 3AM…
is what’s on my mind.
What’s on my mind? Is what’s on my mind.

I used to crave Peter Pan smooth peanut butter.
I’d eat a whole jar in a few days.
Now this same jar has been there for months
against the back of the cabinet
creeping toward its expiration date
unopened.
Sometimes I feel like that.
The clock and the calendar never pause, never rest,
and yet I must.
The sun will rise and I will go to work in a few hours
whether I am rested or not
whether I am ready
or not.

Beneath me the tile floor is sticky.
As I stumbled barefoot around the living room just now
I found the area where last night I spilled a whole glass of sweet wine
the cheapest sherry I could buy
but the glass didn’t break.
I usually have to pick sticky shards of broken glass out of the mess
but not last night.
That was good.
So I went looking for the steam mop
and luckily I couldn’t find a clean pad for that lame little toy.
Nearby was the commercial-quality mop & bucket I knew would do the job
so I put some water in it and rolled it out here
and made quick work of the puddle
which was larger than I had first thought
and now I know that it was larger still
because the little bit of water and the little bit of mopping
only spread the stickiness around and thinned it out.
So now I’m going to go and get that same bucket
that same mop
and take it to the bathroom to fill it to the top
with hot water.
I’m going to roll it out here and shove the furniture aside
so I can really work out with that mop
Swabbie Style.
The Navy is tattooed on my back pages.
I’m going to do one thing I know I can do and do it right.
and maybe then I can crawl back into my too-warm bed
next to my too-tired wife
and hope for sleep.

Timescapes (1988, WayneSL)

Rabbidity

Things float past my sticky-wheeled swivel chair

above my undisciplined desk

my bothered will watches wistfully,

they pass & fade, untended

intended, but lost by default

my fault

distracted

disconsolate

uncalendared, out-of-sync, out of Time

surfing down these rapids, between the tall, slick walls

Mundane Fry Day

On Moonday

I hatch visions like doves

and throw them soaring to the sky

cloudwisp wings on pale wide blue

By Fryday

blue has sunk to rust and gray

the clouds have clumped like unginned cotton

>and tumble down to roost around me

lumpy owl-eyed hens accusing,

constipated with rotting eggs.

Turns Left

(to be read aloud- not for the eyes alone)

A tear of joy
a tear of heart
the tares of life
when leavers part
the part you knead
your needs depart
a life of leaves
and branches.

The branches fork
spread from a crotch
the dogwood bark
but bark peels off
peals of the thunder
nervous cough
the coffin creaks
and listens.

The creeks a flood
the flowers float
too light to fall
two lightnings bolt
lithe wood is rent
the rent comes due
the dew comes.

To do, to die
the die is cast
cast out the doubt
decide at last
the side of right
the right to wrong
the left won.

TIDINGS

 a Vilanelle

Time and Tide, who wait for none,
still bind me fretting to my place;

in stately meter march until they’re done.

 

There is one race I’ve never won:

I’ll never beat, but always chase

Time and Tide, who wait for none.

 

Death and taxes, moon and sun

allow no alteration of the pace;

in stately meter march until they’re done.

 

Things I need to do, I shun.

I dawdle, then I rush, and still must face

Time and Tide, who wait for none.

 

These universal rhythms weigh a ton;

they never dance with any joy nor grace;

in stately meter march until they’re done.

 

Change is a constant, and the only one;

Though I can find no standing place,

Time and Tide, who wait for none,

in stately meter march until they’re done.

MoonFlower

moon in clouds

Play the Adagio from Chopin’s Piano Concerto in F#m.

 WayneSL 2013

Why these tears, this ache in my throat?
How can a dawn I have so long yearned for
Find me not surprised yet unbelieving?
How can I, who have always been too hard
Too quick to batter down the gate
Stand now amid the rushing throng
And beg another moment to prepare?
Is it that I finally see
How dawn leads to day leads to dusk
And in this creeping twilight sense a rushing night?
Do I finally face the rise of a blackened moon
on a bone-white landscape?
A scene I never comprehended,
Yet now I must claim that dark moon as my own.
Mortality has grown taller while I slept
And now I fear to sleep again that I may not wake.
Sleep was my desire until I waked to you.
Knowing you has brought my mortality full before my face
Because you are the essence of life to me
So full and fine and fair
So dark and taut and true
So much older and younger than me
So much a mirror against which I press
Fearing shards of broken glass
Yet weeping to melt and meld with you
Dissolve with you in these flowing tears
I love you. I fear you.
I lust for you. I die in you.
I lie beneath your moist, green turf
And pray your roots to penetrate my skin
And suck me in
To a new life as your leaf.

New Year’s Eve

Star streaming stars

StarFall by WayneSL

WayneSL 2012

The wheels of time grind fine
Unwinding in my mind
A long and looping line
Uneven yet unbroken
Adding moment to moment
Chance to circumstance

Uncounted streaming seconds fall
Flowing from a floating ball
And piling up they form a cone
An arrow pointing back up-stream
Climbing back the way they’ve come
Tempting me to think they mean…
Something.
Minds make meaning.
Memory melds moments into monuments.
Moments make
Off into oblivion
And never return.
One seems like another, yet
Each is unique.
If we swim back up the stream of time
And find a rhyme
It’s just a ripple
Standing, waving
At another of its kind.
You and I make circles
Intersecting in a pattern
That is not yet understood.
That is the essence of random
That I choose to see as good.
 

SEE the VIDEO