Cold Day Traveling

It is so cold today.
On the train coming to work,
I think all I want to do is to exist in a warm, sun-filled existence
With nothing but a blanket to comfort the journey
The clear blue sky and a bald tree passing are my only companions.
A deep quietness will surround me, and I can think a little, or of nothing.
Time will seem to be still, in the surrounding noise
While the continuum marches on around me
The sound of the tracks click by, echoing like a familiar song
Over and over in my head in this drawl-locked, non-ending loop

The 514’s leavin’ from the station
I see your face as the cars go slowly by
Bye, bye wish that I could see you once again

Everything we do it seems, boils down to making a living at the end.
Why are we so busy, locked in this loop
All the work doesn’t bring much happiness
And leaves us no time to enjoy simple things
Thought, feeling, emotion; our senses stifled to obscure recollection
Snuffed to a dark crowded shelf in a part of life forgotten
Faceless bodies shuffling about our lives
Inversion tugging at our closing door
Unaware of outside stimuli and spirits that surround us.
I feel like I’m being sucked into this dark, long tunnel
Being forced to live a busy life with no choice.
While the pages of my book seem to move more rapidly all the time
Towards an ending known all too well, turning
I wish to retrace and rewrite some of those chapters
Yet my erasers always seem misplaced
Somehow I rise above it all within the homework of writing.
Or at least I try

Do I write for you or is it a personal thing?
Is it a way to step outside this mind locked existence?
As prose dissolves some hidden door.
What’s my motive or objective?
Mostly to capture a thought or emotion?
Or therapy to transcend this busy life, while connecting with you
Or myself
The mystery perpetuates itself
Yet I never seem to find a successful description in the end
Upon analysis and reflection grade C, I suppose
Perhaps I am saved if the grades are curved?
A forced rank dooms my chances while excuses line up.
But maybe this cold numbs my thinking and perspective
Causing a loss of detail in the translation
And providing a saving grace from evaluation.
Does it matter in the end anyway, or perhaps
Just attempting, as I move through this life
Is the answer I seek, with words in hand.
Traveling on a cold day
Contemplating that which defies me in the end


OSI#101: Blowing the Curve

Through the Woods

Sorry about the length of this. I have been working on for awhile and it is a bit of an experiment. For those that persevere, hopefully you will enjoy. Congratulations to OSI for #100!



Walked down a path through the woods one day
A route I had not taken before
As is typical of these adventures
More of life is lived and learned the deeper I go.

The path was narrow, but well traveled
The kind where the soil, like clay, is packed and firm
A struggle between the traveler and flora
To see who will reclaim the space.

Green, lush, and moist; a temperate rain forest
Demands attention from the senses as compulsion
And sharpens awareness of sound and thought
Haven’t I really been here before?

This dream is certainly varied in its density like the trees
It seems from hedgerow to almost open space
Though somewhere in-between suits my remembrance
A surrealistic light streams through the leaves with a hazy translucency.

As quietness attacks the scene with unfamiliarity
Then, a snapping twig wrapped in a rustle; and a solitary realization
Which way did I come?
How long have I been wandering into the wrong direction?

Just when dark thoughts of this situation creep in
A clearing steps into view with unexpected openness
This calms the fears and reality of being lost
And gives promise to other adventures, in secluded memories.

In the distance a pond or lake floats beyond a thicket
It’s a fall morning and the mist hangs like a veil
Upon the water like a motionless curtain
The infant sun casts a silvery iridescence upon the scene.

Water, smooth as glass, like a mirror into the mind
Imitates the reflection as a perfect recollection
Being lost in the woods, desperately searching
And hoping to find a way, into the sun-filled day.

---------------------------------------<>---------------------------------------
Rousing and startled, half asleep while dreaming
I pondered the woods and thicket travelled, on this late fall day
You know, that place hidden between reality and the subconscious
Where obscurity and thought are intertwined hallucinations.

Being lost, finding my way; all perplexed and season changing
Thinking as I lay, drowsily half remembering while quietly forgetting
My mind slowly sank back to unconsciousness
And my dream journeyed into winter; sleeping soundly.....
---------------------------------------<>--------------------------------------

The shadows cast are long and silhouetted
From leaf-less trees no sound is heard.
Stark as soldiers, standing in ranks at attention
Sinuous and dark, it is dusk on winter’s eve.

The sun’s last gasp of breath slowly escapes
Causing the new fallen snow, starched and white
To glisten like a thousand dancing diamonds
For a moonlit audience neither seen nor heard.

Moving beyond, the snow crunches beneath feet unseen
With that special sound so crisp and well defined
A memory that echoes in my consciousness
And fades as distance comes between.

Solitary is this sacred thought that’s shared
But just ‘round the corner, so it seems
A place I have been many times before
And doubtless will visit when I think of you again.



OSI#100: Sunny Days

Dreaming

I am the eagle who flies.
So high, I am the sun
Though brighter than the sun.
I wonder sometimes if it's
Worth it? Waiting
For you in the clouds
My life and take-away sorrow, drift
Another calls on the wing
I hear the distant melody

Is it you?
I call your name, but
There’s no response
I also whisper something
You sigh, no hidden reply
What I know already
Is you're not really there
Being struck by this, is worse
More than a nuisance

You should know, that
I also envision you walking
In that special way
Moving with the pulse
Along the rhythm of life’s road
As a thirsted imagination
So, I contemplate what could be.
And if my world falls unwillingly
Inside the chaos of it all

Lost, I couldn’t see why
Within you, the answer is known
From the way you look
Into my eyes, but
Alas, no longer there
Here and now
The light must go to sleep
While I dream of you again
Heart soaring, back to the setting sun


OSI#99: Chaos

Remembrance

Loch Ness, Scotland


What will our remembrance be?
That of sadness or joy
In pain or sorrow within
You know, it’s up to you.
You know, it’s up to you.

What will our remembrance be?
I think I can remember
A kinder time you see
But, it’s really up to you.
It’s really up to you.

What will our remembrance be?
Growing up is such a revelation
Learning what is not to be learned.
And seeing it’s up to you.
Really up to you.

What will our remembrance be?
Broken dreams and memories
A childhood image shaken.
Thoughts like ripples back in time
Knowing it’s up to you.

What will our remembrance be?
Child, turned adult, turned fool
Taking it all too personally
As time slips into yesterday
And thinking it’s up to you.

What will our remembrance be?
The kindred heart unfolds
The mirrored image I may become
Shakes my very senses
And knowing it’s up to me.

Only up to me


Loch Loyal, Scotland


OSI#98: Indurated

Journey Home

How can you dream those things
Where there is no time to say
And put off without understanding
The time we have and the moments lost
I thought there was more time
And the time said no, abruptly

I sit and listen to the sweet memories
As life going by in a song
Not realizing what’s been gained in the melody
And what’s been lost in the keys and notes played
Time draws slowly along the staff, questions remain
I wait for the answers, within the un-played tune

Searching as the wanderer; though not knowing the path
May my journey be adventuresome
Meaningful, even if I depart and make it alone
Thoughts of leaving create sinking regret
With all that won’t become known, in me
With all that won’t become known, in you

And ours, within the transposition of it all
Can my time be that pronounced and ending?
Called with no discussion at hand
I sit reflecting, with my heading lost
A compass in passing; only to find
Labored in a dizzied misunderstanding

A softened heart flutters in juxtaposition
As I shudder in disbelief.
Will I stay with you or will I go it alone
The question creeps slowly to the answer
How long will I have, in the fight?
To see if months become years, or days

Tied to the emotions of not knowing
Be with me, I need your strength
If I am to survive, even not knowing
The time I have, and the time left
Be there in my dreams
Be there in my now



This was written thinking about a close friend who is struggling with a life issue that is hardening their outlook on life.


OSI#98: Indurated

Canvas

From the wing, a lost feather
Falls, floating from the quill
Captured by an artisan
Skillfully crafted into a brush
Thoughts now evoke images
Brush strokes sprout from handiwork
Life immerges as the painting
The only aspiration, unmistakable
Completely covering the canvas

From the colors on the pallet
Mixed in never ending pastels
Now, standing at a point of collision
At the easel, what will it be?
Slide through life smoothly
Brush strokes forgotten or smeared
Rather than entering it profoundly
Knowing we must live aggressively
Outside the image of tomorrow



OSI#97: Wings