Poem – Where the Color Comes From

The lonely path tunneled
through the daily routine
and expectations.

The tunnel became your
gateway and hiding place,
a retreat when life
became too real, a distraction.

Did you ever see the
colors of the sunset?

Or even then was
the winter sun awash of colors,
a gray scale landscape
pushing you inward?

Poem – Searching in the Wasteland – Part 1

I see you across the distance
a face not known yet
I feel a connection
and I would follow you
but the space elongates.

I woke walking through an unfamiliar
valley of overturned sand,
the walls not earth but
fragments and rusted steel
reminders of a history
of time forgotten now
unearthed and the memories
are bitter and foreign.

There, I still you in the distance.

A fleeting shadow drifting in the waves.

Poem – Calm

Time and age conspire
with numbers setting expectations.

You are only as old as you feel
and that depends on the body’s voice.

These things are mostly out of our control
and in youth we ignore and push limits

looking to find something beyond life
looking over the edge at the mouth of death.

As maturity and wisdom settle like
white petals upon the empty field

the pace becomes slower and immersed
with purpose and awareness

of the mouth opening wider, moving
closer as the sun edges toward the horizon.

We stop each moment and turn them
in the lantern’s light.

We see each detail and imperfection,
we admire the craftsmanship.

In the evening following the storm’s
reach we watch the black clouds pass

and the purple light through the trees
as we smell the spring wind and think of nothing.

Poem – Closer to Home

The present reality defined
by actions and the current environment.

Layer upon layer the past still
present the future a passing breath.

Morning sun filtered
through the spring trees

as the rain has finally fallen
and leaves turn and fill in

the space left by the previous
dead, winter, dead.

A slow walk on the worn dirt path.
The sky caresses the tree tops.

Wind rattles branches while the
robins and ravens play and forage.

The space fluctuates and stabilizes
around my eyes and what I feel

lifts up and detaches from the body
and I see everything bathed in light.

While this is part of a home
my home becomes more clear

the more we walk
the further we venture in.

Dogs of Spring #3

Spent the weekend chipping fallen trees and pulling stumps. Had enough time leftover to spend with the evening sun, the pine trees, and these two.

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Sun Through Old Pine

 

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What, I do not have anything!

 

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Yes I do!

 

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My stick! No, my stick!

 

Poem – Tears

I hear the news and
see static images of
people, real people,
cast into life
changing and ending
moments, and with no
visible or obvious connection
between us, except being human,
except occupying this earth,
I cry.

Poem – Temporal

Passing beneath and over bridges
the road opens into the sleeping city.

Distant streetlights reflect off
glass windows while a train

emerges from perfect darkness
and motors south and east.

Silence returns and the monotonous
driving becomes temporal when the new moon

reaches from beyond the earth
appearing as an orb of legend.

Poem – Voice

Through the open window
a voice whispering garbled
words drifted in with the
autumn breeze filled with the sea.

Through the morning light
reflecting off floating dust
I walked to the window
overlooking the center of town.

Empty fountain, streets, and cafe tables
sat in the mountain shadows.

In the distance a church steeple
rises sharply atop the hill
and I struggle with mixed emotions
until I see you walk from the light.

Poem – Continue

Knocked down,
blown off the mountain,
buried and struggling,
yet we continue forward
as the human spirit
is resilient and true
at the core when
the best of us surfaces.

Poem – Stain

If I pull back the thick fog
they still consume my eyes.

If I run into the water and let go,
let the waves push and pull me as

I fall toward the floor, they
consume my conscious thoughts

and what was empty and calm
becomes clouded and my next

actions are in conflict to
what I was taught and I am

left with the ancient memories,
a stain of my former being.

The Black Poem

Originally posted on Rachel Nix:

by David Pine

If you saw this face
would you recognize me?

With your eyes closed
would you know it was me?

Fuckā€¦

So much time has passed
and I have built an image of you.

You have grown each year
and each year the memories

of nothing accumulate in this mind
still struggling with that one decision

and the wavering guilt once glorified
and rationalized slowly becomes a nightmare.

My body is aging and I feel the changes
but the mind is steeped in awareness

of surroundings of details and
the information is assimilated further

within this empty vessel yearning for meaning
scouring the empty fields for continuance

as the shadows play their game,
raven wings brush my face.

View original

Dogs of Spring #2

The day after clearing part of the forest, me and the big dog enjoyed a leisurely walk beneath the clear and sunny sky. The early evening when the sun is below the tree-line provides lively shadows and hidden light scattered throughout the space between each tall being.

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Ever Watching

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Spring Sun

Reaching for the Sky

Reaching for the Sky

Poem – Downward Eyes

From the highest peaks
and the lowest depths.

From the valleys
and the oceans.

We cast downward eyes
as her voice is heard.

When our heads rise
we see her presence

we hear her voice
we know what we should do.