soul verse

Moments Do Not Wait

An owl, an eagle or some other avian species resting on the fence post

Scurrying for binoculars to gather a closer view, now in focus was a stately hawk

Beautifully positioned under the gray skies and the first light rain of the season

the cat also looked fixedly upon this bird of prey, twice her size

A photograph would be nice, an impression for later gaze,

but the camera was too far from reach, too far from the moment

All these thoughts and busyness amidst the solitary and solitude

yet the moment still sat quietly

feathers ruffling in the early morning, misty breeze

Another steady glance on this fence post figure and the wondrous brush with nature's way streamed through

Returning from another room to summon up a final view,

the post was empty - the bird had taken flight

Moments do not wait

The Greatest Show

bolts of light streaking the evening night

the roar follows seconds later

cats scurrying across the street for cover

now the precipitation descends

a drip, a drop, more crackling

illuminating traces penetrate the dark

titanium white on black

startling contrast

pushed to the edge with each snap

condensed vapors break

a drip and drop and now a deluge

create this evening's magical interlude

Far is Near, Near is Far

stepping beyond the backyard

searching for the season's change miles and miles away

aspens yellow and gold

snow crested mountains

crystal clear lakes, mirrored reflections

both, all and more here in the high Sierra

returning from afar and in the backyard where I took leave

the five fruit tree's brilliant and metamorphic transformation

golden yellow and red leaves carpet the soil and its organic remains

sun deepened hues frame keen and sharpened contrasts

stillness mixes with breeze

a hint of cooler times ahead

leaves lightly rustle, quiver

searching for the season's change
now so clearly seen from where I was before
glistening in the pond the day unfolds

far is near, near is far

that changing season found me

a congregation of souls

rain fell, first soft then hard

streets of glistening glass

scattering, scampering pell-mell

urban denizens scurry for shelter

an overhang

a blanket

perhaps another's body

suspicions at first glance and for later measure

now a convenient survival space

a congregation of souls

sun down, day falls

sodium vapor lights casting amber glow

huddling together

urban dwellers in monochromatic night

bonfires of find and scrap

strangers for now perhaps a little less estranged

gnarled hands pulled to the heat

reluctance from tattered nerves and shattered lives

gives way to basic needs

a congregation of souls

cars driving by, other people passing by

for the merchants of lost opportunities

has time passed them by?

urban actors on everyman's stage

a dry slumber, a glimmer of hope

cries aroused but not heard

silent anguish of chilling silence

the blunt dampness deepens in their bones

cooling down to warm up

a congregation of souls

small change, almost empty pockets

both in currency and in vain

solemnly mirthless

urban vagabonds and wandering vagrants

a resting place in the wind, a box, in the misty fog, a tree, in the bitter cold

can't help but wonder how, why and when

misfortunes cut the human fabric so deeply

as an observer removed and so detached

a dispassionate view is all too easy for an end surmise

a congregation of souls

pride still of presence

living lives, living life

rules of the street, justice through same

urban castaways, social pariahs and general outcasts

a son, a daughter,

a grandmother and father

frail, failed and broken in two,

a twig snapped with pieces of a puzzle never to be played, never to fit

shards of character prisms strewn about

a congregation of souls

church is in service for some on these public streets

private denizens so publicly exposed

a shelter of faith, a salvation from worse

urban nomads of plight and in flight

feelings of despair, mine of them not knowing what they of theirs

reflecting upon another year, another year, another year

where is their faith, their dreams, their aspirations and inspiration

are their days like most all days, a consequence of routine

beginnings with uncertain ends?

a congregation of souls

Did time run out on me or did I run out on time?

Rich and riveting spell bounding sunsets
closing down on existence
penetrating and yawning horizons
opening up inevitable and immense creations

Now, the more vivid reflections are of what occurred
yet still strong and pulsating rhythms of the yet to come
more frequent thoughts of endings
bridged through longer memories of beginnings

Backward glancing, recollections flashing
time's footprint suspended in space
traces not yet visible to eye or conscious to mind yet a quaking spirit
where and how did it go so fast, so fast when it all seemed so slow, then?

At incomprehensible speed and wit
life is cycling, cycling, recycling through
and the once, distant unknown
is fast becoming an intimate friend