ASHES (for FWJ 1932-2008)

I am here, a journal on my knee
writing this while morning sunlight
shimmers off the pond outside my window.
You are miles away in the flotsam and jetsam
that makes up the Atlantic Ocean. Perhaps,
I think to myself, as I gaze at the nautilus shell
on the mahogany shelf. After you floated along,
the crests and troughs at Lewes Beach, you sank
sunlight glinting off the ash until it was too dark,
too dark to see you as your million tiny specks
came to final rest on the ocean floor.
I sit here with this pen between my fingers, scribbling
across the page, hoping for a grand communion
with the water of the universe, or something bigger still,
and as I sit , the thoughts of you, ashes scattered across the
dark and cold sea, are as close to me as the ink ,
the very ink on this page

3D Solar System Web

3D Solar System Web:
This is pretty interesting
'via Blog this'

7 minutes (a love poem)

In just seven minutes, I will have to go

So I don’t have a lot of time to write

On idle musings – the (still) sunny weather, the (still) news worthy events

Or what film star is (still) in rehab.

Now only six minutes remain and time is ticking an

And there you are

Perhaps dreaming of another time

Or getting up ready to greet the day

Now only five minutes remain of this present moment now

Beyond the sea, beyond the moon and at the heart of the matter

At the heart of us lies the one little item – one small little thing

In these last two minutes the two minute warning bell sounds

And the epiphany is that as the closck ticks down, to the final moments

3

2

1

That time means nothing as long as I have you.

Water From the Moon

I cleave the rock

Two equal halves , dust

Spills out over worn tan work boots

I hand you the larger half

As you tenderly accept the

Geode like a premature baby, gingerly.

Light dashes off of the blue and purple iridescent crystals inside.

Outside thick grey clouds gather appearing like many rolling geodes

Spilling forth the light of a million stars

Cascading rainbow

Spilling forth the water

From the daughter, the moon.  

The Water Is Wide

The Water is Wide,

Sings the cello

Riding the waves, notes

Reverberating from crest to crest

Water spills into the f-holes and overflows

White caps froth, black

Swells of gail winds

Still the low melodic

Strumming like a

Mother's humming

quelling a child's discord.

The King's Speech

http://kings-speech.movie-trailer.com/

A poem at bedtime

I sit at this dining room table typing, hoping
words to converge, converse into something, anything
resembling a poem. I am tired & need to get some sleep
and yet this is what I am choosing to do. Feeling
the cold tile under my bare feet reassures me that I am not sleeping
Not yet, anyway. I leave this blog in the hopes that perhaps my dreams
Will conjure up something more substantial in sleep than I am while (still) awake.