* * *
One third of the earth's surface
covered by land.
What goes and stays.
How does it look now.
Contemplative poems
Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
Four Poems 3
hiking
out of sight
of pines & view of pines
& long snowfooting woods
ass down to beaver
pond & gathered puzzle
grass
round
slender ash some
beaver cat axed /
hiked out.
my heels
at my heels,ground
spruce,
patches of quartz
in the fields raising up
Poem
during the past few months become monastic
content. this
unseemly phase
is im sure a function
of space
of having only the weather
to contend with
& i embrace it & hang the bells
i make of its wind
over your side of the bed
* * *
attending to certain
forms of insistence
lovers become those forms
& enter the core time
in which the tribe is permitted
to muddle on
Classroom
seas of tranquility they sort of nod
when you look at them as if to say
in a little while it won't exist
not even on postcards
A Call
Floodtide sinks the sandbar.
Only waves faltering out of rhythm
show where it was.
Currents gnaw debris free from banks
for burial in the black mud of the marsh.
Idling in the pentacle of an old army tent
I would have the green heat speak
of why it flows so close under the earth,
making my shadow blur.
But the wind rising is enough, all afternoon
it has me
thinking what a wind thinks
miles past land.
Wyoming
A mountain outside
a room inside
a skull above
Snow on the mountain
flowers in the room
thoughts in the skull.
Noreen Part II
Cecile walked
Everywhere, everyday.
Absorbed in her own world.
She walks.
As usual, Cecile was walking
On her way to school
She gazed at the swirling silvers and golds overhead.
She walks
Whistling to her own tune.
What was she thinking of?
As days passed
Holidays growing closer
Bakeries baking ginger treats
The festive scents filling the air
The lights glimmered
Twinkled
Autumn chills
Wednesday Morning
The cold air piercing my lungs
The copper-coloured leaves,
As kamikaze pilots,
Plummer into the green sea.
The moon,
Why are you out?
You come without warning
To watch over us
Here one minute, gone in another.
The iced autumn winds
Prickling,
Tingling at my bare limbs
Asserting its presence.
The sunlight tickling,
Teasing,
The Watchdog
Hours pass.
The watchdog waits.
Steady as a rock.
Wanting to be seen.
But not heard.
Guarding his sheep.
He watches the intruder.
A cat to us.
Yet a villain to him.
A usurper even.
Hours pass.
Time is meaningless to him.
He could sit and stare.
As long as his sheep are there.
And would not care.
As long as they are safe.
* * *
and in the end
none of us achieve happiness
we just become content.
* * *
she was once asked
why she liked thunderstorms
She answered
" it drowns out my thoughts"
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