Furthering Farther

Walking along the shore that day
We saw the child squat
Amidst a mine of precious
Sanded stones
Fingers grasping
Beyond his small arm stretch
He captured a glowing gem
Thrusting it greedily
Into his clear glad bag
And the one next to that seemed just as fine
Wet backs polished by sun’s light
If not even more beautiful—
No single rock
Ignored, or cast aside;
He had struck gold
On this California outing
Not even halfway to the first
Lifeguard tower.

His mother and father paused
From a faster pace, looked back
Called him: Come on,
Let’s collect some more
There are lots of pretty shells
Farther down the beach
Look! Let’s go!
But the boy set his rump
And reaching out
Found what I could see—
Even from where we stood—
As he hurled his offering to the sea
It was the most shiniest rock
Around.

You don’t need to search too far down the shore, for everything you need is here in front of you.
As for word play: further—farther—now there is a rhyme to take up coffee time.
We carry things farther, look into things further. We may further our cause by use of gentle manner, but wonder if we can carry that burden any farther. CAR

a word on the subject

Of Dragons!

Like the forest iris under a saffron dawn

a first flight  kite, a full bowl of rice,

Or a little brother running over your best-ever painting

as it dried, unsigned, on the front walk,

these beasts come and go.

Sometimes, so fast you barely get singed.

Other times,

Great ancient creatures, they burn through dreams:

Desire, Death, Light and Shadow, Love,

An almost-rhymed rap from that boy you just met

Sorrow, Imagination, Rebirth, that gray lady on the corner,

the one with the cart and five bags of bulging Somethin!

and her crayoned anything helps, blesssya badge

Who is to say which of these wise beings

finds it fun to fly straight into the sun?

I mean,when it is pouring down rain.

Laugh. Today is–Different, anyway, right?

I hope that you will relish it as much as I

Relish the subject of wild and dragons. 

Reflection in the rearview mirror

 

riding backseat—Sunset Blvd. L.A.

I got to daydreaming—about—

Sunshine

Being as I am of light skin, I don rain gear

even when wandering

along some pebble shore, or near a rock led river.

Exposed, I would die of rough air.

I’m not complaining of this heat

I love the sun—to a certain degree

My discomfort doesn’t compare

to that (one’s) strife;

existing in eternal night

impervious to flame, it makes the day

for all the others;

Besides, I’ve not seen a tear

betray self pity, unless—the sea

fools most poets—

But so alone! some may argue

none dare look long or touch its face,

worship only from a frozen distance.

Across the silent divide of time

sisterstars beckon—

their winds a whisper

I wonder—if our sun longs to talk

with another of like mind

and whether their conversation

might mention real life or dreams

Or does she indeed desire

to become something better than herself

like a mighty blank stone mountain

awaiting inscription,

in solitude listening,

trying—as much a molten being can—

just to understand?

                               

Miracles do take place. But how many of us ever thought we might just be needing one?

 

Poetry is Free

 

            A place a time

 

a wish to be free                         

 

sometimes calls

 

like a draft sweeps unasked

 

underneath the door.

 

 

 

What I want to find is me.

 

There must be a way over that rainbow

 

something blinds my soulful eyes

 

stumbles my feet. So I turn back or

 

away. Do you know that kind of flight?       

 

 

 

My Mystic who once felt true

 

as if that person is different

 

now visits only at night

 

like a vision, dreams

 

 

 

an eventide dance

 

as moon rises

 

white

 

lightly

 

the clouds gather us

 

up streaming toward firststar

 

gliding down waves of oceansky

 

no horizon

 

how we fly

 

just she and I!      

 

 

 

Glitter wings follow the breeze

 

we seek again the possible

 

yeah I am ready

 

for what I need to find is me.     

 

 

 

The where might just be near

 

the when, oh so

 

like the wind, invisible

 

understand?                              

 

 

 

A wish to be free

 

to find

 

a place a time

 

a way of being

 

inside the solitude of joy or wonder

 

seems to ask an extra pair of hands

 

 

 

Or maybe it means…

 

just letting go

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

another question, another poem by colleen