(Wandering Shadows, Peter Graham, 1878)

A Highland Warrior

I dream of Scotland…

Glens and hills, peat and moss

A man belonging to the land as the soil beneath his feet

Rugged and rocky, nothing weak survives

The whipping wind thrashing his hair

Warning him of old man winter arriving at the hems of his skirt

Survival is not an option, for he does not know the luxury but to live and die

Warrior against warrior, clan against clan

Tides of the righteous binding the two in no man’s land

God’s will the destiny of his fate; barely a purpose of existence

I wonder as I dream, the black hills haunting my memory of what once was

A fur-clad figure standing firm atop the granite ledge, the green glen below taunting:

“Come hither. Lay within my arms and look upon the glories of the heavens.

Breathe in and feel the stir of life. Know of something more you cannot taste.”

Looking down upon the land that does not embrace him, nor anyone

The purpose of humanity lost as it passes from him to the next with bludgeoned blows

Withering ashes for the heather that blooms spring after spring, year after year

His life haunts me to remember…reminding me of a soul unfinished

 

 

Harvest Blessing

Fields sway with the breath of life

Branches carry the burden of fruitfulness

From the sweat of our brows

And the will our hands

The soil brings forth the bounty of life

There upon us, in the midst of dark

The golden moon tinged in burnt

Blessing us in our till

So that we may gather our harvest

And give back with our hearts

That which God has delivered to us

Under the Harvest Moon

(Portrait of Two Women, Diego Rivera, 1914)

Something Better 

Betrayal…

Your burden to not carry

Oblivious to the harm it caused

Or worse, knowing

Ignoring the deception

Rationalize the action and it all seem frivolous…

To you

But the strike across the face still stings no matter the intention

Weakening us, harming the bonds that have been our foundation

All for the shining object that usually leads to nowhere

No gain, no glory, not worth the price to be paid

I am not going to lament this, nor try to explain

But know there was collateral damage

To me

 

(Old Man On Death Bed, Gustav Klimt, 1899)

Old Man

Son, take a look
Weary is the end
No virility lingers in the cave that now stands
Huddled kindred no longer seeking protection
Laughed at for a fool, judged by my failures
Loved for things I cannot remember
What use is that?
To lay with eyes wide open and nothing left to see
Nothing left to do

She is gone
She had to go
The devil cursed her travels; took what was mine
Made me watch as he seduced her to oblivion
Fragility is hard to watch
It broke me, making me lame and useless
Cavernous of the man I once was, the bone of my bones sucked dry
I am tethered to the dark horse who knows no boundary for loss
Take me! 

I heave, and heave again
My breath fighting
I wish it would stop, doing what I do not will it
I don’t want anymore, I don’t fear anymore
I don’t cry anymore
But I heave, and I heave
Hard to breathe, hard to bleed
Hard to give up and hard to stay
Is this purgatory?

But I’m still here, until I won’t be
And no one will ever know the man that lived inside
The dreamer of hearts, father of men, the lover of her
Withered away to obscurity
Where you watch
Thinking you are more than the sum of my parts
But here I am; so too will you be
Watch, worry, and beware
For there is nothing left to remember

 

(Jealousy, Petrus Renier Hubertus Knarren, 1861)

 

Interloper

I was too late in coming, too late in finding you

The same stars, the same chart, the same soul’s journey, except

She came first

First to kiss you

First to make love to you

First to marry you

First to give you what you needed, what you wanted

Purpose, meaning, love

You gave her your dreams

She made them hers

Two, intertwined into one, forever bound

I was too late in coming

But I am here

Now what?

(Coniferous Forest, Ivan Shishkin, 1893)

Dreaming

Trees have a calmness in their silence

They whisper, talking among themselves in another realm–

the place where fairies live, I am told

It is only when we are silent do we hear them,

with our soul’s ears; our mind’s eye

The voices of the feathered echoing in the chambers of their majesty

a symphony of the skies if one listens closely

I listen

I jolt by the awakening,

back into my body, my eyes flutter, or is it my brain?

Either way, I am back

Gone far from the stillness that I found refuge

The cool air that was breezed against my skin,

the pillars of protection that surrounded me as I stood suspended in my escape

The mossy path below my feet softening my journey to nowhere;

to anywhere but where I am

Oh, how I want to go back where peace lives, where my stillness isn’t taken from me

Where I know I am not battered

My spirit not lost among the daylight

Joy suppressed, pushed down,

covered up by anger thrown at me, pummeling and constant

Drowning out the music…the whisper of the trees

Why must I endure this chastisement of who I am; who I want to be?

It is foggy as I begin to see

the white ghostly haze floating in and out of the trees, slowly lifting away

It must be a metaphor, the blurring of my reality

The lines never clearly defined; life never fully written

 

 

 

(The Composer Mihaly Mosonyi and his Wife, Henrik Webber, c. 1845)

Will I Am

It was your eyes; the turn of your lips

Your arm wrapped around her in ownership

Pride? Acceptance?

Love?

You have come into yourself

I have been waiting for that, knew it would always come

It is handsome on you!

 

I never doubted

Never once did I see the limitations

I am maternal

My heart knows no limits, sees no resignation of despair

Only pathways, corridors to the unknown

No one can predict what is on the other side,

Fear restricting the possibilities

 

But I always saw

As I see now

A man unto himself, exuding that which you buried

The despair that had tormented; the unbearable pain for which you submerged into obscurity

Only to reappear a shell of your humanness

Did I remind you too much of what lay entombed?

Did you not see I was your savior?

 

No, I shan’t discuss the betrayal

The damage of my heart left to drag on the tethered strings of the severed connection

Ribbons that tied up our beautiful friendship

You never looked back at the remnants of those threads

As I mourned the death of you; of us

As I walked onto another path, another corridor

Not knowing where it would lead me without you

 

I  glimpsed at your future, and it was lovely!

You caught it, didn’t you?

The thing you could never grasp, breaking you–changing you

It is a beautiful thing…happiness, joy, love

My heart overflows for you, as it always had, and always will

For only in life are our bonds severed; our souls are threaded in the heavens forever

 

 

 

(Coffee, Richard Diebenkorn, 1959)

Night Coffee

 

The dark brew gurgles

Froth a sin of my delight

I smile in secret

Am I wicked for the indulgence?

Quiet is the night, under no scrutiny

My desires are uncaged

Let out to air

Imagining the impossible

Pondering the what ifs

It’s just a moment or two

My retreat from drowning

My escape, if you must know

The mere pleasure tied to my kindred

Destiny fooled for a moment

Or at least, suspended

Whilst I sip, submit and succumb to the seduction

 

 

 

 

 

(At the Cafe, Edouard Manet, 1879)

Seeing You 

My legs weaken

My mouth goes dry

My hands writhe in torment

I brush it off as if you don’t matter

But you matter

I just can’t tell you

For then you would know

What you mean to me

And that would ruin everything

(Lying naked On A Red Cushion, Pablo Picasso, 1932)

 

INCURSION

Darkness, blanketing the light

You take your position, there upon the pillow

As if waiting for the executioner

The mind weary, vulnerable

Worry, regret, contemplation of failures descend

Like an unheeded lover’s desire

Wanting, waiting, restless

Ready to pounce; ready to seize

For no one can stop the inevitable

Death, taxes, and sleep