I saw a king with a wooden horse. What does a king need a wooden horse for? Can’t he trust a regular horse to do what he needs?
Of course I could get a normal horse to do what I need, but have you ever seen a real horse crafted as finely as this?
I had to admit I had never seen a finer horse in life or in media.
The wooden horse, he explained, lacked the common comfort of a soft living horse but when he pursued a fox or a rabbit into the thicket there was no bone blood or fur to tear on the sharp thorns.
But the heat, the connecting of life, the opportunity for both to enjoy the victory. Where is the passion you share?
I am king, if I want passion, I command it There is nothing I lack.
So as I talked a fox darted across the path into the thicket and the king went galloping past. The king tore through the thicket in search of the fox. Even as his kingdom dwindled and crumbled around him.
Into the thicket
We
Tumbling into tepid pools of tyranny
Anxious aberrations awaken another
Cutting the collective consciousness
Into an instant illusion of insecurity
But better breeds bear the burden
Of overzealous ownership
Forced to forget the freedoms
They once favored
Anniversary getaway
Slippers
The click and pick of the needle
Why don’t you sit over here next to me
I’ll show you how in out make a loop and pull through.
If you change the way you pull or change the loop you can create just about anything.
Grandma says crochet work stops time. She picks up the needles and yarn. She plucks the picture out of the air in front of her and replaces it with our Christmas slippers.
The marker tickles my feet but I like seeing the print the trace makes. Imperfect feet are best warmed in matching imperfect slippers. Maybe I’ll learn how
Once my feet have stopped growing each year and her feet begin shrinking every year, I could make her slippers. Keep her feet warm. Remind her that I’ll be there for her every year as long as
she needs me.
Pedal
The car fades in the distance devolved into my bicycle I ride from the smooth pavement of the parking lot to a pock marked stretch of road Caltrans seems to have forgotten.
Up the hill, I ascend. Apartments transform into town homes transform into McMansions transforming into empty space. Tired now, follow the center-line.
Don’t give up. Pedals pump like pistons
Pure Power.
Asphalt becomes gravel becomes dirt. Re-energized by nature. Air Sun and Soil recharging my skin.
Now atop the hill I survey my kingdom. Sweat blurs the scene and smooths out jagged edges of urban spires. Sun falls behind me and I descend again. Prepared for what lies ahead.
It’s you not Me
I see
Everyone
I hear
Everything
Do you see her
Drink about to spill?
Do you hear that
Hushed conversation meant only for lovers?
I see
Too much
I focus
On the experiences of others
Empathy
Fear of who I am
I concentrate
On everything else
Drown out the voices
You will never be as good as them.
Precious Embers
Life begins with a though. A spark a flame then faster burns the blinding birth an awakening the
consumption of fuel wood is stacked upon dwindling ashes until the heat has served its purpose
the embers linger then extinguish and ashes mark the spot where once we made our fire.
Cosmic dreams
Blank frames of open lullabies descending
without knowing shapes ascending
into the heavens peacefully darkening
memories gone by stars exploding
till into her arms warmth increasing
leaves pain itself decreasing