Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Thursday, April 22, 2010


When I was a child, in my parent’s bedroom upon the wall, there were a series of pictures that hung in cascading order. Lovers, maybe newlyweds. There were no features, only bodies, trees and a gazebo in black and white. Even then I thought them beautiful- a mystery in shadow. I’ve come to learn that nearly every couple married in that generation had a set of these. I think it would be marvelous to make love in a room lightened only by the glow of a high moon telling the mysteries of these ubiquitous lovers. Anyway, here is my tribute to those beautiful two who played upon so many walls.

in a world
of neon
and sixty-four plus

think of silhouettes.

the trees that line
the lakeshore
in silent coronach

the umbrella
hiding the grief
or lack thereof
at a ten o’clock funeral

a brother’s push
to a sister’s swing
as dusk
sweeps the playground
for stragglers
and dogs
that wandered too far.

the eagle
brown on blue
shadowing it’s prey
in I see you

two lovers
park-benched alone
to the backdrop
of a lakeside trail

can flatter with colour
and digital
delight in mega pixel
but the silhouette
beyond the reach
of new and improved.