The Pressing Solitude of Decisions

A decision pressed closely against the glass

Reverberates a prism of thought

Of connection.

Of dissonance.

A decision of solitude.

A decision of birth or denial.

A decision pressed closely against the glass

Strains its ugly ear to find you.

Strains into your deepest thoughts.

Listening, pressing close.

Making a crowd or closing in solitude.

A decision,

A decision.

Some say there’s choice.

I say there’s a decision.

Shakespeare said, “Life’s a play and we’re all but actors.”

A decision pressed closely against the glass. 

 

Here the truth lies bound up in thought.

A decision made.

A decision wrought.

Holding Tight

A letter slides from my desk. Containing painfully sad thoughts. Drawn up with an ink stamp insignia.

When you hold tight to this insignia, this name of known love.

Grasp it with all your life.

Sometimes it responds and sometimes it just belies.

Belies the time it was crafted.

Belies the scribes hand.

As a woman of love

I hold tight to that insignia.

Hoping, wishing,

It to return.

Will it see past all my heartache

To rekindle and burn?

I wish for those moments when we didn’t say a word.

The insignia.

We fought.

We loved.

The letters twisting to and fro.

Now it’s all I want

Now it’s all I’ve know.

How to press that insignia bright and curling to and fro.

When you hold tight to this insignia, this name you know and love.

Grasp it with all your life.

Going through turmoil and strife.

The insignia is your future.

Carefully wrought.

Carefully wrought and made, you wait.

Holding tight and wishing for it’s return.

Layers of Life;

Layers of life fold like an onion.

A worker can stop and pick from a field.

Layers of life

Cause joy and confusion.

Lay awake,

and count the stars in profusion.

Orion a star

A hunter, a fighter.

Gatherer of glee.

A summon.

An answer.

A Jubilee.

The strong thrust of reason.

The small pull of faith.

You’re alone with the world.

A star that will not shake.

5:45 the Writer Wakes: El Yunque

The cheerful ringing of the chimes outside my door wakes me. Sitting up I yawn languidly and think pleasant thoughts of coffee, scones, and my hike through El Yunque National Forest. It seems ages since I drifted into this memory, floating still in my head like a balloon without a string. It was quite a trek for the condition I was in then, as far as my foot goes. But, a memory that I believe will stand or rather float in my head for quite some time.

The trail ahead of me is uneven. I look to my right as the rain drips over my hat. The sun scatters the path ahead of me, shining through like the sun behind tape art, creating little indistinguishable patches ahead. Birds flutter and monkeys pitch across the rainforest, their sounds, terrifying shrieks, for the unwitting tourist at least.

My foot aches. The path is very uneven at this point. My bunion presses outward as my foot strains onward.

The forest reminds me of one of my favorite poems by Vachel Lyndsay, The Congo. After reading that poem for the first time when I was 12 I became completely entranced by the Congo which lead me to study The Nile. I wrote about it and studied hydrology articles and water levels; water sampling. Hydrology fascinates me. Water is the root of everything. And is so incredibly important to human survival. Anyway, that’s definitely, another blog post…

We make it through the forest, at last, the shining light flickering off of the dripping leaving that shine like tiny mirrors.