We Fall

We fall,
In Gothic cathedral music,
Soprano solo the cry
     Of humanity.
Plunging down to the bass,
Rumbling the air currents
Until we are hushed
     By crystal bell.

We fall,
Sorrow and madness of descent,
Not knowing if we shall survive
     The landing
On bare rocks and pinnacles,
Stretching to pierce sky and flesh,
With no respecter of persons;
     This we fear.

We fall,
The same hope plead by all hearts,
Proclaimed by the unheard words,
     Catch us.
And surely our cries our heard
Among the whistling wind
And roaring gales in canyons
     Of fear, death.

We fall,
As all our nations and peoples do,
Crashing unto proverbial darkness,
     Screaming.
The watched ones,
Never descending alone,
Yet never together,
     In want.

We fall,
Waiting for the sickening sound
Of our bodies impaled by shale,
     Terror.
Our guard does not stand idly by;
Serenity watches while we fall
Holding out hands to catch
     Us all.

Poem Snippet #3

Snippet from "Horizonte" by Antionio Machado (translated by Richard L. Predmore)

"La gloria del ocaso era un purpúreo espejo,
era un cristal de llamas, que al infinito viejo
iba arrojando el grave soñar en la llanura. . .
Y yo sentí la espuela sonora de mi paso
repercutir lejana en el sangriento ocaso,
y más allá, la alegre canción de un alba pura."

Translation:

"The glory of the sunset was a purple mirror,
it was a flaming lens which to old infinity
projected my solemn dreaming on the plain. . .
And I heard the sonorous spur of my step
reverberate far off against the bloody sunset,
and beyond, the joyful music of a pure dawn."

Poem Snippet #2

Snippet from "House by the Side of the Road" by Sam Walter Foss

"And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone."

Poem Snippet #1

Snippet from "The McPoem" by Ronald Wallace:

"I must confess that I, too, like it:
the poem that's fried up flat and fast with condiments
on a sesame seed bun.  Steamy, grease-spattered,
and juicy, fluent with salt, piping hot
from the grill, glazed with bubbling oil."

Near-Distance

We are near the point where the tree of life,
     Or so it is affectionately called,
Stretches down its branches with outspread limbs,
Seeming to call forth the grass and clover.

Silhouetted against the sky,
     Where birds rest their wings and sing,
The smallest red buds begin to grow,
Foretelling leaves and summer and cricket songs.

The scent of damp earth in the tree's shadow
     Rises unseen to tempt the watcher.
Until the sun fades behind the clouds,
Making the whole earth a shadow.

The claws of the old, gnarly tree
     Upon this happenstance,
Seem to grope for death
So that grass and clover might live.

Far-Distance

A single streak of pale white cloud
Dances down to touch the tree.
Birches, farther off, near horizon,
Mimic the wannabe lightning cloud.

A wide swath of pasture land
Sprawls out between the trees and me.
It is green and grassy, splattered with tan
Where dead plants have resisted the grave.

And this tree touched by clouds
Stands alone, surrounded in a ghostly way
By those resolute plants, clutching
At the roots and trunks of lonely tree.

Mid-Distance

The gurgling river flows beyond,
Eddies swirling around rock islands
Covered in rotting branches,
Laid to rest by time and tempest.

Small dirt cliffs fall sharply off,
Covered at the top by prairie grasses
Which are still the dead-beige of winter,
The greens of spring still not known.

Beyond the range of vision,
On top of one such earthy cliff,
There runs a road, busy,
Noises of cars a blight to nature.

A pair of shoes rest on rocks,
Forming a sort of miniature shore.
Near to them, a set of water bugs
Glide and dance on the water's surface.

A cool blue sky and still, white clouds
Rest as drapery behind the place.
They look down with the warming sun,
Waiting for spring to breathe again.

Ancient

Flipping through pages,
Musty, worn by years.
Lightly coffee-stained,
Spine coming undone.

The hard leather fades,
Overcome by dust.
Bright inks, green and blue,
Once covered pages.

But all has withered,
Rusting unto black.
Then-ornate pictures
Corroded by time.

Still, the words remain,
Withstanding ages;
Their meaning's steadfast,
Ancient, ever true.

To That Fluffy Thing You Lay Your Head Upon

     Makeup-stained, soaked with tears,
Old friend.
     I've known you for years and years,
So long.
     The world never listened; you had ears,
Caring.

One Inch Song

One by one by one;
Size does not matter.
You contain songs, hours
Upon hours of tunes.

You are the spritely cube
That dangles in abstraction;
Not slim enough for pockets,
But still just right for me.

Dance and throb with song,
Keeping beat to lovely melodies,
Choosing to serenade only one,
By one; that one is me.

Wooden Palette

Come to life, Magic's instrument!
She creates the mysteries upon thine wooden back,
Covered in pools and spills of painted colours.

Like Atlas, thou dost hold up the world of her's;
But thine weight is not a heavy one to bear,
Simply creative, evocative, artistically transcending.

Come to life and bear thine load with steadfastness
And love the results created from the world thou dost carry.

This Represents

Spin the stars and galaxy,
Swath of silver Milky Way,
Twirling 'round the bone
     and flesh
Of your beloved's finger.

All that glitters is not gold;
For argent vows shine just as bright
When wrought in metal
     silver
Given to promise forever.

This ring is your word
Said with deep conviction.
You spun the stars and galaxy,
     my heart
The world of yet to be.

Cliche Poem

"It's up in the air."

"It's part of God's plan."

sigh

Love is blind -

The blind,

     Leading the blind.

Open mouth,

     Insert foot.

Play His trump card.

Kill two birds

     With one stone,

Digging yourself a hole.

Cliches

Women love chocolate.

Two peas in a pod.

This chair has your name on it.

I'm dead tired.

I woke up feeling like I was hit by a train.

Epigrams

Writers tell the human story and artists show the human soul.

Controlled falling is successfully walking down stairs.

We have lots of "day one"s but not enough "day done"s.

Imagination is the things to which little children fall asleep.

Eyebrows are mustaches for our eyes.

What goes in one ear comes out the mouth.