Cry from the shadowed place,
mourning ingests the hollowing core.
The void obligates,
burnishing the binding ring crafted long ago.
We thread our way through this incarnation
to a gallery populated by sorrows and joys
of choices made, and lives engaged,
giving us nothing and everything.
raw this moment,
terror the overture in the closing symphony.
Unfolding – enfolding
churning dawn’s rhythms,
boiling down, never leaving,
composing before the fire is tamped
Hey, you’re not supposed to be writer! What’s with these damn poems? (They’re pretty good.)
Any way, I have a book for you…. Shoot me an email.
Will, Thanks for the compliment. I am ready to read! I’ll stop by some time and pick up the book. Getting up and running with a website will be fun. We have been babysitting for Claire lately. This writing stuff is when I can get it in and lately it seems everything is jammed. It is a damn good thing I still practice psychology a bit so I can subsidize the writing. I feel like a freaking corporation!! Doug