every breath a bead in an endless strand
"I'm not sure about all this, but I'm starting to get the hang of it."
https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hgI_v8L2kHM/V7NTrVZ6M7I...
concrete plain gray highway woven across the land ...
nothing sweet empty sky not a care in the world a ...
Crashing against concrete, a tanker's oily wake sm...
Terzanelle of Kosovo Fields Richard Jackson June 2...
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stark beauty laid bare
no cherished heart of silence
no season's hallmark
just love that dances barefoot
in the middle of the air
heart break
split me open
my thoughts seem to cut me
fear and hope fracture my well being
let go
Labels: heartbreak, let go
Crashing
against concrete,
a tanker's oily wake
smells of dead fish and gasoline.
HeartBreak.
She is
Turning away.
The arc of a stone tossed;
A splash in the peaceful waters.
Ripples
ripples
Whisper nothing
Along the morning beach
Two dolphins glide by silently
SmallWaves
Bright star
Touch the moons horns
Fall with me this Evening
RedClouds deepen into velvet
twilight
Warm sun
Through the bamboo,
Azalea choked by weeds;
My blunt tool grubs out the choke trees.
HardWork.
Rejoice!
blue jays have come
to eat the ripe berries:
the purple burden of this bush.
PraiseThem!
flowers
someone planted
don't belong in this place
Pull them out and let the weeds grow
NoSweat
Labels: quinquains
Terzanelle of Kosovo Fields
Richard Jackson
June 2000
The soldier thinks he can beat the moon with a stick.
His is a country where roads do not meet, nor words touch.
The walls around him crumble: his heart is a pile of bricks.
We sit with the sky draped across our knees and trust
that the shadows of planes, whisper like children in the fields,
follow roads that do not meet us, speak words we will not touch.
The soldier lights a fuse that makes a tragic story real:
our words scavenge the countryside like packs of dogs, derelict,
abandoned, hunted by the shadows of planes that cross the fields.
It's true that the blackbirds fill the air with their terrible music.
How could we think a soldier wouldn't turn our stars to sawdust?
Now our words scavenge the countryside, and our loves are derelict.
I wanted to love you beyond the soldier's aim, beyond the war's clutch.
Now bombs hatch in our hearts. Even the smoke abandons us for the sky.
How could we think a soldier wouldn't turn our stars to sawdust?
We live in a world where the earth refuses to meet the sky.
Our homes are on the march, their smoke abandons us for the sky.
Our soldiers thought they could beat the moon with their sticks.
Now every heart is crumbling, every love is a pile of bricks.
Shred the layered Veils
and Burn for heat these garments
which clothed us Summer long
now Shed their Golden splendor;
go Naked towards the Snow!
Till under these Pale stalks
in Clawed and furrowed Earth;
Bury life's remains with snow:
our gifts to winter's frozen heart.
Awaiting springtime's golden glow.
under this cold sky's arc
Effort rarely serves great Virtue;
One person's Work feeds many:
Starlings descend on the field.
Young ones shirk the Plow.
A paltry Rag-and-stick
man Wards off the Birds.
This season's children must till
Grandmother's garden. Save the wine;
Break bread in new Jerusalem.
I thought that he was some one elses cat.
He liked our weedy, rank, neglected yard.
He basked in sunny patches watching birds.
When it rained curled against the house
I loved the way he ran and then looked back
When ever I came near to make a friend:
Eyes Blazing, he marched away with tail erect.
When I left food he disapeared. Rain filled
The empty bowl and grass filled his sunny nest.
I asked my Neighbor about the old grey cat.
He said, "No, my Fathers freind is gone,"
He used to sit in my dad's lap each day
He came here after dogs had ravaged him."
Now when I catch the old man's eye, we both know
