Author: lbstowe

The physics of smoke tell gravity to get fucked.
Burning ash & haze as if from heavenward plucked.

A fire’s waste sends aloft all its pleas for rebirth.
Rain sends them back down to dampen scorch seeded earth.

Long years hence, there’s a tree in that very same grave.
With no memory of fire, tall branches grow brave.

Clouds gather, grow pregnant & the sky cracks apart.
The lumber may be soaked but lightening’s fire will still start.

The pine sap boils & the trunk shatters into flame.
A cone falls to the mud…A new verse of the same.

Now, the familiar golden crunch of Fall.
The brown, red, orange & mint of it all.

The yellow flurries drift down upon gusts.
Ochres, umbers & sienna…the rusts.

For, Summer’s grown old & creaking away.
Cool bites early morn; then, stripping all day.

Just enough cold passing thru for color.
No bundling up till the view grows duller.

Change, like magic, amuses & warns us.
Get ready for winter’s solemn chorus. 

For most, aging is a cavalcade of giving up.
They let all of their gumption spiral out of their cup.

For some, the clock winds tighter until cogs & springs break.
They’re found fighting til the day that they die, for Pete’s sake!

Then, there are those for whom life runs on autopilot.
Those ushered by money thru their lives on clouds violet.

Few are those who’ve strode on the earth of two or more roads.
The same know the difference between these toils & their loads.

Once in a blue moon…a handful can stride down them all.
Lucky, if one’s a creative, recording that crawl. 

Venus laughing; String of pearls;
Landed gentry; dukes & earls.

Zeus is hiding; darkened rain cloud;
Humble peoples; land tilled & plowed.

Mercury’s slow; dilation grows;
Flora hiding; nobody knows.

Janus two-faced; augurs lying;
Pan’s a deadbeat; Caelus crying.

Open season; idols mounted;
Dios muertos; graves uncounted.

I’ve rounded thousands of periods…both punishments & joys.
I’ve scribbled a thousand turns of phrase…each word my voice employs.

There was a time when a blank page was one of two last resorts.
As the road stretched on, they cleaved close to me; ever my cohorts.

Every letter of every word that I have ever writ down…
Sticks to me in a million layers; my armor & my crown.

Even wisps of sound that made no sense are now my bright brocades.
The tinkle of medals on my chest…the words my action fades.

Thusly, I am all that I have ever said, or wrote, or sung.
My teeth have their own typeface & I’ve an ink pad for a tongue.

Our facets give us substance; even conflicting ones.
Laser born of prism great, burn histories of suns.

Little idiosyncrasies…flowered grassy knoll.
What sets us apart is what makes us one of the whole.

We have a blooming face for different occasions.
One per season & one for all life’s deviations.

Still, each bud we pop in view is pulled out of the green.
Petals bobbing brilliantly above a meadow scene.

Yet from above, seen as a whole; foliage is all.
Up close, a blossom’s singular; distance deadens thrall.

There’s something in everything; while everything’s not much at all.
There’s value in right here & now; too high removed & you’ll fall.

There’s magic in brevity; the fleeting nature of beauty.
There are answers to be found…lost in moments felt acutely.

There’s release in less bandwidth; untuned from every data set.
There instead, ignorant bliss from past & future’s looming threat.

There is space to be had away from the feed & stream & screen.
There’s meadows & creeks & copses of trees waiting to be seen.

There’s where it was, there’s where it is & there it will always be.
With an iota of wit I’ll plot thru there & straight to me.

In for a penny & in for a pound.
This commitment what makes the world go round.

Feet first, headlong & put cart before horse.
Maximum effort hoping luck lends force.

We leap without looking while fools rush in.
We count all our chickens; both cock & hen.

We’re coarse & we wear our britches too big.
We don’t give a fig for games with no rig.

We won’t accept either second or third.
We live in silos but look to be heard.

We’re ever robbing Peter to pay Paul.
Yet, some are content & need not at all.

The mask you wear has slipped.
The level structures dipped.

The spell, at once, was broke.
It loosened every yoke.

You paused in your ascent.
Looked back & all had went.

No patrons held in thrall.
Now was your time to fall.

I’d hoped that you could fly…
Propelled by your own lie.

Soy completamente nuevo.
Acabo de salir del huevo.

Primero aprendí mi inglés.
Entonces, español y francés.

Pero soy un bebé en ambos.
Aún así, aquí estamos.

La brevedad de los poemas…
Tanto simple como supremas.

Con un léxico de un bebé…
Un mundo de sentido llevé.