Author: lbstowe

The thing that hangs over me is a foreboding tree; dark & heavy each limb.
Though, it’s shadows loom dismal & large, it still bears fruit I can pick on a whim.

Shadows & shafts that compete neath a canopy tell a whole tale, which is deep.
Depth in the shade & bright in the light…either has a story & tears to weep.

Some would balk at the the murky shade with fear unfounded & thin as a whisper.
The same prefer the critique of the sun; trusting only views that are crisper.

There’s something truer in life under roofs green; where light fights to play with the dark.
Opposites mingle on mossy stage; where opposition is no longer stark.

A story cannot only be told with what’s already apparently known.
Eyes must adjust & come to ken secrets, I myself, daunting shadow has shown.

Imagining tapestry tomes of my life, I find myself concerned with pitch.
For…what’s the tone of songs sung purely of fact? I’d much prefer my yarn be rich.

The ardent desire of the masculine herd; the love songs they have sung.
I’ve only once, or maybe twice, delighted in one who spoke my tongue.

He was as fair as dark can be; with cinnamon eyes glowing brightly.
We once went a spell without any words; just eyes & arms locked tightly.

He held me through a night of song; when I sang to him all of my love.
The abrasive dawn grew ever near; but not before push came to shove.

Called by the future to make his way; I knew not where to live but now.
I said “be free” as soon as I heard…my “better angels” took their bow.

I hated those angels for stepping forward; even if they were right.
I’d sung my heart away to him; so, that love still haunts me day & night.

The pendulum of my life has very widely swung.
Hanging as it does from it’s rocking rickety rung.

I am the weight that wears on it; without much control.
E’er near, or having just left, the edges of the whole.

Ne’er bored because the swing just flies on past the center.
Always slightly vexed; half the route is cruel as winter!

Worry melts when swinging back; past center on to fun.
My polar existence, sometimes, makes me want to run.

Though I can’t, I hang reversed; feet bound o’er rusty hinge.
From there I’m wound from day to night, ever towards the fringe.

I do admit, I get a steady chance at singing.
On the hour & fifteens, my song you can hear ringing.

The truth makes us cry, so lie, lie, lie.
Some lost, more left, most gone when we die.

Can we choose our reality lived?
Or are all our dreams by real life shivved? 

Can the rare thrive next to day by day?
Will grayscale minds send bullets my way?

I say, trade your bullets for flow’r seed.
Out-create the destruction & greed.

Live & let live, each to their own lies.
Grow your own world with limitless skies.

Violent thunderous autumn storms, the kind that kill the heat.
They crack across the milky sky & wake you from your sleep.

Early, every afternoon & then they go all night.
Heat begins to wither from eves which nibble at daylight.

Cool wet mornings breach the dawn before high noon dries them out.
Though the heat still wins the day, it has lost its nightly bout.

So, on & on, the night eats day; while tempests fuel the chill.
Chill you smell upon the wind, cutting summer heat’s standstill.

After lightening laden, soaked midnights; a promise wreaths the morn…
“Ready thyself for seasons’ change-these squalls are autumn’s horn.”

Caught in the swell of drama atop the perilous cresting wave.
The frothy height where you can see what it took & what it gave.

Above the din, all is clear; how it started & how it ends.
Nothing to do but watch up here; with the farce you must make friends.

The soaked card house of tears & laughs tips toward the coming crash.
Your life boat is acceptance, when all surges past in a flash.

In that quick rough moment, when all turns to violent gritty foam;
Steel your nerves to make solid land, where life’s wreckage you can comb.

Wrecked & beat, you must rebuild with what you collect from that beach.
Then, on salvaged raft, again, we choose to sail into the breach.

All of the steam we blew off that night.
So high our lives were out of our sight.

Our confection crashed under dawn’s weight.
Yet, full were we both, the night did sate.

As the crusts of dark crumbled away…
Our eyes adjusted to searing day.

The bonds we’d tied around us that eve…
Turned to dust; like we never did cleave.

Eyes locked in eyes, for something we’d known…
All trace of the pain we’d shared unshown.

We turned away from where we’d embraced.
Our love that evening; gone to waste?

I have always been iridescent with change, even when I’m standing still.
I’m introspective & grimly determined not to stagnate in my swill.

My peck & talon or the annoying whine; pleas to attend me or leave.
My train of eyes trails my body bejeweled; whilst my breast does proudly heave.

Anyone looking my way falls under my sway; as breath & awe I take.
For I am a rare & wonderous thing; your thirst for dreams I’m here to slake.

Along my way, I shed eyes here & there to watch the world I’ve left behind.
My three prong silken crown divines my future & which way I next should wind.

My train waves & ascends when my magic of transfixion is needed most.
But this man draped his eyes with the lenses I’d scattered & thus became my host.

Though, now, I’m just the spirit of the quill; with which here is written my shape.
I inhabit more than this writer knows; my gems encrust each word’s escape.

Axioms are bullshit; They just surf from black to white.
Most facts lie in dawn or dusk’s gray; neither day nor night.

Leave away your “right & wrong” & truth is what you’ll hear.
You’re own compass pointing north; without the static fear.

Things that aren’t your cup of tea aren’t automatic faults.
They’re just other’s perspectives; not there for your assaults.

Though, we’re taught the “us V them” by normalcy & teams…
We should learn from life’s great school; not remedial themes.

In the end, it’s up to you & also up to me…
To see that good & bad are lies, between which lies gray sea.

So, when you judge, review the facts to see if there is room…
For some space next door to you where different lives can bloom.

I spit out all the bitter things; my heart they will not sour.
I tend my glow of fires warm; doubly in a dark hour.

The world can be a most raucous sea, bashing us to & fro.
But when it calms, it falls on us to decide which way to go.

We can choose to practice in the chop, the ways we choose to steer…
Or paddle on to safer shores, far away from waves so near.

Either choice may bring us joy, but neither promises us peace.
The workings of calm we long for rests inside awaiting grease. 

Some already feel this & some just haven’t heard of it yet.
So, pass the oilcan to those in need so less of us need fret.

You can choose which element to be when facing life’s rough throes.
Not metal, fire or wood; but water! It can wear all their clothes.