Wonder Tree

Like you, I change with the season...
like a shape-shifter...we seem to always alter our appearances
to fit the model...the design....
but unlike you,
I morph into a multitude of sentiments...
until only a mirage of my former self remains.

...now i am a stranger to you,
and even to myself.
...i close my eyes and wait for the Spring to come.

gregory

shopping madness notes

the crowds are stampeding through the mall,
spending what little they have,
anticipating sales and "events"...
packed in aisles...backs to the wall.

what is it they really hope to find?
something small, something big...
one of a kind?

no...just deeper in debt...
more stuff...no job to pay for the stuff...
and a new calendar to plan for next year's
blackest of Friday's.

sitting....

so i sit.
staring at this wall...
neither alive,
or dead.

somewhere in between...
i am.

somewhere folded upon my breath...
i rest.

somewhere touching the icey cold window pane...
i look.

it is this stillness the gives me identity...
neither irish nor american...white....nor black...
male nor female...

...just still awareness...
i am.

notes to the Elves...

i walk these paths with ease now...
still pondering the choices i have made,
still hestitant to claim my innocence,
or my shame.
i look for your dwellings that once gathered in clusters
'round the Oak Groves of days past.
i search through the brush hoping to find a trace
of my "traceless friends"...
hoping you will share your words with me,
and listen to another lonely voice.
i am a stranger, except here.
this truth i have known for many, many years.
i come to this grove if only to discover what i have lost;
gather what i have gained.
through the branches...the leaves and brush...i see the fireplace waiting
to warm my feet.
i will return to my small cabin,
still to look over my shoulder for your footprints in the snow.

Epitaph

He was prone to tolerance...
and yet steeped in bias.

He searched love...
and when it found him,
he ran like a coward from the field.

He loved life...
and yet, never really lived.

He dabbled in music, prose
and poetry...
Yet struggled to understand the
obvious.

Here he lies...
Under the fallen leaves and ton
Of dirt...