A Few From the Vaults

I used to write a lot more than I currently do.  I don't think I've lost interest, but I just can't find the words.  So, I figure if share a few from the stacks that maybe it will encourage to take up my pen again for cathartic, or aesthetic reasons.  Enjoy.

Constellations

Down here on the warm cement,

Beneath Luna’s shining light, I lay

In wait for a fresh idea, a thought

To seize in my mind, to pass

Through my fingers, to the end

Of this ballpoint.

I count three celestial spheres

In the deep

Azure twilight, and begin to

Think of the constellations. I look

For Orion, but in this light he

May indeed still be traversing the

Clear, sparkling waters of Attica

As Diana pulls back her bow

To take aim at her unexpecting lover.

So, while the warrior eludes

My gaze, the bear lingers

forth from his heavenly hollow

In search of his cub or scavenges

For sustenance 

At the end of the world,

Where, the great warrior and the great

Huntress bask in the lunar luminescence,

The great bear could indeed be in the

Thicket off in the distance.

Woodland Cemetery

I remember being in the graveyard by school.

Wasn’t too far out of my way home,

And yet, I felt like getting lost

On the twisting path in Woodland.

Wasn’t too far out of my way home,

And quite nicer than the run-down

Neighborhood not on the twisting path in Woodland

Lined by marble and granite memorials.

Quite nicer than the run-down

Quiet rows that calm me,

Lined by marble and granite memorials

Laid out like dying apple trees.

The somber rows.

Led by autumn, breezes sting: knives

Laid out like dying.  Apple trees in

The snow-covered groves of the first snow.

The autumn breeze stinging,

I remember being in the graveyard by school,

Daylight running out, my curfew getting close,

And yet I felt like getting lost.

The Grave of Paul Lawrence Dunbar, Woodland Cemetery