Log Jam

Days flow down and away
river jammed packed with logs
groaning together on the raging
waters from head of the flume
to the gated and closed bottom
groaning under pent up pressure
as if influenced by their own desire
to be free of the muddy slippery banks
and confines from shore to distant shore
to sail alone, with time to stretch, peacefully,
one at a time like a swimmer bobbing along
on the changing whim of the comforting current
finally being pushed downstream through the delta
into a the wide open raging sea to be confined no more
by shores but left to wander on one wave after another

Effects of Time

Sweet fresh breathes
of clear light spring air
drawn early morning
damp dew cool fresh
tickles toes soaking Keds
running in morning fields,
wandering midday woods
climbing evening dusky trees
reaching for fading blue sky
unexplored and mysterious.
and one day Ked’s don’t fit
dirty, ragged and time worn
cast off and nearly forgotten
as spring turns to August
with oppressive heavy air
and with the jaded beat of time
there is no time to explore
no running in morning fields,
wandering midday woods,
or climbing evening trees
because fields, woods, tree
don’t fit and are no longer
huge, new or a mystery

Elegy for Innocence

Once a sweet breath
of light spring clear air
drawn early in the morning
as damp dew cool and fresh
touches toes in wet Keds
that run in morning fields,
to evening woods so large
they must not be on any map
remain unexplored and mysterious

Until one day Ked’s don’t fit
beat, ragged and worn
like bedsheets of the sick
and spring turns to August
heavy sour and tainted
with the jaded sweat of time
and there is no time to explore
any morning fields, or evening woods,
because fields and woods don’t fit
and they are no longer huge, new
or a mystery