It’s an unhappy thought, being next in line. Parents gone, moved on, leaving you next on that revolving wheel. One falls away, leaves a cog to be filled, round we merrily go, and yet we’re profoundly surprised and unprepared for the day when we jump free from our cog on that wheel. . . Written for Recursions: Day 18 – The Big Wheel Keeps on Turning
A long slow cry filled the air with thick grey soot, the train still many miles away, soft bosomed terrain carrying its call through hills and vales, a plain clear note carried on the wind. Hear its long complaint
at another junction, another dusty lane where journeys ramble through fields of yellow grain, red dust and sky-high stalks of corn. Our ears strain to the tune of the Burlington Northern. So strange
that our childlike hearts jump; we’re unrestrained by the shrill of the engineer’s call, his sweet refrain to our adventurous want to travel this strange lineal sound through summer sun and winter rain.
Poems are not, as people think, simply emotions (one has emotions early enough)—they are experiences.” —Rainer Maria Rilke
THE RAINSWEPT BLUR
We have worn paths to the most forest-deep
secrets in each other’s lives, tree crowns beyond,
reaching up into our mind’s eye – because we know
where trees go and that they are full of wind,
and I carry myself out into the rainswept blur,
into the drainage ditch, and we hurl our toys.
For whatever we lose (like a you or a me) it’s
always ourselves we find in the sea. And I am
suspended in this ephemeral moment,
holding in my hand a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone. .
The players in this poem, include: In a Blue Wood by Richard Levine The Forecast by Michael Dumanis Crossings by Ravi Shankar maggie and milly and molly and may by E. E. Cummings .