Her practiced fingers stroke the well-worn keys—
A simple melody with simple ease—
Then reach for fifths to fill the pattern’s run
Alone. No rush. There’s no one else to please:
No judge, no jury, no race to be won.
So she slows—settles to a mournful pace
Reminding her of all the pain it took
To get her here: the lines she had to trace
To rise above and toss away the book
Alone. No rush. There’s no one else to please
And that’s enough. She sets her music’s sun
And beauty echoes from her hard-earned grace…
But sly shadows steal an embarrassed look.
6 Comments | tags: formal poetry, golden line, golden ratio, poem, poetry, shadowscape, tarot | posted in Poems
I captured lightning after years
Of trying—pulled the trigger when
Nothing was in my sight but fears:
The wandering fear suspended in black night,
The fear of women, fear of men,
The fear of failure, fear that fate
Had wanted clockwise circles then
When I instead passed right.
So I in darkness hoped the gate
Of gods retired from careers
Of rage would not unlock too late.
They turned the key—gave me this light.
2 Comments | tags: formal poetry, golden line, iambic, japan, kawasaki, lightning, mongolia, photograph, picture, poem, poetry, tetrameter, woden's day | posted in Poems