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– Poem For My Father –
Tag: wind
Space Devoid of Time
wind blows memories through my mind\
time recedes, I’m moving through
space devoid of time … in different
lands …
i’m in another place
drawn in as a sketch or
a figure etched in fog or
mist watching … seeing … seeing
the light of time past
stored inside …
Light from the past taken
still alive in that bubble of time
seeing clearly for nano seconds
but lived in once again!
The storied light of the past
alive within us all ..
through space
devoid of
time …
next to the timeless past
‘real life’
is a parallel universe …
a linear river of time,
boxed reality
separated from the past
by an impermeable membrane
impossible to break through
except during sleep
when past light bleeds into
dreams like wispy smoke and
we see by
the light of two
suns …
Ghost Trees Wailing In the Wind
A picture couldn’t capture
the ferocity of constant
wind blowing at least forty m.p.h.
across the surface of the lake
straight from the north
white caps rushing
the water the trees
the sand and leaves …
everything combined
Shhsssshing relentlessly
my hoody inflated into
a reverse parachute
pushing my head and
body backward
dots of rain prickling
my face the occasional
snow flake spiraling through
space
forcing me to retreat
to calmer climes
along the road
so much
calmer now
than 5 minutes ago when i/first walked to the shoreline
I walked to 23 then back down the hill
hearing cracks and snaps
of dead firs breaking
like sticks
the bottom half
of each broken tree attached
to the ground pointing upward
topped by splinters looking like
beasts in snarling anger
released from prison allowed
to express their furiosity
at the plague of
beetles who had
caused their demise … long gone now …
off to greener
pastures …
their plaintive wails
and pent up frustration
their howls of pain
unheard …
ghost sounds
each tree could only hear
in their own after lives …
ghost trees wailing
at the wind
unheard ..
punctuated by
SNAP! CRACK!! SNAP!! SNAP!!! CRACK!!!!!
the initial sound
of ultimate
rot …
Wind/Travel/Time/Serenity/End
Imagine ….
It’s a frigid early winter
day …
no snow on the
ground trees bare of
leaves …
fingers and
limbs black against a dismal
gray
sky …
…..
you are on a bicycle
barreling down a black top
road pushed by a
powerful western
wind …
you are the only object
static ..
in your world of
movement …
…..
the road a black
ribbon
disappears beneath spinning
wheels …
boulders submerged among
giant elms separating fallow
fields of broken
corn stalks, plow lines
extending into the
distance …
approach …..
run parallel …..
then
disappear into the
void …
…..
reality pure …
unencumbered by
thoughts and words
appears
tiny …
distant …
then
looms
larger and
larger … forming
funnels of
sustained
color, form, size and
movement …
…..
You are experiencing
Life
within a
river of
flowing awareness …
on a frigid early winter
day ….
…..
Your world
framed
against trees bare of
leaves …
fingers and limbs
black
reaching into a dismal
gray
sky …
You are
IN
wind … where
there IS no
wind …
…..
IN wind
there is no
sound …
there is only
SILENCE;
AIR;
SILENT AIR
and SIGHT with
heart and breath
combined …
the sound of your
SERENITY …
…..
Yet
you are moving
faster through a world of
silent magic river flowing
sight …
while …
… IN the wind is only silence the
sound of your serenity pulling
you
further through
space …
…..
The spinning road
beneath you
flies the tape that
measures growing
shorter;
distance measures
time … the road
consumed
yet …
IN the wind is only silence the
sound of your serenity pulling you
further
further into
time …
the road that has an
end in time the
point of no
return
the
thread keeps growing
shorter
the fear within you
growing larger
yet …
…..
… IN the wind there is only
silence the
sound of your
serenity
pulling
further pulling
you
into space
the
end …
the
point of no
return …
…..
your comfort dream is
ending
fear is taking
place …
the turning point upon
you
the dream within
the
river flowing
sight
your
serenity drawing
closer …
the time is
right …
yet
IN the wind there
is only …..
your
serenity
but
now …
IT IS TOO LATE … !!
the end is HERE …
Brown Oaks
North wind gently sheds
the remaining brown oak leaves
(always the last to leave)
onto the ground
for squirrels delight
their bedded pleasure with perfect
syncronicity …
Journey Home
At the end of the road I turned and faced the wind.
Flying dirt or bits of snow piled about in patches stung my face. Small sticks, newspapers tumbled past. What few leaves left over from Fall were being plucked and sent flying over empty farmers’ fields like dark butterflys speeding along at breakneck speed in circular patterns.
I stared back at the road where moments before I had sailed through life, the wind at my back speeding past life’s beauty, aware only of the burden of unforeseen consequence and pain, the beauty of the world having passed by passed by unnoticed. My only concern … TIME.
I tossed the heavy knapsack I carried for longer than I can remember into the tall grass where it disappeared.
Golden memories flowed into my mind.
“I must journey forward now, against the bitter cold.” My destination? A world where I once lived within the light.
Arms around my chest to keep warm the beating heart within, I stepped forward and began the journey home.
Fall: Trees of Life Remembered: AND Don’t Fix It If It Ain’t Broke! A Lesson From A Know It All …
Hello every body; Friends. Likers. (OK, bikers too) First and Last time readers and all good people who read my poems and stories especially the people I see all the time who I feel I have a unique kinship with. It seems that they like my work almost as much as I do and I love my work. It’s nice to get the reassurance I get from you and I sincerely appreciate you.
When I read my stories and poems I’m almost always amazed that these words and these thoughts came out of me! WHERE DO THEY COME FROM, I constantly ask myself.
Enough! What I want to tell you all and everybody about is a rule I learned that served me well. A voice that tells me …….. “Leave it alone! Don’t fix it if it’s NOT BROKEN”
Wull, I just learned it again today but because I remembered too late I’ve reduced what I wrote to a shitty ‘over tweaked’ poem. Now I’m stuck. Embarrassed, fer crying out loud! … Jeeeze … I told Jodi it was like walking around with my fly open and part of a white shirt sticking out . Just enough to make it stupidly embarrassing, which iI feel.
So, here’s how it happened.
I was dozing, I had just started seeing the dark that comes before …. going under … not ‘sleep’ rather ‘going under’.
Ok so, I had just started to go under … to see the darkness encroach, when my phone whistles at me. Do you have a phone that whistles? Sounds like a bird? I don’t mind the sound but sometimes it’s pretty annoying.
My eyes flew open like somebody had just shot me between the eyes with a 22 calibre pistol.
Since I was lying on the couch by the sliding glass door, I turned my head and looked up at the trees.
They were swaying in the breeze, side to side, mostly green (but, turning color quickly), a gentle hiss, their hands moving to and fro touching as they passed by. The sky pale blue.
The reds and yellows were already being nudged off by the daily winds. Mostly reds and oranges. Leaves were falling through the air like giant colorful flakes of snow different colors mixing. Absolutely beautiful, of course.
Quick as a …. I can’t think of a metaphor or … are those things analogies?? “Quick as a … ,” So I guess I’ll say, “Quick as a motherfucker,” I grabbed my phone and wrote the poem below and it was beautiful … I really liked it. It’s not EXACTY the poem below. You’ll see.
The words flowed out of me. It was interesting to watch my finger tick on letters of words that I was thinking as the thoughts assembled themselves. I was outside of myself watching myself ‘hunt and peck’.
I liked the piece so, I transcribed it into the computer and posted it.
Within a short time I had 6 or 7 ‘Likes’ and that was cool. A couple of new people that I doubt will come back but so what? It’s still nice to see someone stop by, like what you’ve written, tell you they liked it then move on. It’s wonderful, in fact …
So since it was pretty good I thought I’d make it better so, I started tweaking it, making it more ‘logical’ … action proceeding in a straight line; idea, reason or reason idea blah blah … I began trying to fucking explain everything. Fuck that!
Pretty soon I had the damn thing so “F worded” up I almost cried and since I didn’t want to touch it because I kind of hated it, I left it here but … it’s SO EMBARRASSING that this innocent, beautiful poem became twisted, stupid and embarrassing.
So … apologize to those who read it, thought ‘Ewwww … ‘ and left never to be seen again.
So, the reason for all this bullshit is, I wanted to give you the rule for writing poetry I use all the time …. sometimes!!! … not always … this rule doesn’t work always … Nothing is right 100% of the time, right?
So as I mentioned already, here’s the rule again … listen the little voice that says, “Leave it alone, stupid. Don’t fix it if it isn’t broke!”(Not always! But, often enough).
The proof of the pudding is the following poem. God knows, you might like it but, originally I think it had an innocence and sense of power. Now all it is is some pretty words. Awwwww ….. Awwwww …
“Bullshit
So, I hope you get some use out of my “know it all” advice.
For those who think I’m REALLY being stupid instead of just acting stupid, all I can say is ”Why don’t you go masturbate yourself!!?” Oops! … oh! jeeze! I’m sorry … !!! I’m really sorry! That happens all the time! I get so enthused. I can’t help it!
So, anyway, read on if you want to. ks … Ewwww ….
Thank you for your time and … I sell on ebay also so …. whoops! Did it again. Take care good people. With sweet love for you who I see often, you make my heart feel warm. Kurt
Wind’s a blowin’
leaves a fallin’
Fall’s a gettin’ ready
to rest its trees
underground to dream
vast earth dreams.
Our trees returning to
forever.
Leaves, their days in the sun
near done
celebrate with
prisms of color
once absorbed during the days of
earthly delight
the time of sun’s brief flight.
First red then orange
the first and second prismatic light
we see … the attraction of
majesty only partly seen
like the tail end of
a lovely sunset.
Comes next
yellow … of all the places on
the wheel of light’s fractal colors
the one that glows mid way
between lines with definition;
Yellow glows as the refection of sun’s whole light
it sought from above.
They are the lucky ones who get to walk in
Sol’s great footsteps.
Green?
You’re familiar with, of course after
five months with limbs
the greatest parts/reaching out through
space and time with
loving fingers
running through existence
one last burst of color.
the gatherers of sunlight/their colors seen separately through life’s spectrum contained within.
Their colors seen separately/they are
the gatherers of sunlight
Green leaf gathering life so beautifully with sound that hushes and whistles low;
makes sweet sap from sun’s light
with great great mystery.
Their work of summer’s past given
with delight to brew and wait ‘till
the nap of time
is over.
Their’s is the
nourishment taken from above
stored below then given back
to prove we’re all a part of cycles.
ALL of life within the bounds of living
the draught of sweet delivery
sustenance for next years progeny
next year’s offspring, given.
The sweet flood of
innocence and caring
passing on sweet memories of
summers past.
The blood of renewal
a welcome mat rolled out, the
pablum of hope, the splendor of
new growth!
Comes blue and violet that
unseen world of light remaining hidden
except for maples and a few others
both ends of the world from
beginning to end; red and purple
emerging one from the other
home at last to rest,
to feel earth dreams before
rebirth again and again and again the
lessons of ‘being’ if only seen and
Remembered.
The majesty of trees!
The
spectacle, the
cycle born anew, the same
lessons taught with each
November, the movement of
all that matters
they carry us through
time ..
Now?
Comes a time to rest the ‘eyes’ of their
community one great world of their
awareness connected
soon to go below to see
and HEAR and to remember
Mother’s most precious gift:
Life’s splendor ..
Wind and leaves the breath of our well being
within the bounds of
what they are we lie captured in between
Wind and leaves and trees the
great Mother who gives us
what we need, the
breath of
forever …
Outdoors Always Works For Me
Outdoors always works for me.
Lake gazing
lost in time
thoughts grow still
cease to ‘gzist.
Spellbound movement
roiling calm
trees and wind at play
taking weight away
from heavy snow.
Blowing fallen colors
taking broken limbs
willing partners
grateful lovers
always playing.
Northern breezes bring winter winds and storms/snow that swarms and lives in crystalline form/black and white vistas/endless vistas of black and white.
Warmth brings
southern breezes.
Leaves whispering
wind’s return
forming perfect union
rising falling
sex collusion
seminal fluid
carrying seeds
blown everywhere
growing life
exploding … !
Watching wind and trees
their spellbinding movement,
their night time sighs form
perfect union.
Watching wind and trees
I see giving, always giving.
Giving trees with the
breeze giving with
the breeze …
Outdoors always works for me.
Wind
Wind rolls water upon itself
vibrating colors darker gray.
Swarming ovals riding over surface glass
ripple and recoil, absorb, push aside,
reflect the wind above
its moving footprint
cross sectioned
momentarily
for us to
see …
Where I’ll Sleep
I want to be buried surrounded by the fields of my youth … next to other kindred souls who decided to lie in similar peace on that grassy knoll sheltered by a giant oak, it’s limbs spread wide to shield us … it’s roots embracing our boxed homes,
cradling us in our
sleep …
distant from the hub-bub of life … too far away for casual visitors with plastic flowers …
our serenity only slightly disturbed
by the occasional car rushing by …
the sound of tires rolling fast …
metal barreling through thick air
rising from summer heat
when corn silk and yellow seedlings …
trees and grass all join in
the dance of life …
thrusting higher and higher
towards the sun …
the same as my neighbors
when they produced seed,
multiplied, then passed on …
leaving tiny bits of themselves behind
to prove there’s life
after …
*****
in the stillness of winter’s coldest clear night … i’ll rise from within the Earth to
glide on moon’s rays …
the wind my flesh …
the air my breath …
the stars my sight …
the oak tree above …
my haven …
Life … Knowledge
… content to accept all that is true without conscious effort, a part of the whole, absorbing through their finger tips … all there is to know … continued …
“Trees are such marvelous beings aren’t they?” he said. “The supreme creation of Life, along the continuum of awareness, free from all bonds, able to gather all knowledge from the earth and sky then share it with one another.’’
‘’Look at the movement of the limbs!’’
We watched the patterns of movement different than the leaves yet joined together connected, waving at the world or punching each other in playfulness forming even more patterns laughing or even guffawing with the wind, its half brother/sister in shared partnership.
We listened and through the silence of our minds … we heard the hiss of the leaves and wind, we watched the waving limbs patterned against the blue sky as laughter from a playground of children.
Then He told us how they reach the tendrils of their minds … their roots … into the soil where they feel the vibrations of the planet and they know what they are hearing, they understand the language of the earth, they know the Truths of life the truths of the universe from the smallest particles outward. One long strip of awareness from where they are rooted to the edge of the horizon and far beyond.
“They know the stuff we struggle to understand,” he said, “plus an infinity of knowledge more, while we scurry about like ants grabbing pieces of sticks or crumbs of knowledge left over from a picnic, all the while thinking how supreme we are …. .”
Life … Knowledge …
This is one of my favorite pieces I’d like to share with my new readers … and re-share with those who have been so faithful and tolerant of me for some time now … with gratitude for all your kind thoughts and actions … ks
Kurt Struble Writing 
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