Poetry – Page 16 – Photographic Impressionistic Illusionistic

What Do I Know?

on December 30, 2020December 30, 2020 By Mark Wade 4 Comments

Do I like fishing?
As a boy
A hook and worm
Were tools for adventure

Pleasing my father
Who taught me rules.
One must pull their weight
Or be sent away

Dogs must defend the farm
Cats had better kill rodents
Cows will give milk
Or become dinner

These systems of value
Created from another world
Transitioned to the city
Never did fit very well.

So I relied on the moon
Or the waves of the ocean
Something repeatable,
Careless and sometimes unpredictable

Truth, I found
Is sometimes static
And sometimes
Constantly changing

Dusting off rod and line
Casting lures into the dark
Looking to catch something old
To capture a spark, a fire

I’m not a very good fisherman
And the fish know it
Better at feeding them
I suppose

I said hello to the moonrise yesterday. It was cool and the horizon burned lavender. Some things are static, others, not so much.

Best Seat in The House

on December 18, 2020December 18, 2020 By Mark Wade 2 Comments

Sometimes
The best seat in the house
Redefines “house”

Ten Months Gone

on December 4, 2020December 4, 2020 By Mark Wade 7 Comments

Swimming in yellow and orange
Treading on ground long forgotten
A soul restored

10 Months Gone – It’s been that long since I’d walked these trails. So overwhelming to walk them again. An entire spring, summer, and some of fall gone now. Glad they opened it up. Found a little gnat catcher fitting in and out of some lovely backlighting – Mission Trails Regional Park

Pleasantly Fall

on November 20, 2020November 20, 2020 By Mark Wade 2 Comments

New carpet covers the path
As we pass one another
Our masks force us
To look into each others eyes
To see a smile

Smile we do
Speaking with our friends
Without words
The trees that cover us
Laugh at our limited vision
Sleeping in warm beds

What I saw:

SoCal trees are a little slow on the uptake. The nights get cool, but the days are still warm, so our poor trees become confused.
Eventually, like children, they concede it’s time to “sleep.”

The Weeping Tree

on November 13, 2020November 13, 2020 By Mark Wade 4 Comments

Winds buffet my face
As I run to your shelter
Youth has returned into my blood
Into the heart

Praying,
I ask for quiet

But the screams
Of unanswered dreams
Fall from the sky
Like the leaves of autumn

Lasting reminders
Brilliant and lovely
In their death

Sharing a moment
With the bark of an old tree
Lines etched on my forehead
We weep together
Sending drops into the river
Hoping for an answer