Cedar Park

I was waiting, gazing,

out the front door of my hotel at

orange poppies swaying beside a tan rock,

when an bright orange cab parked in front and

the driver got out, sipped his water and stood

waiting; revelation ?

 

a brief glimpse eclipsed,

a moment first lifted to the faceting light

then dropped to the floor of the world.

 

                                                  Guy

 Washing Dishes

Outside the window the wind tumbles

the sparrows, seizes the leaves in its teeth

and scours the bricks with the bodies

of summer turned autumn gold.

Later tonight I will waken, anxious

in the winter dawn, and know briefly that

death is closer than birth and that my past

cradles more years than my future.

Outside now the wind has vanquished

both sparrows and leaves, still

a jay confident in cached nuts

screams defiance at the coming cold.

                                                      

 Guy

Genuis Loci

The desktop gods Ganesha, Hanumazn practice stillness

laid down in the carving, one arm so, trunk askew.

I admire their stoic motionless contentment with their place

beneath an old master postcard and family photos

as one more day moves imperceptibly

but inexorably towards some twilight resolution.

I harvest the silent monument, unspoken words,

sculpt contentment, confinement into my bones.

The world may spin for me centred in my web

but I will turn instead to the filed word, unpaid account,

my compass the world of desktop gods, paperclips

and not let guilt or gyration carry the day away.

                                                                 Guy