Of Age: A (double) Haiku

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What is your favorite genre of music?

My favorite music genre is sometimes opera — but, sometimes, not.
When one is born with a heightened sensory awareness, daily living feels like moving through the days and nights while smack dab in an opera that surprised you with its beginning and that also never ends. Everything is a drama king singing its story…asking for your attention and refusing to let you go. It’s serious and humorous, beautiful and exhausting.

We long for daylight
Did it revolt, walk away
And leave us, alone?

Darkness, and then — dawn!
We need not dread the minutes
‘fore our finest hour

Photo Credit: Lisa Mae, FieryPhotography.com

Beam Reach Baby

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There’ll be no solemn song
No “Hey, you hero of mine!”
Wind beneath their wings you were
Relegate of eagle shadow
Beautiful, smile…hide your pain

Fore-and-aft, you’ll flutter about
Oh, love! How you’ll luff
Teardrop-shaped, yet foil-less
All this windy day is wind
The ocean of you, they showboat atop

In the Echinacea

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A Cardinal, spying from the pow’r lines by my kitchen window, acts tempestuously

As if he cannot resist me

Truth be told, I’m fond of him, too

Remarkable as he is — less a vivid red than most, and volume missing in the tufts of his shaggy cone

I know the migration he’s been through, and he needs that

Unafraid to ask, I say, “What is it you want?”

His response…be still, my heart!

I won’t betray his confidence, but we see eye-to-eye

It’s the reason he finds himself landing in my backyard peach tree at every possible opportunity

Poking around in the Echinacea, for calm

Glad I give him refuge, I leave open the door

Talking with him like this, leaves me wanting more

The Fly

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I prefer my quicker shutter
When lumbering around downtown
Up town, and out of town

These nouns all move
So fast
So fancy, in the vast

I can be about
Without being found out
With my quicker shutter

Kinetic

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We look ahead at sixty now
The gander, grace-filled
The graceful goose
Silvery fire, calm
Wondrous!

So we wait and keep walking
Flying, when we’re able
But never again bewildered
If we would not be this
We could not be that

Original thought credit: Ms. Joni Mitchell; “Both Sides Now”

Signal Mountain Road

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Make your way, you, into my night-thoughts, bandying about

Thrashing within my yesterdays, my tonights

An eternal terrorist, it would seem, with no new tactics

Age old, you’re old, I’m getting old and have had enough

I will tell you this, though you will not hear: I am more

More than this, more than us, more than you can handle

The proof is how it took forever for you and that you’re still trying

I’m still here, greater than any sum -look how you are less

Fly

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I’d walk away from that song
Stand up
Assuredly and
Move as far from
Smothering, dark guitar riffs
Microphone too close to the lips
Smacks of the 70’s
Music, loosely-defined
Sounds no one thought much of
To this crowd, though, it’s fly
But I’m leaving the headache
The poor acoustics
The noise for these poor ears
Behind
Cue the fog machine and strange piano

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a fortiori

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Why the grown hawk would struggle on
The wind
I cannot know

I've seen it, though
And desiring
To help things along for regalness sake

I reached up on high
In prayer
To see burden lifted, compass-mark found