The windows shimmer in a fit of snow and wind, early in the season,
with a smack of uncertainty. Snow and bitter cold frost the glass like
half of Dad’s old Chess pieces. Through glass we peer dimly as if looking
for a dream.
Playing Chega de Saudade on a dry piano carries authentic tones
of the bitterness which Dr. Denning captured in her account of a
1970s or 80s trip to Russia among Bohemians yearning to hold on
to an unbridled youth and freedom not possible in the West since.
I never read her book but find its contents indelible some 15 years
since taking her class in the early months of 2008. Through the glass
passes fleeting scenes of the past to make the world a little warmer.
Two timelines eventually converge into one, leaving the rubbish behind.
I am laughing, but I can't shed a tear;
I am brave, yet I illuminate the fear;
I Just go on
I will just be strong
I hold my breath while I'm crying
Heading towards heaven without a jet/plane I'm flying
Spiritual wings steadfast climbing
Move out of the way self no longer shall I be denning
I am crying, but my smiling got my eyes wet;
I am fearless, because of my belief in Jesus Christ;
I will just be strong
Illuminate the fear angels cheer
I am overjoyed and elided by the presents of my creator
Spiritual wings steadfast climbing
One day we'll all be dining eating of the holy manna
Spiritually caramelizing eating the trust holy spirit in us
No more weakness in my heart I'll just go on
I will be strong
1/10/19
This love
You expect it to hold you and engulf you
Protecting you from every harm
It’s supposed to be the sanctuary
That sets away everything that harms you
It’s the sweetness and warmth
That rains comfort and overwhelming ease
It is the goodnight before you sleep
The first ray of sunlight that hits you when you wake
It is the perfect calm afternoon you long for after a busy day
The blanket that robs away your cold
And your warmest bath on a Monday night
It isn’t supposed to make your heart twinge
With a surreal ache
That deprives you from seeing the fireworks at New Year’s Eve
As every spark hits the sky, your heart obnoxious, filling with saddening joy
Denning you from every beginning you wanted to have
As the minutes start to end
It keeps you from loving
And loving with your all
Leaving you hanging on your pillow
As the darkness subsides
Thinking of how it was
The last time ago
Harvey Denning
1909 – 1923
“I saw the universe a thousand times.”
I saw the face of God
Spread out across the sky
Like a million cities on fire.
Like Troy cut into little pieces
By the slashing sword of Achilles.
Cut to shreds and bleeding.
There on the ramparts
There inside the fissures and crevices
Of ten thousand unknown dreams.
I read the stories of Homer
And the tales of a thousand and one Arabian nights.
And I read the solemnly immortal words
Of Longfellow, Poe and Defoe.
And I decided inside my mind long before I died
To perhaps write the greatest story ever told.
But I fell from my tree house
There on Dorland Street
There in the cool shadows of the walnut tree.
What would have been my story I wonder.
What visions would I have conjured
For all to read and envision?
My friend, will you write my story now?
Will you take pen in hand and possess my voice?
Will you find the noble courage to speak for me?
This forgotten dead soul
Buried here in the dark dust of Clark Cemetery?
If you kindly consent,
Please begin it with these words:
“I saw the universe a thousand times.”
Along the forest floor I creep,
not wishing to disturb inhabitants living there.
Treading on pine needles ankle deep,
as if nature had placed a carpet,
so I wouldn't disturb its sleep.
The forest, having long been asleep,
appearing drowsy, begins now to wake
and from somewhere into the deep.
A chorus of Coyotes, yapping in song,
before denning up to sleep.
Have I given them cause for fear?
Are they telling me perhaps I don't belong,
having sensed that I am near?
Or another of natures marvelous ways,
of making music for my ear.
My occasional snapping of a twig
has alerted a Fox Squirrel somewhere near.
Perhaps in a nearby oak so big.
It's chattering, as if at odds, over acorns
being devoured by Blue Jays or a grunting pig.
With snowflakes now floating from the sky
my eyes are now directed overhead,
and though not seen by eye,
I hear sounds of passing Geese,
as further south they fly.
An occasional hissing and as I turn to see,
somewhat apprehensive, but with no fears.
There walking the trunk of a fallen tree,
a Bobcat singing It's part,
like others, A Capella, just for me.