THE BEAUTIFUL MUNDANE: POETRY, ORIGINAL PAINTINGS, PHOTOGRAPHS by Peter "Break the wine glass and fall towards the glass-blower's breath." "Walk out like someone suddenly born into color!" Rumi
Thursday, February 9, 2017
One Day
The lake sings in ripples.
I cannot hear its music quite,
yet know it's beautiful, alive
and true.
Twelve gulls burst bright
in wild play, white feathered
bells, scintillas of light, ring
across their stage of sky.
Their melodic flight dapples
and sweetens my ears, hair kissed
by rolling wind, skin pleased
by hovering sun.
I stand in mud and tall grass
to give thanks for this shimmering
surprise, these breezes of calm
and colored chaos, this quiet
background tune.
My eyes replenished turn
to the long hill beyond
where I shall ease too soon
onto the slim path clear to home.
I cannot hear its music quite,
yet know it's beautiful, alive
and true.
Twelve gulls burst bright
in wild play, white feathered
bells, scintillas of light, ring
across their stage of sky.
Their melodic flight dapples
and sweetens my ears, hair kissed
by rolling wind, skin pleased
by hovering sun.
I stand in mud and tall grass
to give thanks for this shimmering
surprise, these breezes of calm
and colored chaos, this quiet
background tune.
My eyes replenished turn
to the long hill beyond
where I shall ease too soon
onto the slim path clear to home.
Monday, February 6, 2017
gripping
a snail grips
the bathroom
wall.
twin filaments,
slick as spit, do
downwards
tip.
how did such
a slimey twerp
sans cap,
or shoe,
cane
or map,
without lit match,
set out
one day
to roam
while traipsing
glacial slow,
and make
his snaking
path inside
our simple
human home?
the bathroom
wall.
twin filaments,
slick as spit, do
downwards
tip.
how did such
a slimey twerp
sans cap,
or shoe,
cane
or map,
without lit match,
set out
one day
to roam
while traipsing
glacial slow,
and make
his snaking
path inside
our simple
human home?
Monday, January 23, 2017
PEST CONTROL
It's afternoon in Winter,
your head down, locked
inside work and thoughts
of tomorrows, vital
minutiae sprawl like spiders
across mind's attic,
and a girl under a white
Krispy Kreme cap
of crinkled paper, her
jeans ripped in both knees,
grinning, trips you
with her foot. Laughter
bursts out of you, arachnids
scatter from your brain's tunnel
abandoning this surprised
awakening for a moment,
(or maybe forever)
as you turn
and bow
to the maiden.
your head down, locked
inside work and thoughts
of tomorrows, vital
minutiae sprawl like spiders
across mind's attic,
and a girl under a white
Krispy Kreme cap
of crinkled paper, her
jeans ripped in both knees,
grinning, trips you
with her foot. Laughter
bursts out of you, arachnids
scatter from your brain's tunnel
abandoning this surprised
awakening for a moment,
(or maybe forever)
as you turn
and bow
to the maiden.
for Quincy
Nobody,
Not the sparrow
gossiping on
the limb,
Nor the steady breeze
jitterbugging
these leaves,
Nor amber honey
kissing my pot
of tea,
Nobody,
Has cheeks
as sweet
as these.
Friday, January 20, 2017
Conversion
At the bottom of a hidden canyon,
green sings rocks grin
under skins of lichen.
I come alive again
as if inside
a beautiful woman
green sings rocks grin
under skins of lichen.
I come alive again
as if inside
a beautiful woman
whose hazel eyes shimmer
like the wind, like tendrils
of sage..
Our every cell dances
waterfalls of lust
and godliness
Our every cell dances
waterfalls of lust
and godliness
as we linger
in quiet,
listening for cougar
while dusk quickens,
kissing great boulders
in a torrential
unplanned
listening for cougar
while dusk quickens,
kissing great boulders
in a torrential
unplanned
conversion.
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