I would suffer
a thousand summers
if at their end
we could walk
hand in hand
through autumn rain
Archive for the ‘Creativity’ Category
Clarity
Posted in Poetry, tagged creative writing, love, modern poetry, Poetry, Writing on 14 Nov 2024| Leave a Comment »
Vignette — 08Nov2024
Posted in Creativity, Gardening, tagged autumn, creative writing, fall colors, nature, vignette on 08 Nov 2024| Leave a Comment »
This time of year—late October, early November—my walks gravitate toward a specific corner where two trees grow. I could show you a picture of them, but then you’d only know what they look like, and not what I see.
They’re a mismatched duo, a Mutt and Jeff of trees. One is a maple, about twenty feet tall, round in shape above a sturdy trunk, with those wonderful deeply cut leaves that rustle and dance in the breeze. The other, a blue noble fir, towers over its partner at thirty-five feet, a slender cone covered with densely packed needles that shrug off the weather. They’re both handsome trees, well-formed, healthy, and in spring and summer, the maple’s green leaves are a good match to the fir’s bluish cast. This this time of year, though, they become a spectacular complementary pair as the maple leaves slowly yellow and then turn a bright, happy orange.
My steps slow as I approach them and take in their contrasts. The fir seems even bluer, set off by the maple’s fire, and as I pass I see that where their branches come close, almost touch, the maple’s leaves have yet to fade, as if the blue of the fir is leaching out, keeping them green for just a little while longer. It’s like the fir, having enjoyed the company of its companion, is urging it to stay, have one more drink, before departing for its winter slumber.
In a few weeks, the fir will stand next to the scaffolding of its dormant friend, braving the winter alone, wishing for spring, and my walks will wend away to other areas, other avenues, other vistas. The memory of the orange and blue will stay with me, make me smile through the dark of winter and the greenery of next year, until their return, and we all meet again.
The Waiting
Posted in Poetry, Politics, tagged election 2024, election day, modern poetry, Poetry on 04 Nov 2024| Leave a Comment »
Stop the clocks
There is no point in watching
Time slows and thickens
Honey left too long
On the shelf
Crystalline
Opaque
The decision approaches
The nation argues
A fractious couple at a deserted crossroads
Without signposts or map
Not knowing
This way or that
Ahead or back
Only that here is not where
They want to be
Afterblow
Posted in Poetry, Seattle, tagged autumn colors, creative writing, modern poetry, nature, Poetry, Seattle, windstorm on 20 Oct 2024| Leave a Comment »
walking dawn-dewed streets
amid memories of
the night’s groaning wind
branches and twigs
bony remnants
cast around
leeward silhouettes
of gold leaf and rusted needles
The Heart of It All
Posted in Poetry, tagged creative writing, grief, loss, Memorial, modern poetry, mourning, Poetry on 07 Oct 2024| 1 Comment »
There is no language of loss,
no poem, no song, no elegy of agony
that does aught but sketch
the barest dimensions
of our experience
Loss is not a place, it does not reside,
not in an empty temple, eager with echoes,
nor some vasty stump-studded waste
that sups on our anguish,
insatiable
It is a state, a condition,
a matrix of broken love
that whirls its knife-edged path
through the essential core
of our soul
It cannot be avoided or removed,
assuaged or denied or avenged
but only borne, suffered, survived,
and accepted by
the bonds of memory
Rotation
Posted in Creativity, Poetry, tagged autumn, creative writing, Poetry, quiet living, seasons, Writing on 26 Sep 2024| Leave a Comment »
Summer Nights
Posted in Creativity, Poetry, Seattle, tagged lightning, modern poetry, nature, Poetry, Seattle, summer nights, thundershower, thunderstorm on 18 Aug 2024| 2 Comments »
for some it is
the Moon’s occultation of Saturn or
the needle strikes of Perseids across a spangled sky
that speeds their heart
but for me it is
a late summer evening when
the world is parchment
I step out onto the front stoop while the wind
swollen with the scent of moisture
shakes out the carpets of August
sending heat-baked dust over distant hills
the stars take the night off as
the clouds drop down
so close I can
smell them touch them feel them seeping into my skin and
the air thicks with promise until
a flash sparks fire miles above
lighting the jumbled sky
I know it is coming I know the treat is coming
the respite from dry weeks sere days withered leaves but
it takes its time walking not running toward my eagerness
teasing me with coming attractions so mesmerizing that
when the rain begins I am surprised
it is so strong so hard so heavy that
my mind wonders about the terminal velocity of a raindrop the size of a pea and
if the drops fall as spheres or are deformed by their earthward plunge and
bang
the storm is here has crossed the ridge is overhead
its flares of light draw inward focus concentrate spin themselves into jagged threads
neighbors come out from barbecues and movie nights to
look up
exclaim at the brilliance
gasp at claps that slap their cheeks
laughing in sheer childish joy at the power of the moment and
in that moment the magic of our world ushers us into its realm
we feel a part of it enjoy it for exactly what it is
the raw audacity of it the confidence as if nothing can stand against it and survive
it is intoxicating and I am drunk with it all
happily consumed and consuming
a tiny mote in the vastness
just me
alone on the front stoop
watching nature play its greatest anthem while
I hum along with the familiar tune
that’s what does it
for me
Photo: Tim Durkan Photography
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 