The Moment Before Janet Arrived
I've never been comfortable
in my own skin, not ever really
but today, I sat behind the wheel
quiet and still, well planted
and preserved in the driver's seat
amidst mid-winter Salesian square
Air was crisp and cold
that day in February.
Silence cracked the window vein,
depleted of fresh oxygen and new blood.
Eyes gazing weathering winds,
trading solemn secrets between
young sapling trees while older white oak leaves leaned into wisdom carefully. Their distinct round lobed leaves,
green in knowledge, rustling through breaks in open-ended divination
yet, freely given to warm, amber-yellow palms sliding down and behind lowering lids of long, dark lashes.
It's calm in here...
Behind the eyes, in the light of darkness
Insight laid polished and poised
on sapphire brimmed sophistication
Those memories,
Echoed the ExclamaTory Cries of Crows!
parting thin layers of passing clouds, while a stream of slippery green tree frogs chimed-
Buried*
*Buried
Buried*
Just under; white, whistling, winds, whispering wild, wonderful wonders, whirling willpower pwhile weaving witty wiles, willingly-
BUT
Are we ever really that comfortable?
- J. Circosta, Tiny Poet
The Moment Before Janet Arrived, ©2016, Poems from Passion
I've never been comfortable
in my own skin, not ever really
but today, I sat behind the wheel
quiet and still, well planted
and preserved in the driver's seat
amidst mid-winter Salesian square
Air was crisp and cold
that day in February.
Silence cracked the window vein,
depleted of fresh oxygen and new blood.
Eyes gazing weathering winds,
trading solemn secrets between
young sapling trees while older white oak leaves leaned into wisdom carefully. Their distinct round lobed leaves,
green in knowledge, rustling through breaks in open-ended divination
yet, freely given to warm, amber-yellow palms sliding down and behind lowering lids of long, dark lashes.
It's calm in here...
Behind the eyes, in the light of darkness
Insight laid polished and poised
on sapphire brimmed sophistication
Those memories,
Echoed the ExclamaTory Cries of Crows!
parting thin layers of passing clouds, while a stream of slippery green tree frogs chimed-
Buried*
*Buried
Buried*
Just under; white, whistling, winds, whispering wild, wonderful wonders, whirling willpower pwhile weaving witty wiles, willingly-
BUT
Are we ever really that comfortable?
- J. Circosta, Tiny Poet
The Moment Before Janet Arrived, ©2016, Poems from Passion