🚀 go-pugleaf

On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 3:16:02 PM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> EXTREMES 
> 
> The Summer sunlight burns my shoulders raw 
> Streets sizzle in the blaze of August heat, 
> Each passing breeze a blast from heaven's forge; 
> While ocean breakers roll in to disgorge 
> Their cache of scattered shells before my feet, 
> Pink pebbles, seaweed, kelp, crustacean claw. 
> 
> The sunburnt sand scorches my toes and sole 
> Tans them as tough as cowhide's leathern grain, 
> My form grows heavy while my head grows light; 
> But Summer's end already is in sight 
> And I would rather that the heat remain 
> Than face the pain that rides on Winter's wing… 
> 
> For Summer's scalds can't rival Winter's sting 
> When heat is culled from blackened lumps of coal. 
> 
> -- Michael Pendragon 
> 
> ****

A Slow Dance to Sunrise

My eyes remain opened once again
studying a ceiling crack running fast
toward a deceitful curtain,
a curtain that does little to hide, 
but frames a voyeuristic moon.
I squeeze my eyes shut
trying to end its midnight stare
as a down-filled pillow slowly becomes   
more an accomplice,
to my insomnia.

I remember, with scattered thoughts, 
past sleigh rides,
carrot nosed snowmen
and an almost caught spring trout, 
as friends laughed
at my ineptitude with
a fishing pole…
until that slow walk to supper,
with the sun setting on another
failed try.
 
I have learned to sing
with owls over the years,
play violin with cricket
orchestras, their nocturnal life,
being mine
all while remembering 
I forgot once again
to call those I promised to--
they sleep tonight,
quiet sandman dreams,
as I watch minutes
become hours,
with that moon
slowly turning back
into a sun
and with all of that,
always the thought of time
shrinking in the rear-view
mirror.