Old boy on his bike

 Old boy on the bike is that me in a few decades
senses and body worn NO
Let me be on the go nonstop
He lost quite a bit of his hair
When i saw him I checked my own scalp
As if it was catchy or accelerating mine
There are only bits and pieces he can hold onto

He tries to adjust those parts until they can fit the rest of his head
It looked ragged his face disappointed on his uphill bike ride
Motorbikes and cars leaned into him as he struggled with the pedals
No smirk on his face just that frumpy frown
He wanted to smile or to liven but the face kept pushing back in
making him feel happiness was pretty much impossible
storm about ten minutes behind him, can't blame him

Elderly groove

 Age doesn't fall over this old one here 
Just other people
It all tries to swarm into her but
fails each time

hoping hopping and pulling back the minidog
Cleaning up it's waster one handed plastic bag tactic oh
Throws themself over the low chain to exchanging leash
So the dog come too from underneath

Now into the carpark philosophically
There it is 1950s dance rotating on a wooden floor
Missing the oncoming cars and trucks by inches
supermarket shoppers keep their peepers out peeping

 

slipping along the track

 I like to see how she shimmies
On the cat wide pavement
Skipping cracks white cement filling
Red brick imitating lips

Like a wilderness joker
when you least expect
Rounding the corner
Curiosity I thought was mine

looking back like a caress
Avoiding the sidewalk debris
In a skip i'd revisit to prove as fact
Moving up boldly to the elecric wire

Those suave cool legs never tired

The color of string

 Why are you so familiar to me
some veil dropped
loose string colored de ja vu
what is behind the silent pledge

some future meeting getting closer
day by day
Will we be the same
Our surroundings fallen

New roads and structures
The ones you'll bounce between
The way you do today
in that familiar way

will you approach me the way you did
Or will I have lost that space I gained
Maybe I'll give you the string colored de ja vu
colored the way the city changes

Ein gedi

 I saw God on the western shore
He had a minute for me
Typically sky had opened
Goodness in his smile

He had brought his small wooden boat into the shallows
Where I myself was wading purposeless
He waved me down and told me to stop a while
The way he carried himself told me I was carrying too much

He took a cup from inside the boat
Filled up and said -do you have the kind of faith that would beat thirst?
The words destroyed me and inside I was distraught
On the surface of me I made myself look composed 

He said -why are you pretending?
I said - because I am afraid my faith is weak
-Drink this water and celebrate this moment
-Which moment?

He handed me the cup
I drank it down, it killed my thirst
released my attachment renewed my vision
I thought it was the cup

He said -it's the faith you drink with
when you eat and drink faithless
You will slowly poison yourself
Can I keep the cup?

-No, just keep the faith

As if it were not me

 

Bronze and Blond I want deliberate
grain of summer, mind like pasture
Glow gathering
Shaped by wind and time

Tanned skin will of open air
Long hours communion with the sun
Gardens dug earth under the nails
sky full of buzzards humming my brow

Middle years in a wilderness of words
They cling to reality and spin it
Run rings of growth hidden in the timber
density encoded in destiny

Focused eye on letter word phrase
measuring the distance from meaning
catching scorpion metaphor in detail
holding the sting until it yields

Dawn prayer opens quiet command
The brain and muscle balanced
breath of gratitude
curating forgiveness

Ambition lurks under vast surfaces
creative channels course with currents
ideas and blood intertwine
Synapses at full charge fire

Under my thinning blond hair
beard lit by ripened age
almost whitening
hands shape soil and sentence

I am composed in daylight
stubborn repetition integrated
aspiration directed
Valley I fully inhabit

Aim follows motion movement and stillness
Somewhere obscure between humility and hubris
I watch this mastery growing
As if external, as if it were not me

yet it is! 

Avoid the tower

 Warned me to ride clear of the tower
standing hard against the ridge
narrow eyes probably my grandmother's
Dismounted under a grand oak

No sign of hoof or foot
nor smoke rising from anywhere
only damp bark, moss and leaves
holding breath in shadow

Low cloud trekking over canopies
air thick with leaf rot
I search for ration, hand and brow sweat
boots sinking into loam

Last scrap of bannock praise be
Between my jaws now
teeth and tongue move to my relief
Hand on gourd what a morning

something touches the air
As if skating on the mist
Some predatory bird perhaps
or will it soon rain down

The spec i see as i turn my head
Thuds into my thoughts
through my skull
My body collapses

I feel the last of me expire
my eye focuses on the slit
Inside that white tower on the ridge
Where some lucky archer hoorahs