Within these books

Speckles of dust settle upon my unread books
piled high in the corner awaiting my fidgeting fingers
The ink and pages of wisdom know not of surrender
to these dry hands turning each page with fury and thunder

The brain, still like a sponge
soaking in sentences
the eyes flicker and blink in anticipation
Even in darkness light forms around the whites of the pages

Life is a dream; Life is a scheme
life is everything
I read in between the millions of sentences so serene

I find my world; I create my universe
the planet disburses a fountain of drink
for those dried by endless thirst

Don’t look back in regret

The stains of yesterday
cling to clothes
like mistakes refusing to make amends
with time and misfortune

Memories will fade in due course
the waning heart will show remorse
the discourse within weakening in force
pains and regrets fueling the inner life source

People and perceptions
doubts and deceptions
faults and corrections
the echoes of errors in recollection

Where does life lead but back to today?
What do we promise but everything we may say?
Words are our bond and mistakes are our blankets
following us home every step of the way

A summer cottage on the sea

The summer cottage is nestled within the back-country roads inside the forests of Ostrobothnia. A drive of a few kilometers takes us through the winding rural mud paths and wilderness to a small opening in the road. The cottage is hidden away behind trees and shrubs, emerging only to those who walk down the descending path. A painted black exterior of old log panels, the scent of the longstanding sauna emerges from the depths of the land. There is little between the cottage and the open sea aside from pillows of moss and a small inlet of jagged rocks and boulders. We pry open the wooden door to the cabin which hasn’t been cracked open for months, and enter the cozy lodge.

Inside, the world has moved little from scenes of yesteryear. The gas stove and small kitchen space are ample to provide small meals for the summer. The collage of rugs in the living room space, which holds a few books, a couple of chairs and couch, and a large glass table covering the old beige wood floors, provide cover for the trampling of muddy feet that may have once entered. A small bunk bed built into the living room wall indicates that children have spent their summers here in the depths of the forest. Walking to the back bedroom through a small corridor, a book shelf and paintings line the cracked white wall. Old skippers’ pipes and glass ornaments provide decoration for visitors, no doubt used many years ago by the inhabitants of this little home. Turning back through the living room to the front door, the large glass pane catches my eye, the ripples outside rustling quietly into the rocky shore.

Outdoors, the deck levels out the entrance and backyard area with a table and chairs for outdoor gatherings around the house. They haven’t been used for years but are still inviting to visitors. The sauna is separate from the cottage and an ideal fit for a family get-together. I sit inside near the small window overlooking the water, watching the currents rise and dip in the distance. A few feet further outside, the rocks half submerged are a perfect pathway leading out into the open sea.  I walk upon these protruding rocks, balancing and weighing my steps until I find myself isolated on a single large stone. There is little to think of but the beauty of forests and seas, of saunas and the passing breeze.

Body types

When I awake the crust
from the corner of my eye
I shake away the dust
from a body so cut and dry

The creaking bones and joints
stirred and twisted into action
the aches and pains of yesterday
are features of the morning’s attractions

My legs quiver while I stand
my hands tremble when I move
the makings of a breaking man
my skin scarred with little to lose

If we keep up appearances
surely they are the fictions of warped mirrors
If we look twice at ourselves
we may find a release of inner terrors

I close my thoughts to the rest
the eyes can convolute
Vision can restore fact
to a truth in disrepute

Peace lays in the mind
Happiness in healthy flesh and bone
the keys to success are few
resilience is the solution to our bodily home

What do we do about these words?

Lately I have wondered
if words are weapons to wielded
I know that they’re my comfort
and freedom
I know that they’re still there
whenever I really need them

I weigh my words
articulate through the absurd
listening for all those spurred
taking into account
the grievances of the unheard

Stick and stones
words and the heart
feelings aren’t forthright
they’re nuances of the smart

Freedom of speech
or derogatory comments beseeched
full sentences are now impeached
conclusions for our drama never to be reached

If we are to create divide
words are the vehicle to a split
if we are to build our worlds apart
words are the beginning of our eternal rift

What’s hers

Why does she hide
her feet from the world
curling her toes and her polished nails
the frail features of the skin she twirls?

Maybe she feels
they are too big to be shown
Maybe she thinks
her feet are not part of her own

The skin on her soles
calloused and red
soft bone and flesh
hanging off the edges of the bed

I look upon her naked feet
loving them without her knowing
Hiding beneath her socks
not an inch of her feet showing

Maybe she has never trusted
another around her feet
Maybe they reveal secrets
a woman may tend to keep

Her feet may be a burden
her feet may be her baggage
she carries their weight with dignity
protecting all there is left to salvage

Happy 4th of July

I write with the blood
circulating inside my palms in pain

I carve cursive with curses
wrapped around the fibers of my vein

Words written in red
in a world filled with the worship of our dread

Destroy these damaging dictators
to no longer summon the demons of our dead

When will we learn lessons
from the histories of our past?

When will we learn
to stop separating our skin and our caste?

We have buried the living at a distance of miles
hatred so vile bent on separation of our styles

May day break upon our nightmares
to return the creases of our smiles

 

Lucky stars

You never allowed yourself
to follow a star
to be something you were meant to be
or look at the big picture from afar

You could never accept
that some things weren’t to be
Some were not the right fit
a few things were out of reach

We allow ourselves to be fooled
by the bright lights and glitter
We briefly immerse into the skies
only to wipe away the beauty in our mirrors

When push comes to shove
we stand broken upon our intentions
the stars are made for a lifetime
we only stop briefly to gaze at their invention

When it rains, it pours

Today, rain falls again after weeks of scorching sunshine. The relief of bearable temperatures begs a calmer mindset as a sense of cool and peace descends down into the city. With the world falling apart in different ways every day, with problems surfacing as they do, a breath of fresh air is one of the few pleasures afforded in these difficult times. The Corona virus has only been the tip of the melting iceberg that is our human existence.

The few bright patches of life are often overshadowed by the problems we face as humans. Perspective is important but life is a journey with us trudging on through the difficult in hopes of better moments. As challenges are toppled, new trails surface to bring adversity to our daily lives. For us animals, the planet provides no promises, only a place to try and survive. The rest is up to us, our strength often wielded through our powerful and equally powerless hands.

When change comes, with hopes and dreams of better futures and prosperity, the short-lived euphoria of good news is quickly exhausted for “reality”, as it is known. We are, after all, destined for many good things in modern society, just as we are promised nothing but the inevitable. It is much more fitting to make life a journey than a destination, with the middle to be savored in spite of circumstance. We do not control much but it is certainly smarter to relish in the little good that we are afforded in trying times.