Rhymes
Some inspire beauty, poetic rhyme;
others, decay and odor.
Wonder comes with word and action;
depression and destruction
the bath of broken skylines.
A Meditation on a Slope of Land
We were different then, we are different now —
today is not a good day to die,
the breast of rain turning to a drizzle of snow,
The width of path, the length of stone.
Come. Breathe in the colors of nightfall.
Press your toes into the dense soil.
Let your skin taste the rhythm of earth,
the equation of personality and soul.
Can you not stand still and let your fingers
hear the day go, the animal of the rock, another
ritual spinning to the ground from the palisades.
The brush fire of hornet's grove,
the tall reeds along foxtail lane,
the singing insects, hopeful and hoping.
| Copyright © 2013, 2023 by Michael H. Brownstein Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else and How Do We Create Love?, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively. |
I hope other readers, more comprehending than I am of Rhymes, will pause to point me to some of those elusive rhymes!
ReplyDeleteAnd hope other readers (or the same ones) will suggest why any day might be a good day to die, and say whether what we were different from then is the same thing we are different from now.
For me, “Rhymes” misdirects the reader. Perhaps “Themes” would work better for me, but just a suggestion—perhaps I am missing an added meaning.
ReplyDeleteFor Meditation, I feel it captures the disjointed thoughts as you release your mind on the world, then follow those ideas as they twist in the breeze and they land as they may.
Thanks, Maik! I especially appreciate your retitling suggestion. So, maybe “A Meditation on a Slope of Land” might better be “Disjointed Thoughts on a Slope of Land”?
DeleteI chose rhymes as the title on purpose--rhyming is a soft and often playful idea. This poem moves into darkness and contraction. The title was in place to surprise the reader on their journey reading it.
DeleteThanks for the comments and discussion.
You’re welcome, Michael. So many of your poems ride on currents higher in the atmosphere than my mind can rise to.
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