#freshwater fires stillwater reflections

[env0writes]

Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.25.22 “I’ll Get It Right Next Time”

Like a disgruntled painter I’ve thrown buckets of paint Over this poem again, And again and again Hoping that I’ll get it right The next time Ghosts of these letters May haunt me, and the final piece I’m running out of whitewash, Sawyer Even this will be covered over In the coming winters’ snow Letting me try once more To get my feelings right

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.23.22 “Star-Dating”

Don’t you want to go and gaze at the stars? Out past the playground Where we used to dream of reaching Mars Look a bit closer and see it shine bright and round Instead of chasing cash and cars Lay here on the cold hard ground All the spinning stars at the bottle’s bottomed bars Just as storied in the sky, I’ve found Tilt back your head and see Cassiopeia Sitting center high and flipped Ignore the nagging amygdala Feel the cold of space and soil’s script Too many stories to share for just one winter’s night Look closely to see Ursa, major and minor glow Pets astride the rising Orion, on left and right Brighter guiding northward Polaris will tell you where to go Northern star, not lights, will guide me to your terrace Lighthouse amongst the suburban sea Wishing you well with love to embarrass Singing sweet lullabies, story time ‘til you’re in love with me If I make up the stories will you really know? Of the bears and the barechested bowman Do lovers, fish, or crabs care for the worries below? A new twinkle above, a new story began Waiting like Santa’s snow patrol For forming clouds from the Northern Pole

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.20.22 “Tired of Tomorrow’s”

There’s a window somewhere In a house On a street Where I’ll peek Across the lawn From the walk I’ll see myself in the light In a home filled with warmth Not alone in a room, lights turned out

There’s a window somewhere In a house On a lane Where I’ll glance Across the gate From the sidewalk I’ll see myself working Employed and overjoyed With a word count to reach to the stars

I’ve thrown rocks at these windows Shouted my name The clatter doesn’t matter It all sounds just the same A small little dream That I mix in my meal Eaten atop of my officechairbed

Board up the windows I’m tired of light Shining too bright It pollutes out the night Sleepless I’ll wander the streets Looking for work still yet to be done From the out, looking in Sunrise, time to tuck-in

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.19.22 “In the Beginning...”

It began with a word Just a whisper Begging to be heard A little word to be heard did occur

Soon came a setting With the drapes all in blue Setting up scenes not worth regretting What a wonderful hue

A scene is incomplete without a cast Longer and longer the lines would appear How on heaven or earth would it last Words are meant to be shared, you must hear

So one sat the others, in a circle down plain Preparing themselves before a large herd Began to speak something ordinarily mundane “It began with a whisper, just a word that was begging to be heard”

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.14.22“Nightmares Don’t Play Fair”

And to the world clung winter night Clutching at torches untouched Cold and flame alike both bite Fear pulls tighter, bedsheets clutched

Behind twelve mares of pitch Comes the itch inside the brain Outside the window, nightmares hitch Tapping at the window, they’re here for pain

How damning is the dark? Desperate to hold Holy bones, as all holy things should be; frozen Should fortune favor the world to be bold How now must we be chosen?

With deep exhalation, relief in visible breath To simply make a cloud instead of parting one The ice in our veins and pipes will be our death Snowblind, still behind the sled, led undone,

Stomp knee-high, through damping drifts Towards hotter, higher climes? Weather changes, quarter past two sized hail shifts Smoke sails the horizon, burning towards heaven climbs

What use is the afterlife, if it is only after life well spent Warmed at flickering passion flame, At the cost of sacrilege, little desire to repent Midst the winter night, candle lights gather to game

Flickering, snickering, staggering dreams Alight in the company of friends and fiends Pulled from pantries with pastries and creams Have a bite of this moment of bliss within means

Pebble-struck windows from lovers or death Bring ice and bring fire, like wood to the hearth With this chest-clutched breath First or final, for all between are of equal worth

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.18.22 “Autumn Loving All For You”

I am a cold breeze, autumn calling Out the door, the stairs, I’m falling Like the leaves beside me I am in love with all that i see

There is a iceblock on my shoulder Chipped off of the winter’s boulder Were I any bolder, I’d be out there now with you In the fair's long lines and queue

Where are the chimes upon the wind Sharing words I’d not rescind Whisper sweet, sweet lullabies Not a single word are lies

Across the yard I’ll stride Full of gusto, full of pride And my heart, it aches and whines For love’s field is strewn with mines

As fledgling as the flock flies Like an arrow where the warmth lies And you’re calling out my name Time for dinner, no more blame

So the sun’s set and I’m trying To sum up what you’re not buying Just a minute more my dear I’ll be home again, no fear

I’ll be home again, no fear Tending to love, sincere

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflection 11.13.22 “Forever Young, 2010, Mandolynn”

You turn to say, “Are we doing this shit?” Trust me babe, I really do want to hit Just that you're the first girl that I ever kissed A moment too fast and I'd have to remiss You took my hand I and followed you down Into the valley where the river, I drown I've got it bad, drink the water, my head Spinning and sinning and flush full of red Honestly, I'm ready to go But, truthfully, I really don’t know It's a kiss, then I'll miss, but I'll see you again? But after tonight will it be any more than A summer night where we came to my home Imagination may wander, but both our hands roam Hearing the sounds of our instrument moan Pressing our bodies and changing the tone Truthfully you taste sweeter than pie Now I think I understand why We take part in these carnal delights Even in the dark, you can feel all the sights You taught me, you bought me, I gave you my time You wrought me to feel so sublime But you threw me off with your clarity Asking me now, to give up just a part of me Losing my status you ripped from me Not soon long after, I did not see You Again

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.22.22 “Love, Of The Theatrics”

Center stage spotlight Limelight love’s sight Warm and vibrant and loud Until the lights go out Leaving you standing Alone in that same theater Waiting for an encore To lift the heavy curtain Once more And fill the hall With light and The call of your name

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.17.22 “Penny for a Peddler”

Consume me more Observe me more Oh passerby, goodbye You try to gawk and marvel As though I’m made of marble No city statues writhe as I You look down in modesty, your eye Catches sight of my bin of pay Off you swing and stride along your way I’m worth the enjoyment But not the parting of your earned mint Just a dollar will do For the pleasure of view Means more to me Than it will to you So consume me Enjoy what you see Grease the palms and alms Why the qualms? Of rewarding hard work

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.30.22 “Losing Peter Pan”

When retirement arrives like sunset graduations Will the stairs ascend, like the corporate ladder Struggling, wrung for wrong, wrought with Wrung-out single-ringed, wrinkled iron hands Or slope down to the sandy scorching beaches and seas Setting dis-ease at ease and pleasing to the senses Senselessly both filled with violence Striking discordant moans across conscious sinew Oozing success like synovial fluid Lured on the promise of rest at the end of the rainbow Pot of gold rust bucket, luck it seems is tired too A liar, you are too wearily, warily acquainted with Antiquated in the scension denouement Reaching out a hand for your ma in the middle of the night Consumed by the capital, toothy maw gnawing Ear drums tinnitus timpani and trepanation Trepidation at the turning of the page Squiring towards the night of life With salt-soaked limbs that hang Like straw-man stuffed sinners in the fields Scaring away and attracting the murders Into the pastures and past-times of the those On the precipice of their time

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.17.22 “Moving Out”

Burning books and burning bridges Pruned tree limbs and causing stitches Family trees Opportunities

Books stacked higher than smoke stacks rise Stinging, burning ash in my eyes Goodness please Pass with ease

Toss the fragment of myself From the tallest burning shelf Ripped seams Fallen beams

Archipeligogic dreams of man Pursuit of peace is the plan Never rested Always tested

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.15.22 “Novemberences”

Will November forgive me These remembrances These winter delight trances Seeking entrances When the month and year Pursue their exit with grace

With little haste Do I attempt to race the sun When the moonlight will suffice Any advice Adhered is near to me when I look up The bonfire ashes mix with constellations Constant, burning consternation

Autumn is coppered by inevitable spring Abated only by winter’s snug embrace Will this denouement flutter Golden brown with sunset leaves Leaving behind the summer kissed moments Sunburnt hearts inked where sleeves should be

Rigid fingers prod leaf pile coals Rustle up gravity’s grateful embrace I miss the walkways, filled with flame Off the top of your head, my gaze fixed Finding your glance returned In every turning leaf

Will I forgive November These remembrances These autumn numb dances Clawing out When the page and chapter close Chased out to where the wind blows

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.27.22 “Suburban Street Sermons”

Loaves and fishes Lacquer glued to hatchbacks Catholic mass packed minivans Biding their time at the gas pump Lined up for the Blood of Chrysler Bag of rye chip for the body Aunties playing euchre with the Eucharist Always looking at their wrist Waiting on hand-me-down time Peckish at meat on Lent Packed for their rent paying children Children be damned if the river lets flow If their parents let go of the rosary Wringed around pocketed posies Moseying down the nuptial aisle Of their in-law guile and grandchild dream

Father and Holy-Ghost, known in the chalice Hand in hand with malice and mallet Took to heart the lessons of the cross Too easily crossed, pompous, pious, punitive Lost passions too diminutive, replaying greatest hits Red-lipped whine-mom night-eyed silent Gossip in the pews of the son’s political views Between choir and prayer answered on cue Pretty little liars accept forgiveness Hard to impress those on their knees to accept White-biked, summer hiked baptized Son Pass this ichthus mass, paint your skies not eyes blue

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.28.22 “CB Squared”

We should have been swapping storied tales Not scars and fails Bail-outs and injuries When did we Become stitched together Pieces glued back together from childhood dues Regrowing our tails like lizards Medicated Getting faded Memories to dull the pain Maintain the game That we’re okay Forget the past Full mast ahead Pull down our sleeves and shed our needs Rip our prayer-tired knees And share our initials our name our blood Flood the fields with our attempts To break free the yoke That kept us rushing forward

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.26.22 “Time Is A Weird Soup”

Love holds like a slotted spoon Sieving, seizing   Finding gold with a gentle embrace Before letting go Parting fingers linger and unlace Persisting traces of what was Warmth that filled belly and soul Burned and turned dour Yet present once more To offer that second sip Upon scalded lips

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Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.21.22 “Lovers all full hearty   Love is all fool hardy   Lovers all full hearted  Weave the world to not be parted“

A baker’s bread tastes more divine When made for their darling dear The tender rolls made serpentine Prepared as though for Guineveire Halls are filled with somber songs The choir led by bardic longing muse When parted to join the throngs The melodies heard amuse The farmer’s stead a drafty warm Passed by with idle thought Patched with thatch for winter’s storm For milkmaid’s wife by lovestruck sot Why now with pomp and praise Do deeds betray such magnificence What gifts to cause amaze Gone are thoughts that guide all sense A flower may bloom by any such name But a poet’s heart is carried by birds To whom they find love, have no shame No gift may satisfy like their lover’s words Honeysuckle darling dearest mine For a poet’s word is a delicate petal Strung from a pen silver-tongued to enshrine Enduring beyond conquerors war-wearied mettle Pluck a page like a turning autumn leaf Burnt from the days and in need of the sun Where all lover’s look when in need of relief To their craft made for you, whom without is undone The writer’s lines wind like root-rife forest paths With purple prose and bawdy eloquence Action seen in voice and ink on epigraphs and epitaphs Weary warm begrudgingly, but always bereft of common sense Blindly reaching for the stars above Who else but fools, could pursue this love

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