Potential
Blank pages,
Fascinating in their crisp white splendour,
Call to me.
Endless potential!
Anything in creation
Could be written here.
The perfect poem,
That final story,
The hidden truths of reality!
And so,
I am afraid.
Hesitant
To put pen to paper
And sear one pathway into the surface
Of reality.
I am loathe to banish
Those limitless potentials
And replace them with merely one;
A lonely reminder
Of lost possibilities
 
 
Intensity
Inspiration is that flash
Of brilliant energy
When you know what to do
And you need, must
Get it out,
Record it,
Show it to others
No matter what it takes.
Single-mindedly
You pursue your goal
-Your vision!
Until,
Completed,
You can rest once more.
 
 
Change
People are so
Complicated
Mystical, divine beings
-each unique
In a way
And all the same.
You never know,
Really,
Who someone is.
You can learn them,
Their energy, personality
But we change.
One moment to the next
Is all it takes:
Dynamic,
Fluid,
In motion.
And you wonder,
Suddenly,
If you ever really knew me
At all
Or if there was ever really a ‘me’ to know
 
 
Rebirth
Green mist adorns tree branches
As red rain falls to earth below.
Lo! The world alive!
The Earth we once thought dead
Is dead no more.

 
 
Maelstrom
A storm approaches,
Soft and swift
On wind-blown wings,
Wafting on cold air.
I can feel it,
The violent symphony
Of noise and motion and light.
Thrilling – exhilarating
In the rush of the wind
And the pound of the rain,
I can let the world go,
And for once,
Feel sane

 
 
Reread
Tumbling through files,
And things long unread –
Some neat, clean, immaculate;
Far more messy scribbles on torn pages.
But no matter.
-I can still read them,
Those ancient musings
As though from another time.
Was that me?
What was I thinking?
A stranger stares out from old words,
The resemblance long lost in the years.
A wonder, suddenly.
At the beauty that is forgetting,
And discovering again.
 
 
Fly Away
I feel the wind on my face.
Close my eyes.
Slip away.
The world drops below,
Into the clouds.
How funny,
It seems,
To think that it meant so much,
Everything below.
From here
It is different.
From here
It is calm.
No longer running,
One place to the next.
“What if?”
“I must”
No.
What matters is here,
Outside
In the wind.
 
 
Storm
Rain falls.
Dark skies spit tiny droplets
From their foreboding depths.
And yet,
Although gloomy,
The morning is
…calm.

 
 
Waiting
Spring.
It is coming?
Soon.
Tiny buds poke through on trees,
Falling snow gives way to liquid rain.
The time is here,
When things begin to grow-
Burst into life!
But it is cold,
And seeds are dormant still.
Soon…

 
 
Questions
Why?
The most powerful question,
And yet the most simple.
And, by some, most hated.
Don’t ask,
They say.
Nothing will change.
Perhaps.
And yet,
I will not be silenced.
I will not ‘shut up and learn’,
Be another clone,
A face in the crowd.