Fog hovers at the very apex aligning each approach stream lightings offer eerie picutes of dragons clashing, boats cut aloft in slowing motions adrift to single file. Wonder if upon emerging I'll wind up reconciled or exit in a nervous titter all past known life removed or gifted with a learn'ed inkling to satisfy mankind dispensing truth in some B-movie or writing manic verse. Hmm, wonder if I've been before an opening, quick, my turn . . .
Going to be late this morning of course, forgot the phone may as well relax and ponder the stories oozing by Mr. Mustache thinks he'll make it suited-ego stanced drumming nervous dashboard fingers manicure enhanced Other side great music blaring the Vetted mover rocks plates privy to his vanities eyes meet, a smile, I wait Adjoining other shining hopefuls snail pacing to the top mull our ever-faithful homage from stanchion to cloud Sighting concertina carnage awaken, shiver, pray drive focus forward to escape the spiraling red-tail hawk. lonna d. kingsbury
If I could gift but one word to ever guide all days as impetus for growing or contemplating ways to conquer horrid demons or gently hold a hand to relish in the glories of knowing dreams obtained If I could gift but one word to garner every truth for each their chosen pathway I'd gift to you . . . pursuit lonna d. kingsbury
By way of introduction we offer you ourselves expressed, enhanced, encountered escaping through our strokes from pen and paper inklings blank canvas breathing life metals, settings, precious links chipped sculptings to delight from each our share of beauty we freely share with all. By way of introduction we offer you oursleves. lonna d. kingsbury
Once again her wonderland appears in her defense She shivers at evading more painfully extreme personal catastrophes supposedly unlearned to run through fields with horses free sun dappled through the clouds and always true her rainbow each hue a promise to wait just beyond the darkening day in tribute to her hope. lonna d. kingsbury
Charcoal grays and shadings embellish line to limb melding softened marbling emphasizing depth eternally recycling couplings to enthrall each vision retrospective as beauty is reborn. lonna d. kingsbury
Old Williamsburg (East Fork Basin)
Upon returning the hawk soars, only one this time - in fleeing contrast high above the fields. Only one this time . . . so different from that first, as all eyes strained to spot "Hawk".
John's house is gone. Bulldozers squat on flattened ground. No longer can we play heroes, huddling together in our upstairs shell, defending our chosen stand against all who would conquer.
Deeper, dozer flags mix among the leaves. Hunters' sounds surround us. This bamboo fared well. Ours died. Planted at the wrong time. Others have been here. The wheels are gone from the wagon. Steam-driven machines remain untouched, too heavy to collect. Mostrous skeletons lay cradled in the brush. You bring the horse collars, I the dried grasses. The markers wave goodbye.
Our river runs high this morning crystal arcings partner cavorting high above her foam spray briskly dispersing enjoining free waters as ever and always wont to escape through bankings trunk-crusted withstanding she rushes past auto past loggings dancing away. lonna d. kingsbury
My bordom stall of stripping leaves once blanketing the feet triggers new comparisons to long ago skilled feats . . . cut silhouetted snowflakes threatening to tear and cookies finger-circle held for nibbling with care.
It Is as It Is 'Till . . .
It is as it has been ever and will remain 'till when our greying sky flows endless night for no one watches clouds It is as it is 'till sunshine is shunned from coupling hearts with self-directing routes who miss the wonder of the dance It is as it is 'till star signs diminish without wish as trendy neon lightings thread a parody of then It is as it is 'till no one extends a friendly hand and total self significance erodes each simple dream. lonna d. kingsbury
Party to your presentation I marvel at your melody Do all new architects evolve through Poetry 101? Planning but a brief ten minutes bright excuses . . . must be off willingly I stay your captive melding with each proffered note Linear singing Musical structure Flowing pathways riverbound Choreographed bushings Flowers Plantings Radial chorus circling round Dreams encountered Metered progress Foundation firm through harmony lonna d. kingsbury
Flowers are gorgeous - mum's the word not taken lightly out here in Day Heights. Some color-coded to the flaggings. Oh, no, a matching golden goose.
Let's see. We've got faded watermelon, early pumpkin, and now, of course, Ohio State. Oooooh, there's a new one. A beastie points to "Witch is In". I wonder if she is.
And other signs - political - Day-Glo orange and greys. A spider spins his web. It's huge. The moisture clings. Too neat. More baby squirrels. I'd think you'd learn, but fun to watch you stalk. He's gone. You're thrilled. An almost "kill". We continue on.
And yes, her cat is watching you, like every other day. You tense, but opt now not to jerk. Good move. We're on our way.
Rounding home, the apple tree, looks better than last pick. Of course they're all now out of reach with birding holes unseen.
A quick aside, all mums in place, our sunflower flagging waves.
Our realtor proves chatty as we slowly creep 131. Her descriptions counter brakes, I guess. Who knows, the snow's so dense. And, yes, of course, she understands why I had to come today. She now describes the joinings of 50, 28. I immediately feel centered, snug never lost again. My directions take us past the house. I smile and think your name.
Arriving from Chicago this morning our old Dutch Elm looks great Going out to Dilllsboro Paul's back is out - they're out of wood but what a gorgeous day Blue skies white clouds and swirling hawks and space and space thank god there's space and I am home again.
And the times, they've changed forever from a little before and nine o three Depending on the region devastation reigned exploding then imploding towers twinned and strong encompassing in meaning the deep horrendous wrong And the cameras crossed the waters to lands of clicking tongues to women touting victory in jeweled resplendent robes where youngsters dressed in western tees laughingly formed vees And the times, they've changed forever echoing the screams of innocents held hostage of innocents at work of innocents forced witness who somehow must go on And they crawled forth crying weeping blindingly confused reminiscent of Pompeii or ovens taking rule spewing forth the venom of ignorance gone mad wearing ash of innocents singularly clad Head to toe in muddied dust bonded, neutral toned cloaked in stark equality Americans, at home