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Fun Morning

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 . . .

lonna d. kingsbury

Awakened

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

In closing

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

An Offering

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

Escape

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

The Cycle

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.

lonna d. kingsbury

Our River

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

Remembering

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.

lonna d. kingsbury

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

For Frank

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

For Ghi

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.

lonna d. kingsbury

Home

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.

lonna d. kingsbury

Returning

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.

lonna d. kingsbury

Home

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 

lonna d. kingsbury

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