Anchor me,
you slithery words,
from my tossing turbulence
and largely wily, little wise ,
habitual mentality. . .

a source, ’tis true,
that lacks
that cool air of neutrality. . .

And yet,
these thoughts
this heart,
at times, in concert,
others, at odds and distances apart,
entwine as one
to make the lens
through which
the world I see. . .

Which filters
to select which light
finds my mind’s eye,
to make me smile
or frown or sigh,

and picks the sum
all of my words
and self-told tales.

Head to feet,
in every single body cell,
the rub is
not to see defeat,
while the jury so often
is still out,
though I’m not always seeing this,

and to notice
win and loss
encompass not
the whole of mending
and tremendous
realm of time, space,
and possibility. . .

Perhaps there is much more out there,
on this, our vasty marbly sphere,
and yea, beyond the larger space
of all stars seen
from sky high peaks
when nights are clear,

and inside each of you, and all of us,
and even in this
little old me,
in the sum of all that we now are
and as well as what we yet can be,

that’s actually to much more avail
to anchor us
for our needed rests at sea,
and to fill with wind
our tall, strong, and graceful sails,

to take us sometimes where we want,
and other times to some place short of that
but exactly where we need to be.

This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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