Choose

Things should fit like how the gentle rain
caresses sweet honeysuckle, yielding
to electric dew spirals which lapse
into slumber, as the dense ground
defers, slips, melts away, creating an abyss
of tangerine lemon auburn,
now void of bleak existence,
a place where falling is continuous
and unrelenting, as if in a vacuum.

It's not death, or even rebirth,
or even something to fear,
but at brilliant meteoric speeds,
you either embrace
what you do not know,
or reject the reality,
as it taunts you with its dizzying
somersaults and spins.

Until you face it directly,
the connection you felt
remains hidden, even coveted,
stuck between midnight freedom
and twilight wonder. No, there are no monsters
under the bed sheets, nor spiders lurking
in that hallway of arms, the ones
that always reach, grab, seize,
and the river that runs
through splitting hairs,
the one that pleads allegiance
to the most convincing
unconvincing reality is seeking
to find you a way out if you pay attention.

So the question is: what's more important?
Taking unseen, unknown, uncalculated risks?
Or inhabiting the safe, the stable,
the predictable?

Either way, there is no safety net,
nothing to catch you,
from your own choices,
There is no judgment
but their could be repercussions
in mind and spirit, if you reject
that knot in your stomach,
burning with faithfulness.
But, if you listen, but truly listen,
rather than vanishing in your indecision,
the specter is simply invisible, transparent.

Now is the time to reveal secret
codes, trust sacred confidantes, pay the piper,
unscramble puzzle pieces. Or you may opt
for the foreseeable: security.

It's up to you.
And only you.
Choose!

(C) Michael Wayne Holland 2011

Summer

Yes, I know it is spring, at least here in San Francisco, but I yearn for summer.

Summer
 
Blistering heat, humidity sparing
no one, steals my breath,
and the air conditioner hums
my tune as I sit in front
of it, air spraying cool sunshine,
on overexposed pores.

The sweat is now dissipating
and my brother scowls.
because I am absorbing
pure delicious coolness
while he sits and sputters:
"Move out of the way!
We all need to cool off!"

So I step aside looking outdoors,
noticing the hyacinth. She doesn't appear
particularly flustered by unbearable
salty heat. In fact, she radiates, smiling
at me: flirting, purring, beckoning
me to join them outside,
but I am too smart to listen
to the coo of some flattering flower.
I stay inside, lying on my back
behind the couch, just under this slice
of frosty Heaven. And I hope
that tomorrow brings wealthy thunderstorms
glowering their disapproval
of that monstrous citrus sun,
that has dominated now for days on end
making itself felt, known, forgiving
nothing.

But I yearn now for the rain that will pour,
weeping in sheer delight, while we meager
mortals thrill, rejoice
in a cool day, just one cool day.

(C) 2010, Michael Wayne Holland

Incredulous (A Rant)

Incredulous (A Rant)

You may be exceptionally bright,
just not particularly modest.
You may be correct, most times,
but are you likable?
You tell me. You appear to know
more than I do.

I bow down before you,
you the king, an Adonis.
Frankly, my back just hurts:
the pressure, your magnitude,
that you ask me to hold
for you, brilliantly shining
in the Universe, which you seem
to own, parts of it, that is.

But, the one thing you relish
that you can never have is my soul:
that's right, my soul.

How about a slice of humble pie?
I'll slice you a piece.

(c) Michael W. Holland (2008)