' I know it is not Fall yet, but this is a piece about that time of year.
Skies illuminate in amber
the crisp air shimmering
over frosted skin,
leaves moving from green
to gold to crimson to plum.
Foliage descends from trees
burying the cold ground
the sunlight streaming
through tree branches,
its warmth hinted at by bright rays.
Flocks of geese
litter blue horizons
dusted with ivory clouds,
as they migrate to tropical places -
the continents of Africa and Europe.
And I am getting older,
once a silly man
who espoused what appeared
to be smart revelations,
but wisdom came with age, experience
and not ideological youth.
Warm blanket on my lap
I am content for the moment
knowing that change is inevitable
that when the world overwhelms
it is best to go limp
when falling out of the lofty air.
Much of what is written here is poetry, but there are prose pieces interspersed, all written by Michael Wayne Holland. Also, there are blog entries from further back about living with post traumatic stress disorder. Full range of topics are fleshed, much based on life experiences, and much observed and imagined. I believe there is an internal truth to the writings, fiction or non-fiction.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Thursday, September 18, 2014
What Was
Note - It has been quite a while since I last posted my work in my blog. There have been a variety of reasons for this, but I am determined to keep this blog going, Sorry for being remiss I shall correct it!
What Was
What Was
I would watch him
in tender moments
somewhere between blue skies and inky sea
while he slept beside me,
head on my shoulder
fully unaware that I observed him.
I would trace his hips
with one finger
and he would grasp my hand
like the child he has always been.
in tender moments
somewhere between blue skies and inky sea
while he slept beside me,
head on my shoulder
fully unaware that I observed him.
I would trace his hips
with one finger
and he would grasp my hand
like the child he has always been.
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