Memento Vivi

I want a way to make the world my own
Not changing it, exactly, but ensuring
Whatever I do matters: seeds I've sown
Grow up, and what they grow becomes enduring;
Acts that I do are not sunk deep in time
Wasted away and turned to nothingness,
But, like bold Shakespeare's monumental rhyme,
Blaze onward in a visible success
That will not fade until the stars grow cold,
The air is fogged with chemicals and death,
And mankind knows that it has gotten hold
With mortal sickness tinging every breath.
I want to make the world my own and be
Remembered for some thing eternally.

Days

Spending three or four days at a time

In different places, seeing different skies,

Listening to Southwest's announcement chime

Tell me my flight's delayed before it flies

Or Megabus slink slowly into town

Makes it rather difficult to say

Which time zone it should be when I get down.

I'm fairly certain it should be today

But you could sell me on tomorrow too,

And yesterday's a possibility.

I don't forget which town I'm passing through,

But sometimes it is difficult for me

To think of when I'm leaving, or for where

Until I've finished passing and I'm there.

Shangri-La

There is discomfort in a long horizon
That stretches on forever endlessly
I like my mountains making a disseisin
Stealing away the distance so I see
Their whiteclad tops or wooded flanks instead
Of endless flatness coming to a line;
A flat horizon lies out like it's dead
Give me a jagged range covered in pine.
I love to see the clouds dip down and touch
The hilltops or the mountains far away;
An infinite expanse is just too much:
I want to live beneath the mountains' sway
And see infinity but in the stars
Confined to earth it jangles and it jars.

Rolling Rock

It's crazy, but quite accurate, to think
I'm going to be leaving once again
Tomorrow - and again, in just a blink,
On Tuesday - always leaving, often when
The place has just become a comfort, too.
But always I am moving on, and on,
And keeping going in the way you do
By pure inertia. If another dawn
Sees me observe it from another place
What can I do? Momentum will not stop,
But will ensure the sunlight on my face
Strikes at a different angle as I flop
In a new bed each morning, and I take
A look at where I've chosen to awake.

Wait 5

Weather reports lack granularity
They say a day is rainy - what of that?
Seattle has, with regularity,
Half, or quarter, days of rain, which flat
Contradict, for half or more the day
The bland report that claims the rain is here
Yet overcast would also not repay
The forecaster, who would pay very dear
For every drop of rain that chanced to fall.
No, no, we need a forecast that can tell
The day drips slowly, but the rain is small,
Sometimes the sun breaks through. Or not. Oh well.
Such a forecast I propose to name
Seattle-like: when all is not the same.

Cloudbreak

There is no land like this
Except itself alone
The pine trees try to kiss
The sky but are outgrown
By mountains shimmering
Snowcapped beneath the sun
Or half-seen glimmering
Across the bay, each one
Distinct and yet together
A joint experience
A gift from modest weather
To give us evidence
The land is blessed, and we
Are blessed to stop and see.

Placed

I can't pretend I do not miss
The feel of her within my arms
The sudden magic of her kiss
The constant comfort of her charms
The way her face will turn to me
And brighten in that instant; how
She fits with me so naturally
Far more than fortune should allow.
No, I cannot pretend that I
Would not prefer she were still here
And yet before I start to cry
I think of what prevents a tear:
She's where she ought to be, because
It's where she can do what she does.

Adios

I can't believe you're leaving, but I could
Hardly believe you came this way at all.
I do not mean to say it wasn't good
Or that you often fail to heed my call,
But simply that between all sorts of things
I wasn't sure you'd ever really be
Right here with me - and therefore my soul sings
To know you were, and I am, finally,
Willing to accept, with heavy heart
The thought that you will leave so soon again;
You being here at all was such a start
I cannot be too sad. I can say when
Not if to your return, and therefore I
Can watch you leave and never sob, just sigh.

Feb 1

February springs into the air
As if it were the precursor to summer
Which, I must say, is not exactly fair
Since it should really show itself a bummer:
We know the weather will turn bad again
We know the rain and snow will both return
We know it will be cold, but know not when
And that someday the sky will become stern
Steelgray instead of blue - and therefore why
Should February on arrival seem
The first possessor of a blue clear sky,
The realization of our winter dream?
Rather, I beg, be honest and portray
The dreariness it will bring on its way.

Grandiose

My love is pure
And inundates
My heart, secure
Of what awaits,
Determined to
(Come what may be)
Be true to you
Consistently,
Sure in its own
Determination
That it has grown
By irrigation
By your own care
That love is there.