the trees seem
as dead spiders

and all waits
the coming storm

the last of winter
holding fast

the past week’s
glimpse of spring
caressed our spirits

so we’ll make use of
today

finding the summer
in our hearts

for it is not yet
outside the window

(D. James)

fade to black
roll credits

people file out
of the theater
thinking about
the experience

every life
ends the same

fade to black
roll credits

people file out
of the funeral home
thinking about
the experience

what matters
are the memories
of the life lived

(D James)

last days
he knows

dying from the struggle
to live

the nurse
does what she can
to make it easier

through the morphine
induced fog
a moment of clarity

he says

“I never learned
to ride a bike”

too late now
she knows

too late now

(D James)

worrying the night
like an old string of beads

cold wind
blows darkness around

til the dawn
which
brings no warmth
or understanding

just another prelude
to another night

and on and on
until the ride stops

(D James)

bundled against
the early morning sun
that gives off light
but little heat

another day
for the many lucky enough
to have made it through the night

yet who among us
thinks of the new day that way
before the first cup of coffee
if at all

(D. James)

the space
between notes

like slipping through the silence

holding onto that split second
of after this heartbeat ends
and the next begins

(D. James)

a place of right
might
fight

where trouble lurks
and there is no soul

a safe place
where one finds
simplistic comfort

only in its opposite
is there any hope
or chance of stumbling
upon the world as it is
and not as we want it to be

(D James)

worrying about the weather
and the dow jones industrial index
as if it matters to our souls
and whether they can still be saved

these fallible indicators
are not merely implausible
but are “out of time”

when false gods
ruled through commerce
and promises of a better life
the buying and selling
of currencies currency

ultimately believing in a technology
that would deliver us from evil

we can only hope
there be nothing left
after the final fall

giving us a clean slate
like a blackboard
with the remnants of the old methods
and now dead ideas
floating
as chalk dust in sunlight

then
finally
we can begin
as sentient beings
neither to be bought or sold
but simply to be
in the world

(D James)

some day
there won’t be
another thursday

or friday
or monday either

until then
I’ll make what I do
of the days and days

those I have left
and those I don’t

(D. James)

then continued on

I followed
the wind
as far as it did blow

then went beyond

I walked
to the peak
of the mountain

then reached up and touched the sky

I dropped
to the bottom
of the ocean

then dug down to the center of the earth

seen the sights
rode the rides
had loves
and losses

watched the line between
the beginnings and endings
blur
then bend

into a circle

and I can either
go round with it

or waste time
fighting against the flow

(D James)