Poem: Ruins they say

Ruins, they say

The stones lie in plain view
for historians and other writers of fiction,
half standing, half fallen,
an imperfect patchwork

half fallen to time and folly,
the focus of speculation,
guesswork and false truths.
Ruins,they say, forgetting

the beauty of what has survived, or
the possibilities of what remains.

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This was inspired by a few days of being in Virginia, where I lived for several years, and visiting with friends who have seen me through divorce and rebuilding a life.

The picture was taken at Stonehenge, in England, while visiting with my kids. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Peanuts on the Floor

Peanuts on the Floor

There are peanuts on the floor,
their white carcasses like dead maggots
against the rich red hues
of the oriental rug.

Boxes gape open,
half emptied, half full,
no order, yet
full of promise,

treasure chests,
riches of a lifetime,
carried here, and now,
slowly, lovingly

uppacked.
The room is a mess, yes,
and will be, yet this chaos
is progress,

which all too often,
gets messier
before it gets better.

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My daughter, who has been with me since June, recently moved all her things from Virginia to my home in Vermont. The picture is of what used to be my dining room, as she unpacks them and sorts everything out. She's a delight, and so concerned that the room is a mess, but no one knows more than I do that life often has to get messy before it falls into place. So I look at the mess... and smile.

You can click on the picture for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Raw Wood

Raw Wood

The furniture is in place, but
it has taken weeks to open the wall
between the two homes,
to transform the tiny rooms
into a spacious space where light
and life move freely throughout the day.

Such a task! For like therapy, this demolition is not
the stuff of wrecking balls, but a careful cutting away
to open the spaces, yet still preserving the beams
that give your walls strength. There are wires
to avoid, or re-route, and the uncertainty
of an old house, the danger of ruining its soul.

But at last it is done, and then comes the rebuilding,
slow and methodical, piecing together each new frame,
each new bit of trim, is' raw wood with it's fresh cut color
you are suddenly loath to paint, for it symbolizes a vision
created by destruction and rebuilding both, to something
new, fresh, alive, a bringing together of two houses into one,
your home, and heart unite, fresh, and singing with light.

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The picture is actually of my dining room, as seen from my living room. Some of you (my friends) know the place I bought in West Pawlet, Vermont was a duplex when I bought it and I've been opening it up to a single home, including knocking out the wall between these two rooms. You can click on the image to get a larger version.

Tom

Poem: The Fence

The Fence

You walk in the early morning,
through the town rife with history,
the old homes with their white clapboard
punctuated with flowers,
and the unnaturally perfect green grass

until you come to the fence,
once proud and strong
like your own spirit,
but now blown by wind
and worn by age,

its paint flaking,
leaning to one side,
no longer a fortress
but instead a gate waiting
for the next storm
to push it aside

and open the gardens within
to every passerby,
a gateway about to open
the beauty beyond
to everyone,

and suddenly the fence
is more beautiful
in it's fragility,
more perfect
than it was ever meant to be.

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The picture was taken in Wells, Vermont. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: River Walking

River Walking

Sitting
on a rock
in the river,
water
splashing
swiftly dancing,
currents
wild
and laughing
at the folly
of
worry and pain,
the illusion
that forever is real.

The river
knows the truth,
that all
is movement,
currents,
of the moment, and the next
dancing
to a sea beyond our vision,
warm to the sun,
cold
to the touch,
and
that to remain still
is to die.

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The picture was taken on the James River, just below my sister's home, where I went Riverwalking yesterday. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom