Imagine all the...

Into the sea of dreams

Train Messages

Into the shrouded future,
What will become
And then written as history?

As a freight train hurling towards you in a blur,
So can life be at times.

Gaaarrryyy.......
Gaaaarrrrrrryyyyy....
Wherrrree arrrree
Youuuu

weathered mysteries

Reflections on a moment

Enshrouded

Bedded in fog, so often is the past.
Even the coming of the future,
So is draped in darkened mists.
Vision becomes obscured,
And what we see:
An end or a beginning?

So a single drop...
Then life.

Along a seawall

                           The S
                                    T
                                      E
                                        P
                                          S

The clouds are forming from the north;
And as draperies drawn about a window,
So are they, bringing with them the darkness
              and a cutting wind
Which rips at the rigging of White Wine
              secured in her berth,
         tucked behind the breakwater.

The evening out over the coast
In its coming usually is accompanied
             by tranquility.
But this night only courts the frustrated fury
             of the hammering surf
        gutting the beaches.

But even the varied pilings strewn in the surf
Remain as testimonials that the waters
             may for a brief moment
Breach their mark, only to find their grip short;
             And having exhausted their strength,
        they are resigned to withdraw.

To the east, the clouds are as dirty mats being beat out.
While to the south, there is a faint orange hue...
And at the steps at the bayou,
Thoughts I ponder, only to give them up
             to the tide in flight
And the curling wavelets entrancing my eyes;
And comes an understanding of the homes alight
Mirrored on the rippled bayou:
             an image, an image so untrue.

Withdrawing myself from this sight,
The path I have often tread,
Walk once more I do.
And the water sliding along the seawall
Reminds me of words spoken last night...

Purpose lost

Not giving up to Despair,
yet they wait,
Hoping for a future.

trying to look in

                                                                                                   

forboding darkness,
a chilling haunt.

Out of a collapse


















Once a thriving industry,
Now a chaotic heap,
An unintended monument...

Riding the edge

So like life....

Holding steadfast

Remnants and reminders

On the way to Bruce Creek

the shadows of the mind
are driven away by the
Son

A bridge near by

Note the flotsam jammed
up in the bottom side of
the bridge.
The bridge is about 12 feet
above the North Fork
Broad River

                                      
                                                               And where shall I go?
                                                               And is this all that remains
                                                               As my way to get there?

              A purpose in the past,
              But now it lies by-passed
              And left as a causeway
              For the consuming foliage.
              Cast in broken disarray
              Over the North Fork,
              Riveted steel in bent way
              Rusts in Time's passage
              In it's sorrowful ending day.

Sunrise at Spring Branch, June 2011

A serenity drifts lazily by
Noticing the fresh sun
Bringing a new set of promises.

Cows

Whenever I see cows in a field,
I can't help but think of Gary Larson.

Just a barn, or is it?

It's not just a barn ready to collapse on itself
from years of use and misuse.
It is the bookmark of an era, a culture,
that is gone--the aspirations and promises
of farmers and families.
Of those, we can only dream and speculate.