The Saturday before July

Overcast sunset watching the ground below
Glancing at all the porch dwellers, revelling
Dusk yet in the distance, patiently waitng
Idle conversation flows from green lawns
Birds are well heard, but remain unseen
The heat has recessed its girth, at least
Small children play games newly learned
Harvesting memories they will later forget
As summer turns into many passing falls
Street lights are silent now, like the wind
The mosquito chatter has yet to emerge
By then, porch stories will convene inside
By the lights of picture sets and such
Old men will watch their ballgames then
Remembering how they too once played
Wives offer pie and coffee, but not too much
Warming the stomachs and hearts of the world
The darkened, starless sky watches tiny roofs
As lights glow out from the infinite, tiny dwellings
All is well on cool summer evenings, mostly

Answers Found in Coffee Cups

From nothing to normal

Such a slow, short trip

Boundless questions

Answered by a drip

Captivated for now

Later will surely wither

Holding on to revelation

No time to stop and dither 

Write more words with pen

Answer riddles beyond thought

Leaking conclusions almost gone

Understanding more than one ought

Ending moment before the storm

One more line, or two perhaps

Got... to.. finish.. Pushing....on

Morning is over..The next great collapse

Echos on an Empty Porch

The Front Porch is quiet,
Unfamiliar and bare
I look upon it lost,
unbelieving and stare
Out in the graying grass,
As I close both eyes
And I remember some place,
One where nothing dies
Growing older seems elusive,
In the summers of twenty one
A pup and a man-child,
With many miles yet to run
Chasing youth, balls, and bones,
Me and my black shadow
Barking at birds, bugs, and bees,
Songs that now only I know
Drifting back to the porch,
Releasing yesterday's spell
Squinting in the quiet light,
Looking for a wagging tail

Grasping

Sunlit Corridors promise me warmth
Their capture of time, hides the lies
Written underneath bridges of the past
The voices chase even after all so many miles
Their unrest is as endless as me, I fear
That their poison will not neglect find
Wormholes and ample veins, waiting
For a break in the evening waves
To call their sordid songs to feast
On the unwilling, restless souls
Lying in witness of many wonders
Forgetters of their paths, save no face
Remembered in the dying of a waning fire
Memories rust when kept not sharp
The sun fades and perceptions dull
Falling to sleep, yet trying hold on
To so much as any glimpse,
Any embrace of new thoughts
That may promise to deliver glimmers
Of something yet unseen just now
In the expansive, moving horizon
Morning comes, and we forget again
Moving all over with a yearning angst
Like children do before their hour comes
To stay up past the rising of yellow moons
This familiar struggle puzzles even dreamers
And all those who will surely forget again
In that moment before they wake