Michael's Fáilte

Welcome to these writing warmups, blatherings, rantings, meditations, perorations, salutations, latest and those on time, those narrative, declarative, interrogative, gollywogative and other outdated, belated, simulated musings, perusings, shavings and other close calls, with no disrespect intended, that's why no real names included whenever impossible to avoid the guilt that came in the crib for uttering something that would hurt or injure those in authority, being of everlasting servitude to all and sundry, having chosen the road not taken and the frost on the pumpkin long before the kettle turned black or the cat found its own tail fascinating,
Your humble servant, etc.

The island writes in fire and steam each morning on the pages of the sea

The island writes in fire and steam each morning on the pages of the sea
Lava Meets Ocean. Lynx, Starboard Side. Day 2.Early Morning, July 8 2006, Looking for Flashes off Chain of Craters, Big Island

Sunday, December 8, 2013

The Other Side

I had to ask but you're in charge.
I let that happen, didn't I. Out there
in the corner of the other room our food
gets prepared. I scratch my head.
Our elbows shush their way across
open spaces. Motors run louder than usual.
Must be the bakery. I've got two avocadoes
but they're the other side of ripe. I'm still here
in my body but I forget from moment to moment.
This morning these sorts of details were beyond
my grasp. The horizon? Forget it. Not there.
Edges too. Only the waves defining everything.
The sun didn't rise, we rolled into wakefulness.
What if the other side is this hazy and bland?
What if it's full of Chinese prophecies? What if
the bread there is upside-down pan au levain, slightly sour
and your day is going better than this?
I had to ask these questions whether anyone's
listening or not. My ears and your voice.
Softly we find ourselves on the hard road.
Softly we begin to notice the colors of dried grasses.
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