Thirty for All of Five

I am writing for five
Only one of whom is alive
Two have yet to be born
Two this world does mourn
And within a handful of rain
I can remember once again
What my memory would recall
Framed by the shutter in the hall
To seek where the past does hide
Is to awake where dreams abide

I am writing for five
To keep the dream alive
To speak to those unborn
Who the world will come to mourn
In a future I will never see
Beside a picture I will never be
And behind my staid eyes
Lies my life in laughter and in cries
But could these windows mean more
Than the fading memories I adore

I am writing for five
Because I am still alive
To celebrate being born
For I cannot forever mourn
First as friend I do not forget
To call he who did beget
This man who came to strive
To paint this idea of five
As he captured with his eye
A belief in life I could live by

A Vision of Rarity

From the very first this project has been consigned in my mind to life, as it is in my heart, subjected to my poetic will, set to the tune of what it is to pass in growth through time. I am grateful to all who participated in my aberration, especially my best friend, who would have loved to see these posts and create his own. Like the stories we created in the times we shared, they have made a decent man out of me. I thank you, who first I call friend and then refer to as father.

I consider 30 For All Of 5 to be a collaboration, as it is my commentary upon our mutual growth, and the losses that I conceive as elemental to that growth, inspired by photographs that were the passion of your life. So, a toast to you my friend. I would not be, but for thee. Certainly, not this me. So I see, gratefully. The rarity, of friends as we.

Reflexive Silent Stadtholder or the Rarefied Sea Shell

I awoke to the august clamor of random atoms collide. The surf was gentle in its caress of my right side, my right hand at play with its rise and fall; while the wind did come to tease my very senses of places over visible horizons, its whisper making a mockery of tenderness over my left side. I was speechless; there was no past I could lament for here, no, not even the present, only a future as open as the sky above me. I echoed with the murmurs of the tide, wherein I heard my thoughts uttered in various turns understood and beyond the writhe of my tongue; I mirrored the enchantment of this sky eternal, where the distant lands themselves approached to shadow the stars. Leviathan did rise from the sea to rest its head upon my lap; and whisper to me it did one word with every dawning, that I might know the ways of the world. The stars in their falling and the clouds in their passage held the moment of every passionate portrait and dreaming landscape for my mind to bear. The sand of the shore and the mist from the sea brought the dead to rise, each sculpting visions of what had been and what would be, through the certainty of truth and heroic imagination, championing what it was to be remembered. I found my story here; it gave me a reference point in the tumultuary existence I had left at the end of my life, and with the last breath in my body, resuscitated from depths of forgotten care, I sighed.

This mist from the sea
Is like coffee on me
And like sand in my hair
Comes the lighthouse's flare
Illuminating my goal incredible

I feel the past is clinging
While the future is singing
But walking on my hands
Does not confuse the sands
Who each hold me as responsible

Come the lighthouse by flowers
Where my fear whiles hours
But no heights conclude
Where passions do not intrude
No challenge without words indelible

Why sure as the strength of rocks
Must doors come fitted with locks
For my anger to redound
Or my courage to resound
But let not my confidence be illegible

These walls I must scale
Passing cobbles as in the dale
And fortune favor my rigid school
From whence I come no fool
Having brought many tool indestructible

If these walls could talk
Of my upward walk
Wearing what many attire lacks
The spinning electric spider tracks
Proving the worth of technology irreducible

These pages I infect
Like a pool would reflect
Turning leaves on the breeze
Wooing words come to please
All who would teach to be sensible

I spilled the mist in the rising sun
Come and dance, the day's begun
We're free to play when time is seducible