Essence of Silence

to see
is to
know

to listen
is to
sense

the essence
of
silence

It Falls Away

it falls away

on timorous edge of touch

sifted between splayed fingers

like tears streaming down opaque casements

stained with memory’s poignant regrets

chanting laments in the place

where dreams founder and die

in resignation reconciliation and contrition

it falls away

dropped with a click

into the incremental notch of

transient temporal sequence

without loss or gain

return or reprieve

and no claims made

against what was left 

nor to remain as it was

when Adonis rode bare and free

forever vibrant lithe and fair

racing lazy summer suns

in moments perpetually new

rolled into the inertial coil of

roiling tides breaking

on rocky shoals

tracing memories 

laced on feathery edges

of swirling tidal pools

erasing sketches etched

into silt and sand

awash in azure blue

autumnal melancholy hue

fading into waning seasons

sounding in successive flourishes 

of an unfinished finale

it all falls away

tissue blood and bone

returned to ash and stone

resting in eternal silence

staking no claim

against loss or gain

of what is no more

     *****

we come to know

who we are

what we have become

and not to be

the last wave breaking ashore

washing aside what will not abide

the moment we know

in the way it is to go

as we are

the sum of what 

we have become

but one among

those who came and went

in their time

and fell away

.....With Age.....

with age
comes regret
not for
what one
has done
but for
what one
cannot do
save for
reflection which
is its
own reward

The Circle

                                                                          the

                                                              time                 line

                                                       their                              forms

                                                   through                                        a 

                                                alone                                             circle

                                            passed                                                       as

                                         who                                                                the

                                        all                                                                cincture

                                     binding                                                           tightens

                                     endured                                                           pulling

                                      who                                                                 those

                                        those                                                            who

                                            of                                                      remain

                                               dreams                                             in

                                                   gathers                                     to

                                                       memory                         the

                                                           collective            center

                                                                          where

                                                                                       

                                                                                    

Taste and See

sit....

   look

      witness small miracles

dancing at the end 

    of the master’s hand

take....

       eat 

taste and savor

      juice from fruits

   of the season

sing....

   dance with joy 

      to the sound that 

echoes in still wind

listen....

   learn 

hear the rhythm 

     of your name 

playing in echoes 

        through distant valleys

come....

     touch 

feel the tissue 

      of new grass

   turning brown to green

be....

    alive and aware 

of the curve time assumes

in subtle turn 

         of the hour

    

learn....

    know and be one 

within and among

         all unfolding before you

Autumn

 pour

       forth                    

                your 

                         yellows

greens 

         oranges            

                         and                   

          reds      

in

            sudden

                           profusion          

    where

                  brown        

    suddenly

                     will

be               

              as

        if

                       for    

   the 

                     first

      time

                 changing

gray

                     of

    yesterday

                      awaiting

your

            return         

                        with    

     out

           taking               

                       any   

                               thing

              for

                      granted

One Last Time

you see them
and know
it is the last time
your words will
reach for and
touch the intangible
bridging the space
between word and
idea for a
moment longer than breath

as the image recedes
you share origins
in the space
widening between you
and know it
will never be the same
after a shudder
ran through you
as you gazed
through mist

...when in wonder beholding...

will it ever
be as it
was

when number and
sequence held no
significance

and all need
not fit a select
scheme

safe and secure
in its place
and

time did not
track where we
wander

and all was
wrapped in wonder
beholding

nothing in something
rarely seen
seldom heard

only to be
imagined but
once

then gone

Cutting Grass

following the rotation
of the blade
bound to the rhythm
of routine about
my route
over the lush
green palate on which
I sketch interlocking loops
curvilinear arcs in
overlapping designs
freely as impulse
dictates without concern
for critical review
of choices
made on capricious whim
swinging behind
the will of a machine
yielding to its commands
slowing for curves
in case something
crosses the path
to challenge the
sport for a ride

David Sermersheim

Catch of The Day

A sudden, startling clap shattered
the still silent scene
out of the corner of my eye

an arrow of gray feather plunged headlong
into the cold, rippling surface,
sinking talon into flesh
grappling with its catch
beneath the shallow depths

a rush of feather and foam,
flying in all directions,
paddling furiously, struggling
to break free of the bounds
of water and gravity

the catch dangling precariously
in the iron clasp of claw
encircling his girth,
a look of incredulity
and disbelief
spreading over his face
at the sudden transfer
of fish to fowl

while the distance between him
and his former domain
slides away toward infinite space,
shifting the balance
from water to air

gaining speed toward
another destination
a crown of thorns
above a salt marsh

a date with fate,
culminating in an ancient ritual of
consecration, communion, consummation,
celebrating the sacrifice
of one life for another

an endless cycle of
birth, life and death
just out back,
hard by the sand,
not far from here.

But/If

so much hinges
on “if”
and/or “but”
perhaps “maybe”

mention “no”
and the proposition
collapses into a
heap of best
intentions denied

“here” is not “there”
“where” cannot be “”when”
“then” is not
“now” and
never could be “ever”

“maybe” is where
I’ll be found
after the proud
get their round

nothing more
is due
but if you
have to ask
to get a clue
you’ll never know
“why”

It's Monday Again

it’s Monday again
arriving in time
and on track

another one dealt
from the bottom
of the pack

slow to rise
move into the
gloom resigned to

the task under
command over what
lies beyond control

minding my own
ignoring chaos and
rancor searing the

air in mortal
combat over details
missed deadlines passed

nothing in place
all angling to
auger the hour

to scrap tossed
in the bin
just passed as

I shuffle toward
the volumptuous sunset
into another tomorrow