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