Winter Solstice, Northern Latitude
December is an ice cave,
earth gouge recessed to
a cold core, lost light
turns back to a sunny
mouth leaving white
amphibians softly padding
on spatulate feet.
Time loses its precision
in a dark place its
stasis drapes heavily
around me and I cannot
count the hours cold time
will not budge.
A Big View: On Being a Part of It All
Tumbling in the blue vault
I circle round and round
one of the planetary many.
I can see the green ball of earth
its mossy humps and spiny backs.
My head fills with cosmic fresh air
blowing out tired views
and I ease into myself
like a soul settling.
My heart pulses slowly
matching the silent swirl of planets
and my beginning is my ending,
and my ending is my beginning.
Bionote
James Robert Rudolph is a retired psychologist and teacher having returned to old haunts in northern New Mexico after a busy career in Minneapolis. He is attempting a resurrection of poetry and playwriting interests and finds Santa Fe a rich, if not always willing, muse. Creatively he aspires to the crafting of work that expresses honest experience in beautiful language, complex or simple, as serves the work’s purpose. Recent poems have appeared in The Artistic Muse, Mad Swirl, and Bewildering Stories, among others.
No comments:
Post a Comment