The Interpretation of Leaves

Brown leaves dancing on the lawn,

like a flock of tiny birds,

suddenly rise into flight,

circling in late-autumn wind—

rustling omen of something,

but who can fortell of what?

 

Copyright 2018

T. Allen Culpepper

Advertisements

Glow

Green-gold sunlight seeps

through granite clouds, lightening

the gloom for a breath,

as when someone beautiful

appears at a a dull party,

and like the beauty who can’t

be bothered to stay,

then sneaks off again somewhere

as fat raindrops splash the curb

like champagne bubbles

against the side of a glass,

in preparation

for a maudlin toast.

Copyright 2018

T. Allen Culpepper

 

 

Bean Train

The coffee roaster
looks like a locomotive,
the old-school steam kind,
green-sided and silver-stacked;
stationary, off the rails,
it’s time stopped halfway
across the Great Plains,
the Pacific coast
no longer even a dream.
But now it cures the magic beans
that jolt zombies back to life
and fire imaginations,
energy transferred from plant
by machine to hipster kind.

Copyright 2018
T. Allen Culpepper

Half There or Half Here?

Halfway to nowhere,

moving slowly toward stasis–

enlightened or stuck?

 

Would Buddha in dilemma

disappear the muddy road?

 

Does the way of the crossways

that my crossed way crosses weigh

me down as I cross myself,

or cut across to open

new ways forward out of time?

 

Is the present moment free

of past regrets and future

reincarnations,

or is it the product of

their sordid union?

 

In my tracks I stop

and try to track my stops,

my lurches forward,

and my lapses back.

 

The end is near,

so very near,

the beginning

that progress seems

like only not going

too far backward

all at once.

 

Vive la holding steady,

tracing circles

in the gravel

of my zen garden

to dull the knife.

 

Copyright 2017

T. Allen Culpepper