Inspiration

It use to be I got inspired to write poems
while walking four to ten miles on the mountain.

If my dogs accompanied me, I got less inspiration
because I minded them instead of inspiration.

It was not that my dogs were not inspiring
but I was sick of writing dog poem variations.

I did find positive feedback from poetry readings
brought out the desire in me to write more popular poems.

But then I wrote poems from that part of my head
that wanted to write positive feedback poems

and it pandered to the likes and dislikes of the audience
instead of writing from the heart.

My heart was happy I walked four
to ten miles on the mountain each day

since that kept my heart in good shape
and it beat without obstruction.

My beating heart did not care if I wrote poems or not.
I liked it when the dogs came along because my heart beat lighter.

During my walks on the mountain
I paid less attention to the mountain

than to my recent human interactions
especially if they involved love or the lust form of love.

The mountain and the mountain forests
did not feel ignored by my inattention to them.

Occasionally I was so lost in replay of an interaction
I tripped and fell due to inattention to the mountain.

My falls did not bang poems out of my head.
Though they banged a poem or two into my scraped hands for typing.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney

Central

Paul located his boundaries.
He pushed on them.
They moved.

He noticed that pushing
one boundary forward
changed the shape

of all of his boundaries
that were out of sight
and momentarily out of mind.

When a boundary moved
his inner landscape
altered as well.

This was neither
a good nor a bad thing
but a true thing.

His inner landscaper
did not like his inner forests
dying off in one place

to instantly regrow
on what had once
been an inner grassland.

His inner buffalo
in a confused and hungry state
head butted his inner dreams

into a reoccurring guilt trip
where his moral compass
played spin the dial.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney

Delphi Sits Upon Her Throne

Her throne is an exposed rocky spot
at the top of a wooded hill.

The stone admits it is not simple granite
but embodies a silent and patient yet local god.

Delphi enjoys laying on the sun warmed rock
and conversing with the local deity.

Their words vibrate the forest around them.
They speak with that much weight.

Sometimes the forest god joins them
in the guise of an animal

or under the bark and in the sap
of the nearest ponderosa pine.

Sometimes the three of them watch the eternal dance
as performed by the stars in the night sky.

Once I accompanied Delphi to the wooded hill.
We sat upon the rock together.

The local god spoke a greeting to me.
I felt indescribably vulnerable

as if its silent voice was a key
that opened me up for the whole world to view.

As fear nearly pushed me past the edge
Delphi clutched my hand.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney

Decomposition

In the forest
an idle car
accepts
the dew
that slips
past paint
into its dents
and dings
to spring
rust into life
so oxidation
may slowly
consume
the steel
leaving
rimless tires
and upholstery
to be covered
by wind
blown dirt
and leaves
to the berry bushes
that grow
from the seeds
the wind
and birds
drop off
or others
store
in the nooks
and crannies.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney