Storm Remnants

June 15, 2018

Following last night’s storms here in the woods by the lake, a reprise of an earlier post.

In a dim light...

—∞—
Like old crones
In tattered dark gray cloaks
Last night’s storm clouds
Shuffle off to the east
 
Hiding the rising sun
They prolong their gloomy pall
Leaving behind sodden leaves
Plastered against windows
Overlooking the slate-hued lake

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A reminder of the men I visit in segregated cells

March 8, 2018

I was reminded of this quote when a book was returned to me this morning. The second sentence is, to me, very rich in meaning, very relevant.

‘Many prisoners find themselves stuck within a present that seems to go nowhere, with little to lose and little to look forward to, waiting for a future release that may never come or that, when it does, might not deliver the longed-for sense of freedom. They find themselves haunted by a past that cannot be undone and that may return obsessively to dominate the present and drain the future of hope.’

Lisa Guenther, Solitary Confinement: social death and its afterlives

I was quite young

December 11, 2017

Going through boxes and boxes of stuff in preparation for downsizing during the next decade, or so.

I was quite young when I wrote this. Perhaps it was 55 years ago. Nevertheless, here it is

If I could choose

A New Day

October 4, 2017

Gilt by a setting sun
Trees
Golden
Across the lake
On the shore
A window on an unseen cabin
Angled just right
Ablaze with reflected light

This side, this shore
Could seem gloomy here in the woods
At the foot of the hill
No sunlight on grass or leaves
But tomorrow’s coolness of morning
Fresh sparkle of sun’s rising
Brings a new day
A new beginning

©2017 Thomas W. Cummins

Estrangement

August 24, 2017

Heartache
Emerges unsummoned
From the subconscious
Takes up residence
Down low
In the stomach
Until
Nothing else matters

A simple question,
“What’s wrong?”
Brings a flood of tears
Washing away
Much of the ache
Leaving behind
Deep sorrow
Confusion, longing

©2017 Thomas W. Cummins

Dancing Rose-Gold

August 18, 2017

It’s that time of year again.

In a dim light...

—∞—

Each morning
Early
As though awakening
The lake
Comes alive
 
An opening movement
Two ducks
In formation
Quietly chatting
Whisk by just above the water
 
A single gull appears
Overhead
Looking, searching
Its wings
Pink with the rising sun
 
Far off
A loon begins its day
Black-green head
Sharp, wet bill
Glistening
 
On the bunkhouse wall
A dance
Rose-gold reflection
Sun grazing the water
Finding its way into the room
 
A noiseless waltz
Sometimes partnered
Leaf shadows
Gentle
In a morning breeze

© 2014 Thomas W. Cummins

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