My mind wanders

August 25, 2019

Outside the window
Contours of the land
Among the trees
Made visible by the snow

On this quiet Saturday morning
An intrusion into my thoughts
What?
Memories, longing, loneliness?
Perhaps all that

A longing to be alone
Something pulling, tugging
Toward solitude

How can this pull,
This longing to be alone,
Intrude on loneliness?

Is what is sought,
Present in an apparent
Nothingness?

My mind wanders,
Daydreams …

Thoughts go to a small hill
In a prairie somewhere
Nothing visible but grasses
Distant trees
A breeze gently grabs at my clothing,
Washes over my face,
Rustles the grasses

I find myself on a trail
Deep in the woods
Sunlight flickering through
Leafless trees
Pale light
Winter light
Silence

A broad valley welcomes me
Soaring mountains, dark gray
Snow-covered peaks
Along the path, green
Intense green
Warmed by the rising sun

©2019 Thomas W. Cummins

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A cosmic projection

August 13, 2019

I saw her dancing
Dipping and swaying
Tempo set by a breeze
Leaves caressing the light
Beams from the rising sun

Juliet
Candle-like, flickering
Caught on the curve
Of the lamp’s
Metal shade

A cosmic projection
This image
Solar ball of nuclear fire
Thrust through space
Appearing as a gentle flame

©2019 Thomas. W. Cummins

The long uphill walk

July 28, 2019

Old lawn chairs at the lake
Circa 1946, after the war
Steel
Heavy, very heavy
Yet very comfortable

A reminder of my parents
Those chairs, their chairs
Brought to this cabin
For their 50s
Summer home

During the walk from the lakeshore
The long uphill walk
Midway from the lake to the cabin
Those chairs
A welcome respite

Sometimes I imagine
Mom and Dad
Sitting in those chairs
At night, overlooking the lake
Bathed in starlight

Their ashes are nearby

Eternity at arm’s length

April 25, 2019

 

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We have explored
Looking for, searching for
Meaning amidst the stars
Millions of light years away
Or by stepping out the front door
In early spring

©2019 Thomas W. Cummins

 

Powell Hall

March 29, 2019

We’ve been going there since the late 60s
Red plush seats
Ivory-colored walls
Ornate with sculpted shapes
Patterns
Faces and vases
Gold-leaf highlights

As the hour approaches
Far below
On the stage
Instrumentalists
Move into sections
Concert Master appears
An A is sounded

Tuning begins
Then silence
Audience awaits
Tuxedoed conductor emerges
Taking the podium
Cues the orchestra
Magic and wonder fill the room

I often feel
On those evenings
Nothing else exists
Hurtling through the universe
Alone in this space
Unique in its own timelessness
Creations of those long departed
Made present

©2019 Thomas W. Cummins

 

Dead From Cancer

March 26, 2019

He was difficult

A challenge

Not very enjoyable to visit

Extreme ideology

A Christian Identity adherent

Vocal, preachy

 

But I hung in there

He enjoyed the company

Confined to his room

Alone

Dying

In the prison infirmary

©2019 Thomas W. Cummins