Sunday, November 15, 2009
Floral Symphony
Gramps had eyes that could see
two ants mating in a peony. He could see
long lost cities
beneath the bark of a dead tree,
a tick landing on a rhino’s back.
Why heck, he even found a needle
in a haystack. Just yesterday,
as I watched him in the garden,
I saw him start to shake.
His eyes looked wider than a china plate.
He cupped his hands and yelled aloud,
“Billy! Ever seen a cricket
conduct a floral symphony?
C’mon,” he whispered;
"Let's tune into Big Red.
Down we went on hands and knees.
I couldn't believe my eyes.
A cricket, dressed in tails,
as anyone could see,
was conducting a floral symphony.
And if you don’t believe me,
take another look.
c. Douglas Fireman
Sunday, October 11, 2009
No Ordinary Peony
When I saw that face
among the flowers
peeking out at me, I smiled.
A moment ago, it was just
an ordinary peony.
How could this be?
I had never seen
a flower that resembled
a human face,
especially
one that whispered,
"I love you."
Suddenly, I realized
that I had been deceived
by the one eyed priest
whose God did not reside
in Nature's Paradise.
And then,
I said aloud
to the face in the floral crowd,
"I love you too,"
and knew
I had communed
with God...
c. Douglas Fireman
A touch of paint, and some
shaping helped to create
the face in the peony on the right.
Posted by Doug at 11:42 AM 0 comments
Monday, October 5, 2009
A Silent Friend
It isn't everyone
who has a silent friend
a friend
who doesn't say a word
but just listens.
When I found him
in the bark of that old tree
I knew that we would be
the best of pals.
Lately I've had the need
to share my grief with him.
Sounds crazy, but must
a caring, listening, friend
be Real to heal
a broken heart?
c. Douglas Fireman
My friend is wearing a hat,
a camouflage jacket,
orange pants, and black shoes.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Recurrent Midnight Dream
There is no end to the imagery
found in marble walls.
Last night
I rode a marble horse
through a marvelous
moonlit dream.
When it stopped to drink
from a silver stream
you were there.
How that came to be
I'll never know...
Yet every time we meet
by that meandering
silver stream
we ride through wind blown
canyons in a recurrent
midnight dream.
c. Douglas Fireman
Wrestling Match
Ancestral Visions
If my heart song
is melancholy tonight
and my silver flute
reflects the darkside
of the moon
it's because
my people's past has
disappeared
all too soon.
Once...ancestral voices
sang in unison, blending
with shake of rattles;
the beat of drums.
And as I dance
the tinkling bells
upon my moccasins
evoke ancestral
visions.
Hypnotic sounds
of sacred seeds
rattle through
my memory.
The ancestors
are beckoning me.
I hear their songs
echoing soular
canyons.
And then
save for the graceful
flap of an eagle's
wings
all is silent...
c. Douglas Fireman
A bit of Reimaging; a touch of paint
with Picasa Tools.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Turbaned Priest of Autumn
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