Wintry Pomes and the Wind that Follows by Jake Walker (i can read with my eyes shut .TXT) 📖

Wintry Pomes and the Wind that Follows

By Jake Walker


This book was made
And meant to ponder
Each page a road
For you to wander


And I Rose

Kodiak trails, needle nose grass
The pond off the road resembling glass;
Puffs of cool air, ice like my stare,
I am running late for my class--

Icicle shingles, and chill Jack Frost tingles
Nipping and biting your nose
I’m still donning my shirt and I tripped and it hurt
And a half hour late, I rose--

And I’m squishing and smooshing a lunch together;
Defrosting my car due to inclement weather
Squealing tire over ice, slipping and sliding ‘cross streets
Ready to pay the price, and taste these unfortunate treats

Winter was never quite my season
And allow me to tell you the exact reason
It’s not the first time that I’ve been late for class
And I can guarantee you, that it will not be my last

---

Snowflake

Ice diamond
Frosty gem
Kaleidoscopic dream
Hexagonal faeries,
The piercing twinkle
Of Nature’s symmetry
Fall from the heavens
Fall down below
Fall on young anxious tongues
Let it grow colder
Shall you rest on my shoulder?
What higher praise can be sung?
I pack you with gloves
Like an ice sculptured dove
And let you fly quite suddenly
You whistle through air
Past snowmen, past dogs
Hit like a Frisbee someone unaware--

---


Scarf

My Shroud of Turin
My placebo noose
My coiled ruse, my numb, floppy fin
My tattered cloth snake
Rainbow death at your wake
Swallowed by color
And pretentious class
Dogs hunt you, cats reach for the thread
just promise you won’t close
In car doors, promising more
Warmth, rather than premature death
So snuggled, my chin rests from within
You choke hold me, I breath your hairs
Dressing in cotton, and shedding my cares

---


Jan. 18th, 2010

Quick game of catch and already
There’s that mile long stare--
My little warrior--his little, yellow ball
Decorated all over with Transformers

And what utility! What utility!
He exhibit’s a verse all his own
He swings his leg--the foot connects
The ball sails over my head

A joyful sound his laugh is;
Knows he not the laws of nature
But he delights in its manipulation
Tucking his shirt in to keep
His pants from sagging too low
And his pockets bunny ear,
Spilling over,
As if to seal the pristine image

Of sacred boyhood, O how cherished!
Its zeal, its timelessness, its vigor
Its raw, vital power

Who would’ve thought he was a kicker?
And are we in the cleft of middle America--
Two boys just tossing a ball?
One is a son, the other
A father and son--and is this
What we do--someone who knows not
Teaching and leading and guiding someone
Who knows even less?

The patches of snow stubbornly remain
From December--Ice like dunes on
Lawn like patchwork
A mother and child stroll on beside us,
To take out the trash and I ask
Is this love, fulfilling our role?
Is this love?
Is this that majestic thing called love?
Is it love?
---


Unforgiving Days

Gently, to your places tread and creep
Past snow-covered birch, for thought of sleep
The noble bear, the graceful fowl, the wart skinned frog
Meet with slumber this harsh winter and dismal fog

Dream the animal kingdom all across the land
Nestle tight unto your earthen beds of mud and dirt and sand
The trails are frozen over and the boughs are icy lain
Now is no time for harvest of corn or wheat or grain

‘Tis now the time for sleeping in a cave or underground
Let nothing bother the hibernation, no chill or windy sound
For you must rest ye animals, rest until the sun
Shows his face, gives of his heat and says, “It is begun.”

It’s here in trembling dreams
That all the wilderness seems
To be that sacred notion
Of solitary extremes
With each timid creature
Hiding each and every feature
I wait until the weather wears away
These cold and distant, unforgiving days--

---


Heresy

Such indignation
Because I don’t even know what it means
Because it has not yet occurred
The knowledge of such is vacant
Because I know not of my potential
The source of my power is vacant
Because it has not yet occurred
I can’t even tell if I’m real
Because I can’t even tell if I’m real
I know not of my potential

Such heresy
Because I have not even seen my true face
What posture--what expression--is mine?
Because it taunts me night and day
My face is contorted in anguish
Such heresy in not knowing my true face
I think I’ve seen it
But I’m so easily self-manipulated
Because I’m so easily self-manipulated
I can’t even tell if I’m real
Because I don’t know if I’ve seen my true face
I know not of it ever having occurred

The knowledge of such is vacant!
I can’t even tell if I’m real!
---


My Conformity

They say, I have heard, ‘the apple does not fall far from the tree’
It nestles under the branches’ lazy shade
But I ask this ‘They’, ‘does that saying apply to me
When I, myself, have conventional wisdom forbade?’
I would posit a negative, the words are not universal
I’ve tried my damndest to be myself and none other
And perhaps what I say might be quite controversial,
But I don’t even see anyone else as a brother
Be it spiritually or in just the human form,
I see not one person near me as similar
Ever since that graven day that I was born
Only my reflection has been familiar
Amidst the human race I cannot yet relate
It’s what makes me identical to all else God creates
---


Haiku

Pebbles line the stream

Ice chunks float under the bridge

Nature comes en masse


The Problem with Painting

I cannot get this winter scene right
It’s the brush, it’s the paints,
This cursed fence and its
Texture; why acrylics?
Why did I choose acrylics?
Because they dry
Faster than most other paints
And that’s good because you
Can work in haste
In haste--

But haste is my problem
And this fence this fence
Are you sure it isn’t railroad tracks?
Why can’t we all just slow down,
And appreciate each singular
Fencepost?
With pleasure, I add
Another layer to the sky--
Focusing my attention elsewhere,
Where it really isn’t needed

It’s like freezing right now,
I’ve lost myself in the white meadows
But notice that deer
Notice that deer
Are those antlers on his head,
Or handlebars?
---


Stimulus

See how money from this waste sky-rocketed
And how quietly the dividends all were pocketed
The bankers, the barons, the makers all profit
But the riflemen march out to ‘allegedly’ stop it

So now our livelihood is found in blood money
To arms dealers; shipbuilders, ‘tis sweeter than honey
Those from on the upper crust prosper and thrive
Whilst legions of men pave the way with their lives

We are told it’s too preserve democracy
So we’re shipped out--deployed--with great efficacy
To stand up to corrupt foreign leaders and powers
Staunchly adhering to the commands of ours

But what lawful order is there in war
When an offensive state manipulates to settle a score?
We’re trained to fight, not how to think or how to feel
To champion an empty symbol; a false ideal

And patriotism is a ruse to mask it all
“I want you.” we hear, “For Duty calls.”
Steel and powder again and again receive vast earnings
And our young generation now miles away towards peace are yearning

We’re no more than gangsters for capitalists
Together becoming the great ignorant altruist
Through blizzard and storm and quake and flood
We generate cash flow to our bosses, in exchange for shed blood
---


Remnants

Remnants of Bethlehem
    Reveal themselves
In slow-motion rain
    Blues, purples, reds--
They dance in my eyesight
    and when night comes
They are molded by starlight
The wondrous spectacle beheld
                         again and again
---


Sanctus Solemn

Walking not talking--Brick
Sidewalk chalky shaded
Outline moss and grass with dew shine
Friends are out, wandr'ng 'bout
Full of the wine, I'm sure
And the geckos of the night
With padded sheen feet
Climb side vinyl housing sideways
In a suburbian Israel
O Holy Land!
Jerusalem! Bethlehem!
Lead me oh gods, by your stench!
An aroma of sweet cashew nut
And cocoa--and, in the winter,
A bread made of nothing--
Yes, I walk about these days
With a green light meaning Demon,
And a red light meaning STOP!--
The friends are delirious
Subdued and swayed
Influenced by various pills they pop
And it's dark; and it's cold;
A bit murk-murk-murky
"We shall be a city 'pon a hill!"
And we are--a dazzling ionic glow
Flows like riverbed droppings
Oranges (quite real, I assure you)
Pass through lips, tongue, and teeth
And the dead are underground
With tombstones and a wreath.
Fur coat mistresses, scarf and all,
Walk by night to address hello
Where they've once been many years ago
And the cracks in the sidewalk
Reveal a history of steps
Unmeasured and uncharted; a mess--
With each caress, the Visigoths pass
Through life with barely an idea
Of what's accomplished
And the friends see the world
O Holy is thy Land!


Each ignorant friend
Is a mere means to an end--
Each one a stepping stone welding power
And yielding to none but a few
The steps I walk as a monster
At night,
Prove my power
Severely subdued--

---


Astronaut Eulogy
 
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
My mantra was
To Mars or bust
Yes,
‘Twas bust,
‘Twas bust
But on this you can trust
Die if I must
I find it rather just
To die with my trust
In my Mars or bust lust

---


Like the Crickets
 
Like a soft-feathered eagle
    Upon his hilltop throne
I own this world—I am one
                        With all
When I find myself alone
 
Like the solemn ant
    Always working
            Always working
And like the crickets outside
    Midnight chirping
            Midnight chirping
 
I am but an animal
My brain functions like
                        Any other
Butterflies are my sisters
And owls, my wise
                        Brothers
 
Tell me what you have to say
Eagle, ant, and owl
I am one with everything
    And there is only now
---

 


Whickett Bluff Park
 
‘Twas nine in the eve,
All I could do was conceive
Of a journey; a mission
To my own jurisdiction
Where would I venture
In this night so dark?
I dreamed of escaping
To Whickett Bluff Park
 
I equipped my essentials—
A man with few credentials—
My world, I wished to leave
To a place seen only in dreams
I stepped timidly many lengths
Bidding farewell to fellow pool sharks
The stars vibrantly lit the way
To Whickett Bluff Park
 
Chalky, brittle walkways;
Outside chill that lasts for days—
I warmed my bones, the night shone black
Strapped to my shoulders, a red worn backpack
I was almost there, I instinctively knew
Gnarled trees with tiger stripe bark
Grass gleamed with crystalline dew
And I saw the entrance