Only a shard

I know it is hard for some,
their life a distant companion,
solitary, plodding, unyielding,
notable events become cairns,
markers in time to which we return,
in returning we know where we are,
but not who we are, why we are,
then moving to the next stone pillar,
absorbing where we have been,
it is a purposeful circling,
fear of losing the path, stumbling
in the rut of loneliness,
we forget to look up, there is
wonder all around us, by it we are loved,
to change life’s path one must,
change your gaze, that which
fills your heart arrives,
through the soul’s eyes, your eyes,
there is time for you, time,
to wrap yourself in your being,
the marvel of your existence,
kindling the spark of your spirit,
one bright shining shard of flame,
that when given a chance could
consume the whole world by it’s own
awareness, you are that shard.

©2015, Donald Harbour

Aware

I am aware of my own fleshy mortality,
that flying sparrows fall from the sky,
and old dogs finally lay down to die.

I am aware this prismatic life is finite,
that all iron must turn to rust,
and mountains are worn down to dust.

I am aware material hypocrisy is vain,
that gathering objects is all in jest,
and forgotten when we are laid to rest.

I am aware of the cusp of creation,
that a spirit’s fire can never dim,
and we are not forged to this life again.

I am aware that being is what I am,
that we are a momentary flicker of light,
and cosmic voyagers in the infinite night.

©2013, Donald Harbour

What do you know

Far from sky and earth
passing galaxies of neurons
through a vast pallium void
there is a tranquil place
shimmering with rainbow colors
feeding creations’ furnace
a place that beckons
flirting with natures’ meaning,
a place that knows no master
nor is itself a master,
it lies so distant, yet
complete a circle of being
and it is there, barely awake,
incomprehensible, tolerant,
holding within all that can be,
cerebrum volute dreams of forever,
what it knows is unknown,
there to be freely taken, if only
we would open its door.

©2013, Donald Harbour

I write because

A poetry prompt group in which I participate, We Write Poems, wants us to write a line poem about: “I write (because).”  There are many reasons why one writes, however the greatest is most likely an inner urge that needs satisfaction and the pure pleasure of putting thought to written word. So here are my thoughts, some of them, the others I will keep to myself. I like to be a little unpredictable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I write to express my contentious and clamoring inner voice.
I write to better understand humanity, the world, and our place in it, and why emotion becomes an insipid event for those who do not understand poetic verse.
I write to define how life’s emotions impact our relationship with self.
I write to paint a vivid memory upon the wheel of time.
I write to fulfill the artistic side of my nature with creation my canvas,
words my pallet, and poetic form my brush.
I write to leave a lasting evidence of my journey through this moment of existence.
I write so that my words might be a light for others to find their way.
I write to satisfy a natural urge, as one needs food to survive, poetry is the  sustenance to my soul.
I write to say somethings that need to be said and are better said in a poetic verse regardless of where the chips fall.
I write because Gaea and I find it is a spiritual experience that enlightens us together.
I write because there is wonder in the diversity of words and their challenging meanings.
I write because I find camaraderie, and appreciation in the company of poetry and poets.
I write because other than my darling wife Luscious, poetry is my literary mistress full of beauty and gratification.

©2012, Donald Harbour