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More from ~SeaPlume

Waiting The storm arrived suddenly during the night as the wind howled in from the ocean, whipping the waves and sending them crashing in fountains of foam against the pair of high rock columns that rose from the churning seas by the shoreline. In the small cottage near the waterfront, the shutters rattled in the wind and the man in the cottage’s lone bed snapped awake. He lay still and silent for a few moments, identifying the cause of the noise, then he was up and dashing for the door, fully clothed, pausing only to seize the Sig Sauer which lay within easy reach on the bedside table and a jacket from the peg beside the door.

 Outside, the
Forests of the Mind"And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything." William Shakespeare

In the forest my thoughts
ring unnaturally loud,
like a voice on
an open stage
when nobody’s around.

Stories unfold in my mind,
new leaves in the spring
twisting,
unfurling from pale green buds
like butterflies emerging
from their chrysalis,
the pages of a never-ending saga
written in birdsong
and soft, wind-rustled branches.

My mind flows like the brook,
cold crystal,
smoothing the rough edges
of my narrative, fluid and free
until time catches me
and my thoughts are d
TeeterWhen I wake,
I am
among the stars,
       poised
               on the brink
       between dreams and reality.

It’s so easy
to see through the
       broken bonds
                           between waking life...
               and the power of Imagination,

                           that same other world
                      so close...
               too close.
Separate realities
in a sea of dreams.
Two PoemsPainted over with the years’ blemishes
Old. Battered. Familiar.
Case chased with filigree colored by tarnished silver
Kept in the bottom of my knickknacks drawer.
Even today, I can still feel the warmth of his fingers,
The heat where he held it, nested in the palm of his hand.
Winding the key, as he taught me to do,
Always counterclockwise, turning back the time,
Time measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, and lifetimes
Colored by the memories of those who pass beyond it,
Held in reminiscence by objects left behind.

***

A fleeting messenger that heralds both
The birth and death of every plot and scheme,
That hopelessly entw
AnonymityLast train to who knows where
Glides past in a bumpy, jostling line of cars
Like schoolchildren waiting in the lunch line
Or filing in from recess.

The haunted whistle of the train’s alarm
Pierces the night like a screech owl’s call
As the carriages race past, a continuous black shadow
Against thin moonlight streaking the rippling river water.

Every scene along the track—
Families in living rooms, late-night bar patrons,
The dairy farm stretching for miles along the line—
Are merely blurred moments to the denizens of these rushing carriages

Traveling through the blackness in their private tunnel of train light,
Hea

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September 22, 2012
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:iconseaplume:
I believe the original photograph here was taken at the National Botanical Gardens, but I have also seen these flowers in Belize, Aruba, and Florida. I've been told that they are a type of plumeria.

Feel free to share this image, but please credit me! I would appreciate it if you also send me a link if you share this on a site like tumblr.
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