from a manuscript...

autumn leaves are falling
my love is far away
autumn air is calling
i miss our joyful play
autumn clouds are drifting
my body longs for hers
autumn dawn is misting
and my love endures

My Autumn Melancholy

Seasons come and seasons go,
Heat and thunder, rain and snow.
The garden rocks do see each day.
Until at last they're worn away.
My life meanders as it must,
Until at last I too am dust.

ἔκβασις

day one of my fall adventure log..it will be a short adventure but one that i want to enjoy. in the past i always hurried to the place that i wanted to go but now i want to savor the journey. the destination is only a part of the whole. going forth, abiding, return, like those who went into the great deserts of the Thebiad or much later (and more appealing to me), those who went into the Northern Thebiad~the primeval forests of the land now called Russia. why did they go? to seek divinity..to know themselves..or to just get away from the familiar .

i am ready, almost. got a map, instructions, and a few clothes. but it is amazing how many sundries i think i need...nail clippers, powder, razor, comb, deodorant...the list grows even as i struggle to fill it. only two books (as i wont count the kindle app as books) Cry to Heaven by Anne rice i want to finish..it has taken me to the wonderful worlds of pre-Gluck opera and the unfamiliar yet exciting world of the castrati, the pop stars of the 1730s & 40s. funny how i forget about civilization in the 1700s because as an American, my focus is on the log cabins of my pioneers and not the great opera seria of G.F. Handel that they left behind them. a special thank you to the dear one who told me about this book...

also going along is Rabbit, run by John Updike. my mind used to get lost in the past and want to dwell there always. now i care about the present, how did we get here? why do we act the way we do? Updike is the great chronicler of the average man in America in the second half of the 20th century...he has an amazing cryptic style that makes you re-read every paragraph to tease out the meat. and yes i know it is vacation but i cant be without my books. picture a 16 year old gawky boy struggling through 30th street station in Philadelphia with a big case and duffel weighted like rocks...

anyway, it is almost time to go. will check and doublecheck my list..have i got everything. geez i am such a worrier. but i do have a confidence now that i didnt have before, so i am ready to go forth and enjoy the journey as well as the destination.

the shadowgirl

where is the shadowgirl?

i know she's there

i feel her presence

with every fiber

of my being

but, being a shadow

she gets lost

in the darkness

and i lose sight of her

i should know

she is still there

a part of all that is

but it does scare me

just a little

until i see again

the now familiar outline

of her soul

as i stand waiting

as i stand waiting waiting at the window wonder watching westward as the slowly setting sun leads my soul in darkness down along at last to those deep down down to silent spirits waiting waiting for the warm red ichor running fast too fast it seeps down down to raise the shadow shades of lives now lost to them along at last a loss so full and wrenching wrecking mending mournful years at last not lost no waiting waiting comes at last the one who at the edge of center stands the heart once healing loss alone he comes no waiting now my eyes are met by dim and dusty shade of aeons melting past away to then at last appear before me as my father...

Gate and Tower

It's true the tower stands strong,
But sometimes it's stubbornly wrong.
The gate, if open wide,
Lets all take shelter inside.
The tower does not want all.
Yet the gate cannot cease its call.
With every space full inside,
The tower collapsed and died.
The gate now left alone
Let our a chilling moan;
To be alone was not
The future she had sought.
The hill with rubble strewn,
Beneath a frowning moon;
The people all dispersed,
The land around them cursed--
"Come to me, my friend;
The tower must rise again!"

Asuka's Three Arrows

as Soryu Langley

this hommelette

Japanese and German

bless'd by gods

with biting wit

and lithesome form

has seen the mirror

fused the fragments

and fled the forest.

now she stands

near green ocean

under blue sky

outside a cave

aglow with vitality.

just above

the mass of hair

red and tangl'd

Aphrodite's son

shoots three arrows:

one to Zeus

wellmuscled thunderer

one to Poseidon

wielder of Tridens

one to Hades

brooding in darkness.

as each is struck

they come, and see:

glancing eyes

glistening shoulders

swell of breast

curve of waist

mincing feet--

all of which

now may be

theirs to win

if they dare!

MeAsuka sigh--

arching back

smiling like him

who drew to near

in crafted form

the brilliant sun

losing his wings

falling to earth

in blazing ruin.

The Nostalga of Fall

All through the heat of the summer, I live for the first cool, crisp morning which tells me that fall is on the way. All the opressive heat and humidity will soon be gone, and all the green things that I don't want to be growing in my yard will die off. "With autumn closing in..." That line from Bob Seeger's song "Night Moves" has always filled me with such a sense of nostalga. Even as a teenager, I had lost important things, and looked backwards with deep longing, trying to hold on to fading shadows of once familiar people and places. Anyone who has moved to a new home knows part of this feeling, but childhood moves are deeply engraved on the inexperienced mind. Then, there is the start of school, with it's fears and hopes, remembering departed friends and loking for familiar faces, continuing a cycle that gives a false image of permanence and stability. In Japan, the spring cherry blossoms symbolize the impermanence of earthly things. But for me it will always be that first cool morning, which tells me the green leaves will soon be turning to vibrant reds and yellows, just before they blow away in the wind.