Michael Carroll Green

Feeling Form...

#1
If Kings and Queens
	were still the norm,
we’d count ourselves
	as Courtiers borne.

But times have changed -
	conventions, new.
today we court
	another crew.

The Queens of Film,
	and Kings of Sport
attract our Praise -
	would be adored.

And we, though claiming
	to transcend
still fall in line -
	their wills, attend.

#2
If You were Bloom,
	then I was Bud -
A poor relation,
	distant blood.

My only Hope -
	the Only cure
at best implied
	til I matured.

#3
If You were Rose,
	then I was Thorn!
The Clever Guard,
	forever scorned.

Content to Stand
	upon the Stem.
A Chaperone -
	and pointed friend.

Two faces chase a Mountain Home,

One sweet; 
	the Other hateful.

I reach back, hoping to blend the two
	into One Blue view,
but the task turns itself away from my hand.

It already knows what I refuse to see - 

That they are One, these Two.

Inseparable.

Like conjoined twins 
	with heads attached, 
but facing in opposite directions.

There will always be another perspective - 

	Something different;
		insecure.

Eagle's High.

Just above the timberline,
	The Balds and bare branches
beg a steel grey sky for solace -
		some relief.

There’s a palpable desperation here,
	spread out along the ridgelines,
and down into the recesses
	and dark crevices
that cut like daggers
	into the granite outcroppings!

And have no doubt -
	The Stones feel it,
		rough-edged and cold,
	though they be.

Their Granite existence
	may have been exposed to weather,
		and worn down by the glaciers
	of an Ice Age long forgotten,
		but their feeling is still acute.

Raw. Ragged.

Scrubby bushes feel it too -
	the few that manage to grow,
with a mindless green determination
	that defies any shred of common sense.
Even the air feels the pressure;
	its meager moisture condensing into Ice
so it can remain,
	at least on the North Face,
where it hides from the sun,
	and rimes itself with Hoary Frost.

Few animals travel this far up the Mountain,
	except when lower climes force their hands.
They bring desperation with them -
	skinny squirrels and underweight mice
looking for Bittersweet berries
	or some forgotten Pine Nut
		that never got itself free of its cone-y home.

This High Anxiety high land
	is Eagle Country too.

Unlike everybody else, though,
	they come for the adventure,
		and the view.

Sharp eyes can track a mouse for miles at this altitude,
	and the winds cast about
in a never-ending dance that seems custom made
	for Winged creatures.

	Can’t blame the Eagles, really.

Predators don’t get a good meal too often,
	so desperation feels like home.

January Musings...

#5

Anthropomorphic Dreams.

Nature is no one’s Mother,
	nor is that force a “She.”

It has no self-awareness,
	No Id to be appeased.

The Human need to change this -
	revise objective truth.

Would give the Wind a reason,
	and floods a point of view.

Unfortunate that lightning strikes,
	and Tornadoes spoil, or spare

In random conflagrations  -
	unmoved by fervent prayer.