The Poetical Musings of Kevin Harling

Ode to Farewell

Mahogany
covers not only the interior
but the exterior,
lichen and steeped
with thoughts,
so many thoughts
unpronounced
and yet like moss
clutching and clinging
to the vine
of this place.

I bid you adieu
my wind and sun,
my ocean pearl,
my coral and
blue sky.

I wade as a peacock wades
turning time upon
its own
hands
suggesting,
painting
and dancing
in the shadows.

I say goodbye to
complicated knots
and grooves
like a smooth panel
of dust that
sheds its
fingerprints
like a ghost.

I remain as I have
always remained
in lines not
confined to a page
but to the air
like a butterfly
painted vermilion
soaring lofty
above the clouds
angelic.

I decree this end
without tears
for I cannot
show my remorse,
nor can a child
who loses his
way in the
night
overrun
by pillows.

Grooved mahogany
hangs from this
window,
the panes of what I
have written
like the ledger of a
soul searching,
reaching not for the end
but the beginning.

I wave like the ocean
in cresting blue sighs
with a sadness
that tickles
my bosom,
this heart that has
bled ink
yellow and red
at the same time,

Goodbye
my companions of
stone and ivory,
I breath a farewell
tainted not by rust,
but by the heart,
a heart that beats
like a melancholy
of whispers,
and dreams
of tomorrow.

Farewell
as the door
closes its eyes
and releases its grip
upon the ashes
hand,
there is nothing
left but to
depart.

Kevin Harling.



Oak

In limbo like
the elephant sunlight
lingering cloud blue
your posture elevated
and aloof, full of tusks
and brackish branches
of ivory.

How mighty you stand
holding back the wind
with your fingers
of gold leaves,
gathering breath
as if you were catching
dreams.

Today dawns like
your eyelashes
indigo light
and fluttering
like the somber hopes
of birds who nest
within your girth.

I touch the bark
wrinkled skin
and imagine a world
where you no longer
stand wishing wind
away like a fan
that scatters and scurries
looking always for
the promise of
tomorrow.

Kevin Harling.


Auburn

I see faces red hair and curling
downward towards
the sun
silhouetted by
light that percolates
and froths
at the neck.

I see the way the air
sighs invisble
barely caressing
your attitude as it smiles
secretly.

I see the ghost of yesterday
reflected in the sunlight
demanding to be heard
as if it was mute,
the sound deafens my outlook
and abates my mood
with silent whispers
of joy.

I see the way red cheeks
puff with laughter
and exhale
in a boom
of teeth,
enamel and
suggesting things,
things I dare not utter
in public,

I see behind today
like a rainbow of
delicate compassion,
shy and yet
somehow
the hours speak
not in minutes
but in seconds
of sheer delight.

I see crimson skies
highlighted
like a firefly
highlights the road
that lies ahead,
optimism brims
over my cup
like a clear blue
wish,
and when I stop and still
my heart
I see auburn.

Kevin Harling.


Human Directions


West of here to the north
mouth
of the sky,
fingers point
east,
trying to reckon with
the sand that spills
like water from
a collander.

Tomorrow dawns
queasy
like a hiccup
jostling
with the white
satin sheets,
stalling like the air
full
of circumstances
beyond anyone's
control.

The road
leads everywhere
but nowhere
and still
the concrete day
vaults forward
like the answer to some
dainty question
proposed in jest
about the economy,
thta seems to be
chasing its own tail.

You have to wonder about
maps and grids
formulated
in miles
the eyes cannot see
and the heart and mind
struggle to recall
even vaguely.

It is easy to get lost
in a wilderness of streets
intersecting,
peopled by vehicles
that run on propane
air, by
depopluated forests
that look for excuses
for thier nakedness,
by the sky that cries
not a blue cloud
and then
politicians argue about
zoning by-laws
for rich tycoons
who dismiss
the environment
like a menu item.

It is all about heading
somewhere else
leaving the safety of
the familiar and putting
yourself
out there in the great blue beyond
searching for tissue
souvenirs and
polyester photographs
to serve as vacant
reminders.

It is about caring
for the weak
and less fortunate
not by force
but by choice,
about issues that span
every horizon
where borders cease to exist,
about humility
and questioning motives
not how much money
can be made.

Directions
that fill the expanse
painting the horizon
white and not grey,
for within the murkiness
everything gets lost
in a fog.

Kevin Harling.