The French Broad River
In a weathered canoe
I glide along the cool river
with silence so rare it’s astounding.
The wilderness on each side
is vast, quiet, undisturbed by man.
A translucent world courses beneath me.
Amazement in my eyes as it delights me.
Underneath the water’s surface
liquid flows over even, glossy pebbles.
A boulder stands alone in the water.
A snake swims away from me.
I paddle near the edge of the forest
and from amongst the trees
a squirrel peeks at me…
Odd how when on water, I’m fascinated by land.
When on land, I’m fascinated by water.
Why do we always want to be where we are not?
I tilt my face to heaven and squint.
An expanse of sky
Limitless in its glory
Virgin air, pristine scenery
Fresh like the feeling of mint in my mouth
with scenery that opens the senses.
I inhale deeply
I smile quietly
I appreciate greatly.
My Brother David
I opened the heavy door
scent of cedar
empty pews
I see my brother talking
to the preacher.
Choir members gone home to Sunday dinners.
Just him and
a man of God.
David didn’t just read the Word
He studied it
considered it
took it apart and scrutinized its meaning
Dissected parables and sewed them back together
Sliced apart meanings and gazed at new angles.
My brother made preachers think
Solitude was my brother’s joy
As he lounged in trees and read books
His deep thoughts and intellect
Attracted one on one conversations.
People walked away from my brother David
As if with new profound insight.
An imprint on their minds.
My brother made people think
And when I began dating
He told me that guys are nervous too
They are just better at hiding it…
And sometimes he would get this faraway look in his eyes
And ask me what I thought about death.
He asked me if I could imagine nothing
And the state of nonexistence…
So when a preacher said his last words over David
I thought about how he
Analyzed life
And illuminated its meaning
How he listened to colors
And saw sound
How he talked about the end of the rainbow
And knew the texture of moonlight and sun.
He tasted blue rain.
My brother
my muse
my mind
My brother made me think.
R. Demby
Edges of a Petal
I saw a flower today.
The wind seized it from a bush,
and it lay on the sidewalk,
Reminding me of a child I once knew.
Once budding with freshness,
its newborn beauty opened to the world,
Surrounding the hearts of those who saw his innocent smile--
Taking mine at his first cry.
I marveled at the new life that was to fill mine
Mine--a part of me
Until the stem severed.
Something so beautiful and so short lived wilted
like the edges of the petal,
Faded, like a segment of me,
And created a vacancy
in which nothing
can blossom
again.
R. Demby
Image by Betty Martin from Pixabay
Who’s Whooing at Me?
Nocturnal feathered beast
Who bonds with moon light
Claws like blades
Mysterious as night
He’s alone, never lonely
Lands in a pine tree
The hoot will make you pause
Who’s hooing at me?
Feathers of brown
Sprinkled with white
His head glides left
Then glides right
Yellow eyes
Round as globes
Perceptive and silent
Steady and bold
A symbol of wisdom
Perched in that tree
With quiet awareness
Who’s hooing at me?
R. Demby
Image by Ian Lindsay from Pixabay
