Aaltoe’s Blog

Would there were some special birds
To probe my inner thoughts
To find a hidden way
To start a flow of words

Would there were some points of need
That signaled even in strange code
Some tangled complication
From which it would be freed.

These birds surround from time to time
They preen themselves on all they are
They boast of different beauties.
Occasionally they rhyme!

Would they could cooperate
In aiding in my search
But they all seem too self absorbed
To take a task to subjugate

However that occasional rhyme
Was much too tempting
Much too tantalizing in its glimpse
Of that hidden realm of mine

Some of them perceived
Rewards as chords were struck
Rhythm, shape, and form emerged
Elements they weaved.

Soon songs they and I
Had not imagined
Displayed their beauty
With a sigh.

My heart goes out to you

I trust you with my heart
Knowing you will use it well
Either to lend comfort, patience and forgiveness
Or to transform the moment
Opening new vistas
Where reaching what you see
And what you may imagine
Requires more strength than you may feel
Though not than you actually have.
You may give it back
When you wish
When you are ready
When your inner balance is regained
When you think about it.
I can manage for a while.

The loon at ease
A 5-1-5 cadence
Or is it 1-4-1?
The first implies
A move toward rest
But then a withdrawal
To restlessness,
The second a move to a new beginning
But then, on second thought,
A return to the comfort of being.
Of course the loon has many calls
But no other speaks from her deepest calm.
Through its quiet ambiguity
No other speaks as well
To the strength and skill she brings
To her life of independence and challenge.
No other embodies the fragile beauty of the lake
No other allows us to share that fragile beauty.

In a time
When so much else
Will not stay still,
A pause affords
The time to hear
Chords, harmonies
Unfamiliar, dissonant
Suggesting places unexplored.
I dare to hear them again
To place them somewhere
Relating to where I’ve been
Or to a “where” I’ve never been.
To savor and to save
These precious moments
That lie beside the stream of life
And make them part of my being
Where they might provide
Means to understand
What I cannot,
Now.

To seek repose
Through lines of prose
A risky path
With uncertain aftermath
To what labyrinths am I drawn
What thoughts do they spawn
What worlds reveal
What conceal?

To seek direction
Ambitious resurrection
Of how thought and word
Might lead to the absurd
Or instead to avenues
That open views
On forbidden realms
Through the elms
Of imagined woods
Where sunlight plays
Lending its rays
To illuminate truth.

it was a long time ago

That Lynn and I could just be,

Satisfied

Looking at the world

Mindful of what we had done

Together—and apart.

There was no need to inquire further

To recollect

To speculate on what never was

What might have been

What still could be.

Even now when our eyes meet

With her fleeting glance

It is the same

However briefly.

The Corridor goes toward,
It goes away from,
It goes by.
Its potential is not itself.
What it goes toward mixes apprehension, anticipation, fear, longing, the unknown.
It goes away from what was good, perhaps bad, memorable, easily forgotten.
It goes by worlds sometimes partially revealed, imperfectly revealed,
And the away, by and toward afford some lodging
For my own thoughts and feelings
Though not all.
Many are not welcome, even foreign and incompatible
Conflict is inevitable.
Learning slow.
My speed of movement varies,
Propelled by curiosity, by dark unrevealed menace, by necessity
Obstructed by others
In their corridors,
In their corridor dealings
And, like me, by their temptations to dwell
In conflict with their needs to move.