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~

disorder

in dry soil

if only a parable

fixed in four days

 ~

but over time

drought affronts me

screaming like wanton child

yelling for me to listen

 ~

the more I hear

the deeper I dig

into the red soil of my psyche

to hide

 ~

but I fail to hide in dust

it only accentuates

my malnourished form

my imbalance

 ~

so I can only climb

to the highest point

of my consciousness

and force my young self to listen

 ~

listen

to the wind

to the silence

to the wisdom of droughts

 ~

of age telling me

to seek order in the present

and of rain that returns

only when I’m ready

 ~

 ~

About the Poem: In 1914, Carl Jung began his entries in what would become Primus Novus: The Red Book – cited as one of the most important contributions to the study of psychology. This poem pays a simple homage to the 100-year anniversary of the inception of Jung’s introspective journal.

~

~

we meet again each summer

always under the hottest sun

 ~

each reencounter brings reminders:

smells of chocolate frosting from a cake on a picnic table,

squishy balloons filled with water,

colored plates and napkins where bees hovered

playing in the center of the universe for a day

when the sun shone highest

 ~

and each thereafter incrementally less bright

though a little more centered

 ~

each celebration now flutters in a late afternoon breeze

a breeze that relieves me from a humid youth

under lengthening shadows

it resuscitates the flame of a lone candle

reflecting not the passing years

but the next one anew

~