Less is More

Less is More
As morning mists fly along the ridges,
Hills alive with rich October colors,
Warmth of summer has just departed,
Leaves the body cold, shivering as
I write the icy words…
Watching as a poet watches.

What do you feel
As you watch a leaf break off from limb,
Cast out upon the sparing wind,
Fall, already dead, upon the ground?
Unspared except by eye and word,
Uncelebrated circuit closes for the winter,
Seasoned pain at home within the heart.

You have to reach outside to will,
Attain intent to get to deeper heart,
Surrender in the chill of nature’s twist.
There is nothing outside the greater round:
Not the self that watches, not chosen words
Rising within the body, not the disgust
Attached at times to self, not the endless
Clouds within the grey, overcast mind.

Blow away the shame, let go the breath…
Expire unflinching into the cold
Approaching November wind.
Toward the bitter end
That comes with aches and pains,
Face the fact that life is formidable and
Courage always unconventional.
Edit every word before it falls
As black ink upon the page,
Wickedly, independent of the mind.
Less is more within the simple soul.

Sometimes, like the leaf that falls,
Like moving clouds that scatter words,
There is something to be said
But you don’t know what it is—
Wounds boldly yearning to be healed,
Waiting for rough scab of winter’s sleep
Before the growth of lovely spring.

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One thought on “Less is More

  1. The struggle of humanity and the struggle of each and every human soul to find meaning of self and important, self worth.
    Excellent as usual, Fred. Your muse is well used.

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