Mysterious Push

fire

The drive within, that mysterious push,

enraged orange fire, twists its fingers,

around my red throbbing heart, my blood is hot.

Cold statues entombed in green moss,

an overwhelming warm yellow light from my eyes,

dances for a moment, across their empty faces.

 

Fingers desire, to dance upon ‘clicky clack’,

Letter keys, become faded,

Stories, become clear,

Warm paper erupts from whirling printers,

releases a flat inky odor, and electric puff.

 

Reader, and Writer, embrace within,

cozy blankets of words, and worlds.

Life’s moments captured in text,

a waterfall of ideas, water of the mind,

The mysterious push of the flame,

forever, overwhelming.

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

Clean Heart

Murky, mud stained windows, block realities view.

Painful memories like thorns ache, lodged the mind.

Black talons,  a dark grasp, tears the woven curtain of thought.

What solvents can clean, a muddy cake, from a fouled heart?

 

The vacuum is loud, brushes are spinning in a blur.

A tornado of dust, vacant from the plastic cylinder.

Turn it off, unplug it.

An emergency surgery performed.

 

A clog is discovered,

of faded green pine needles,

black cat hair,

and gray dust.

 

Plug it in, turn it on.

A dust tornado,

dances in the cleaners heart,

alive in purpose, again.

 

Before God, a heart is removed,

Green slime, like dragon snot, falls.

Thick smoke, like burning bread, floats.

A daily surgery is performed.

 

Stand up, start the day.

Pain and worry, daily, cleaned away.

Existing happy, no longer hurt, and mean.

Because, the heart is light, the heart is clean.

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary Gilbert

 

Rattlesnake or Butterfly

A Mountain trail, gives off a sweet scent, like exotic perfume.

The taste is sweet, like a warm cupcake, seductively placed in the moment.

Silence permeates surrender, as the trail chooses a hikers fate.

Rattlesnakes are under the rocks, and butterflies are in the air.

Devil’s Backbone, juts out near where the Rocky Mountains reach the plains in Northern Colorado.  Rocks and dirt, iron red, dry and crunchy, populate the trail.  The thin air blows in a warm swirl one mile (1.6 km) above sea level.  Trails twist and climb amid sparse vegetation.  The view is amazing, tight shoulder muscles and stiff necks, melt into natures embrace.

Rattlesnakes like to bask in the warm sun.  Their fangs are like needles that deliver a murky white venom.  It is a powerful coagulant that makes the victims blood congeal, and turn into a red gelatinous mass in seconds.  If anti-venom isn’t administered quickly, the tissue becomes necrotic, and limbs may be amputated.

Butterflies float on the breeze.  Silent and beautiful.  They land on bright mountain flowers and drink sweet nectar. Dusty wings colored yellow, and black, open and close.  Their tiny legs cling to flower petals with poetic grace.  Butterflies don’t sting, bite, or hurt anyone.  They are beautiful.  They don’t force their presence.  The moment is fragile and soon they fly away in the bright blue sky.

On the trail of life,  hearts are vulnerable,

to what lives in the air and under the rocks.

One shakes a rattling tail,

bites hard,

gooey poison is spilled

through curved fangs.

One floats silently in warm air,

loves peacefully,

content in its own business,

sharing beauty, in tender flight.

Rattlesnakes and Butterflies,

resist each other

in purpose,

in function

.

The two,  live within us all.

Of the two, which one,

will arrive,

when our paths cross?

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

 

 

Dear Mom…

Mom,

This March, you will have been gone for nine years.  Remember your granddaughter?  You held her in your fragile hands, she was only a few months old, and you only had a few months left.   A year after you were gone, I cleaned up you art studio, I kept expecting you to walk in and yell at me for messing up your stuff.  I gave  your yarn to Robin, she is an awesome mother-in-law to my little sister, just like how you were to Jackie.  I quit wandering around lost with jobs.  I went back to college and finished, I have an awesome career now.  I make drinking water, just like dad does.  We talk shop all the time.  He misses you everyday, but he stays busy, and he loves all of your grandkids.   You have five now.  My son would make you laugh. We lost two pregnancies before he showed up.  We almost gave up, but I am glad we didn’t.   I am going to be 56 years old when he graduates high school.  I tell the joke that everyone will  think I am his grandpa.  “Hey your grandpa came to your graduation!”  Then he says, “That’s my dad.”  Maybe I won’t look old.  Silver hair is scouting my hair in single strands here and there.  My hair is still there, so I don’t care what color it decides to be.  I bought a new sports car.  It’s not a midlife crisis.  I have always loved fast cars.  Just like you did.  If you are gonna commute, then you get to drive what you love.  I don’t know if you know it or not, but you set me up very well.  You made me strong.  I hope you are proud of me.  I wish, God would let you call me, but I see you in my dreams sometimes.  You are young, and healthy.  Sometimes you just watch me play with the kids, quiet, with a warm smile, I would imagine you would be doing the same thing, if you were here.  Sometimes we talk about non-fantastical things.  When I wake up and can never remember what they were.  That old crazy standard poodle, Molly is still alive.  She is like a ghost hanging out in skin and bones.  I think she is worried about dad.  If she passes away, I think we get him a puppy.  I also think he is worried about retiring.  I am trying so hard to give him a chance to.   Jackie and I have been landlords for 5 years.  It is hard work sometimes, but we are good at it.  My kids have a great life, all those years of hard work you invested in your family is paying dividends.  I tell my kids about you, and how wonderful you were.  Sorry, but I tell Jackie all the time you were an amazing cook.  I miss your food.  I guess I always thought you would teach her all your secrets.  I had so many plans, and ideas, of you making cookies, and painting with grandkids.  Cancer stole you away from me.

 

I hope you are doing well, I love you.

I miss you.

I hope we will meet again someday.

 

-Zachary

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary Gilbert

Red Rose

The red rose,

its scent…  organic, pure.

its color… deep, soothing.

its feel…  soft, fragile.

its sight…   red, petals.

 

The red rose,

hopes for, loves renewal,

gains strength, outside of holidays,

lifts spirits, holds hearts,

and soothes souls.

 

The red rose,

passion takes shape,

loves, domestic currency,

paid in full,

as the petals fall.

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert