that blue sky
against white, bare
branches of slumbering trees
uncommon silence, except
squeaking footfall, marking
those before, the air, unsullied
carrying no scent, fresh
as glints, twinkling crystals
blind me, memory’s avalanche
of youth’s vigor, at play
in blanched fields
benumbed joy, ice-bound there
in the murk of memory, comes
comes, comes, warmly
pause
Photo and Poem © 2018 by DC Lessoway
so often we seek light
where better, grander ideas lay
where a bold Sol grants clarity
still, too, solicit shadowed corners
there, secluded riches await, affixed
mine trauma, release truths, cleanse
light or shadow, when confronted
will whither to your rooted power
bringing luminosity in night, shade in day
photo and poem © 2018 by DC Lessoway
low ebb comes, again
my sword, shield against
dragging hurt, out of reach
comes cyclical thoughts
not good enough, not good enough
not good enough, not good enough
not good enough, not good enough
till comes a realization, late, so always late
like a dish accidentally pushed to the floor
you think, “why didn’t I see that?”
comes, comes, comes
this thought, this meditation, this intention
fuck you
fuck you this hurt
fuck you these tears
fuck you this insecurity
fuck you this deep-seated
self-anger of “I’m not good enough!”
fuck you, I’m going to do my best
if others don’t like it, not my business
fuck you, this hurt
fuck you
photo and poem © by DC Lessoway
hidden, midst subdivision’s
sprawl, mingling stones
scoured by yammering brook
a peaceful place
photo and poem © DC Lessoway
salt stained boards
long ago trod, in
joy, fused with music
laughter leading to love’s
caper in summer’s night
dream
photo and poem © DC Lessoway
of ice clinging to
winging dust, fleeting in
duration, immense in breadth
gaze gravitates upward
in repose
each eye deduces its own
horse, spider, swimmer
according to each state
of being
mine own mind alights
upon memories of ancient
cave paintings of people’s
long ago
perhaps, they too
saw in the sky
their own joy
poem and photo © DC Lessoway
it’s been, always, there
an aspiration to fly, above
Earth’s curve
till azure, turns inky, till
am able to palm the spheroid, till
this ache, fear, isolation are but
remote notions of those
down there
down there
hell we’ve fashioned after
clawing at one another’s eyes
being better at being better than
the other, the other we’ve
become
photo and poem © DC Lessoway
today, this day
change was thrust upon me
a curtain making night of day
how my value lies in pieces
now no trade to call home
as I now, free to be
something else…
