Scotianightpoetry

I wish that I had known then
what I still do not know now
For what I know now, or knew then
Is simply what I believed I knew
Which, as everyone knows, is not the same thing..
As knowledge.
It was and indeed is belief.

Which does rather beg the question:
If I only ever reached the stage of believing
That I know something, do I?
Or is it that I simply can never truly know something at all?
Which would explain my inability to follow simple instructions on self assembly furniture.

Oh, and maps..

..and directions..

..and love..

..and life..

..and so on..

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Spotted in the undergrowth

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Sundowner

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Along the way

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Grow

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Creeping Dark

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In the distance

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Burst Forth

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Edges

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Worlds Away

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Vast

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Drunken Pipe Dream (or..The Plumbing Schematics Have Arrived 😆).

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When words get free

I leave words

falling on the floor

scrawled on paper

abandoned to fate

behind the clock

under the pillow

smudged with ink

to-do’s that don’t

memories to forget

important as nothing

until some disappear

like they escaped

crawling into darkness

tearing a heart

upsetting a life

not on purpose

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Turned out nice

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Blowing out the sun

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Beautiful Day

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Y

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Stacks

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Astronomer’s Wallpaper

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Abstract Woodpile

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The power of flowers

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Rock Mountain Stream

Based on a photo, not credited, on Wallpaper tag.com

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Pasta?

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Patterned nature

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Close up

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Ooops

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Line and Shape

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Postcard from nowhere

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Rockdoodle

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Outside

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A street map named bizarre

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The Gate

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Lake Thomas

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Playing

The world that surrounds us is hard,
Its conceit, to make us hard too.
We abandon the soft cloth of childhood
To dress in the uniform of being an adult.

The uniform does not fit every soldier,
It snags in places that discomforts many.
Concrete and its makers are hard
But we are smooth, soft and blood filled.

Our wrinkles are where memories live,
Stored there until they fall to earth again.
The aged mind finds whimsy once more
Where shadows of the dead and the living dance.

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Some days

Some days we are the stone,
more often, the leaf that’s blown away.
Our lives, the shallow channels
for the disconnected, where we share our
attachment to love and its many miseries.