nine hundred ninety nine


nine hundred ninety nine days
and still the traveler presses on

the day at its dawning cares
not a whit for the traveler’s joy or weariness
the day arises with its appointed tasks inscribed
across the heavens

the noonday sun remains steady
and implacable, dictating its orders,
heard and heeded by those
inclined to timeless rhythms

at its conclusion, all come to rest
within the stillness
of the movement of the day

the weary traveler who sought
to alter the day with her own superfluity,
rubs her aching feet
surrenders her achievements
to the corridors of temperance behind the moon
and rests her slumbering head upon
a declining calendar

only on the thousandth day
does the one thousand first
peer above the far horizon


        -phyllis boernke © 2013

weeds


tangle of roots embedded
in moist, dark
memory
fertile medium to reproduce

hardy progeny
sprouting forth
seeking the light
spreading wildly
entangling with others of its kind
conquering the homeland
unaware of ever present probability
of natural disaster
or threat of looming pitchfork,
hoe and shovel

the light must reveal
extraneous growth
noxious thought
to be examined, cauterized
then mercifully removed
now in fecund, amended soil
fragile seedlings
dedicated to resplendent life
will thrive


# pb © 2013 #
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inexplicable


belonging reaches strong arms into the past
grasping at sunset colors that, for a moment
ignite the pines growing dark
along the fading ridges of the mountain’s rise

belonging looses the ship from its moorings
sets it on that straight course
pointed toward the farthest speck upon the horizon
and the faint siren call
always mournful in the winds

belonging sheds its boundaries
and walks among the clouds at midnight
casting moon shadows in an ancient cemetery

it follows no rules but its own
and goes out haunting dreams as if
that is it’s birthright

pb  © 2012