submerged

it is

soft there

under the water

of some kind 

                  influence
as choice claim self

           or climb surf to

recognize this as

subtle resurgence

        

        possibly it is

time afforded to 

recalibrate     

                      (or as

                      

free radical submariner 

under

atmospheres)
a simple continuance of

shouldering 

pressure 
a holding of breath
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead

after the cut

the bandage 

ended up just south

of the wound 
blood lost

measured

with the scale of persistence 
push one foot forward

drag the other 

holding out that

with each drop a

marigold will grow

in the path forged
don’t ponder too long

about it all

it

is just 

energy transferred 
with

every pulse

pumping another

onto the way
for those 

who harvest

behind
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 

a fleeting

seems

I had just placed bulbs

waiting on blooms

what else,

really,

is there to do? when

seasons of warmth 

seem to

pass

in the time 

     it takes

to stow boots 

          & fetch

          sandals 
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 

reflection of a stage in process

dark mirror
will not 

disavow authorship

          of

self knowledge 
as conundrum this

point to commence 

ascendency 
which dawn will grant

becoming 

emergent?
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead

enveloped

            in his     chimera

it seemed it has taken a lifetime 

to know the fog

& just this morning

while (again) trying to

understand it     from

within it

 

he watched squirrels 

retreating from cornfields

to outposts

into wood lots

 where

field mice

twitched whiskers

anticipating a

partaking of the haul

rerouting profits to the revolution

             he thought

he gave wide berth to

remnants of an outbuilding

jumbled there

           on woods edge

slowly ruined into earth

         ashen for aspens

         dust to dustier

framed as

flashback of

ice/snow

the iconic width &   window 

on a death

the story as related to the children 

the storm had dropped 8ft.

overnight     then 

from that window the 

ice-scape    he was presented 

as

visual for preternatural malfunction

inevitable 

     collapse

roof 

        world

              stability 

(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead

reach

I step into a row

and see the first shoots to break

the soil

tendrils 

grasping for strands

of twine strung

between supports

like a line of 

emerald cloaked monks 

beckoning skyward  

for that elusive reveal

I fight the urge to lower

the string closer

to their curled arms

much as I did 

the urge

to push 

the low branch

of the crabapple

for a granddaughter 

we all must learn 

to climb on our own

to stretch

upward

just as

I had taken 

my hand off the branch

it was that

I pulled away

from the string

reach

little ones

reach

(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 

the procedure

a failed surgeon 

head bowed in a

nod to defeat

instruments tossed

into tray

monitors powered down

old tires groan

as I push the patient 

out of sunlight

and back to its place

alongside the

other lost souls 

of weekend tinkering

chainsaw

mini-fridge

drill press

from the gallery 

a sparrow tweets

a note of scorn

and flies off with the news

I wipe the evidence 

from my hands 

and head for the garden

peas cower

tomatoes quake

(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead