Three Poems by Wayne Russell

 

The Wanderer

 

He's a drifter and a loner

not deterred by nature of

materialistic possession

he's a hobo, hopping train

cars at midnight, carry him

where they may, he'll be ok

in the coming of cloud drift

morning, one day he'll know

the stark Arizona Mojave

Desert, the next; the snowy

white sand beaches of The

Gulf of Mexico.

You may see him somewhere

someplace, in a desolate little

town, busking for coins with a

dilapidated acoustic guitar, an

old dog beside him for company,

you may listen to his wailing songs

of hardship and heartache, you

may think: "That he's really quite good

at singing, and that he knows his

way around the fretboard really well."

You may ask yourself: "Where did it

all go so wrong for this poor guy?"

The wanderer, in threadbare clothes

and crooked grin, a man of simplicity

and shabby discontent for this broken

world in which he passes through, until

his journey reaches its terminus.

And it is to the Seasons We Fade

Farwell hair

blown like feathers

in the wind

dandelion fluff

in the breeze

farewell youth

you have forsaken me

taken off like an aged owl

in the stagnant autumn air

lonesome and to die

the fish floundering upon the

riverbanks poisoned by

the incoming cadence of death

the flesh wilts as does the flower

and the leaves dying upon the

dogwoods

beg and thus gasp for their

time in the sun and then circled

and clasp by the icy hand of silence

farewell flesh

unto their multitudes

cast out the ash and scatter now

in the fickle breeze

"It is I" she said brought forth to

claim thee

"It is I that has come to rescue you

from this upheaved and splinted night"

 

 

Time              

The pendulum swings

to and from, hypnotic

in a sense

the droning of time

going forth into that

passing of languid

day, of that subtle night,

and it goes on and on in

stealth repetition.

Hear it now in the babbling

brook and whispering leaves

of autumn, hear it now

in the cherry blossom trees

huddled in their swan song

of slumber

and as the awkward automotive

creatures, lumber into the stark

nothingness on the other side

where time waits for nothing

or no one.

Wayne Russell is a creative jack of all trades, master of none. Poet, singer, artist, photographer, and author of the poetry books “Splinter of the Moon” and "Waves of Lucidity", both published via Silver Bow Publishing, and are both available for purchase on Amazon in paperback and digital formats such as Ingram Distribution at your local library.