Impact

There's an idea for a novel in me somewhere...

Bits and pieces,
The collected musings and brilliance
Of artists and authors.
Searing their talent and insight
On my incompetent consciousness.
A fleeting brand
That dies in the light of a flat screen
        And sinks into the depths
        of routinely rejected experiences
        gaining neither traction nor foothold
        in the amassed memory of life times.
An impermanent tattoo
Broken by time and
Deformed by attention deficit.
Were it within my ability
To piece these miniature jewels
Of immense meaning
These significant epiphanies
Together,
Were it within my faculty
To discern their import
To synthesize their arrangement
Into smart, familiar patterns
That others would recognize
As simple, obvious truths,
Were it in my destiny
To think
And be thought of
To bestow words
of measurable merit
Or comfort
or escape;
Satisfaction lies therein.

© Jeff Wilson, 2010

Bright Cold

Baby, it's cold outside.

“It’s a beautiful day,” my grandpa would say,
As blue sky replaces familiar grey.
The sun shining down on our sleepy, small town
Wrapping it all in a bright, yellow gown
But it is easy to see, through each barren tree,
Fallen snow is not awed easily.
It’s hard to cavort in a gown that’s so short;
And heat?...offers nothing of the sort.
Each breath is a cloud, snow and ice do shroud
Earth too solid to yet be plowed.
And yet, no matter how deep the freeze,
Like my grandpa, I desperately seize
Days as fleetingly beautiful as these.

© Jeff Wilson, 2010