Variegated strands of weather weave

their magic tapestry on my mind.

I revel in their changing voices,

interpretative attire, and cacophony.


I look forward day to day, no, even

every moment, to their malleability.

I love sun, blue sky and light breeze,

but no less mad tempestuousness.


The splendance of the greyest dawn

smiles, blows scudding across my day.

It is dramatic change I seek, almost

as the leech smells out fresh blood.


Fastening tenaciously, I suck the

marrow of the barometer’s change.

I meter not my days, but greet each

a new acquaintance, friend or lover.


I extend my soul in welcome as a

knight did his in visual declaration.

Holding no weapon, bearing no

malice, I am seeking no combat.


I wish only to enwrap, submerge,

enjoy weather’s spirited vagaries.

Each changeling child of revolution

brings her own unique enjoyments.


No doppelgangers exists in this with

the parting curtains of each dawn.

Regardless how low the light or loud

the music, my day is a unique option.


I tease out deeper meaning, affinity of

an All: earthly, ethereally, spiritually.

Therefore: every day is acquiescent:

geographic, atmospheric, temporal.


I, too, add or subtract from each day

by the attitude and demeanor I bring.


by Rick Hartwell


Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school (remember, the hormonally-challenged?) English teacher living in Moreno Valley, California. He believes in the succinct, that the small becomes large; and, like the Transcendentalists and William Blake, that the instant contains eternity. Given his “druthers,” if he’s not writing poetry, Rick would rather still be tailing plywood in a mill in Oregon.

Listed at Duotrope
Listed with Poets & Writers
CLMP Member
List with Art Deadline
Follow us on MagCloud