Poems by JakTraks

Framed

If you stand in a door frame
facing what we call the future,
letting the winds of time blow future to past,
life stops being painful.There is
no stepping forward. Turn around,
you can see the movie of life,
and enter it to play your part.

I think the doorway should be frightening,
but it isn't. Facing out
is blissful. Maybe it's the juncture of
a figure eight, where polarities
come together as do day
and night at twilight. Or, the exact
point where probabilities find form.

To at Least Wade

upon all strips of sand-land
water leans forward
only to pull back - a tease -
receding tides a finger
curling toward its mysterious self
beckoning beach
settlers to at least wade -
cool their hot feet
where the sand begins to hold
every footprint
filling when the waves woosh in
erased on the out
revealing sea skeletons -
intimations of what's
alive in the silentious depths -
walking landward then
feet are shod with weathered stone

Equanimity

Sunlight lays a cool hand
across my blue-jeaned knees,
I shiver, leaving Mocha Joe
curled undisturbed
on my cozy throw,

how few days the
weather outside and in -
without our manipulation -
provide equal comfort,
so few . . .

more often: the shock of being
stuffed in snowsuits, boots and
mittens, excited to play,
then relieved to thaw with
cocoa in a warm kitchen.

Heart Rhythms

My heart rhythm is in three-quarter time,
the pace of a flowing waltz
lilting so lightly there is barely an accent;
circles spiral over the dance floor
wearing smiles and eye-sparks of joy
in the banishment of all but innocence.

My legs love the march and salsa,
arms to drum in a rock band,
my mind syncopation,
twelve tones, and riddled-rhythms,
but in the center of a cruising circle
spins the music that,
in the cacophony of this world,
keeps me synced with courage and love;
its why my poems are sweeter
than my daily contemplations,
so enjoyed for their salt and crunch.

Sometimes I fancy that any new world
must waltz into being, or perhaps,
will match whatever heart song you carry.

3/4 Time

When I entrain to the box-step
of the busy-ness world, and
only despair softens the fear,
I have left Vienna and need return,

my heart requires the Blue Danube
swirl and lilt to keep its lightness of being
bright as play across a child's face,

my mind favors the rhythm of dust motes,
my body revels in rock and latin beats
but my heart, it needs the nested circles'
sweeping flow and grounded flight.

Slippery Moments

I released my crows into the the bright morning,
my doves into a moonless night,
now, at twilight and pre-dawn, dove and crow
wink pearlescent gray, sometimes tinted
by the shifting color-wheel of clouds;
for slippery moments all the world's an aviary
where mystery and clarity,
letting go and pushing on,
fly with one face.

Pages

In the book of my life
there is a chapter called
I'd Rather Not Remember

You know the one - its in your book too

But of course we do remember
this most vivid section of all

The following chapter's named
Lessons Learned - hopefully
it has as many pages as
I'd Rather Not Remember

Hopefully I'd Rather Not Remember
is added to less as we age

If Lessons Learned is fatter than
I'd Rather Not Remember - you've been
way too hard on yourself -
go now - rob a bank