Witness

 Craving, starving to bestow compliment where compliment is due, desiring to effervesce to a most astounding presence, as if saying or doing might augment or enhance the astonishing. It’s all an exercise in futility. Such things exist independent of witness, however sensitive.

It’s the sort of presence which defies remark, until the heart of the witness would burst, with the fulness of such encapsulation. Whether it be flowers, or virtuoso, fawn in the wood or beauty in her adornments, all exist before and after the witness.

As a noisy tree falls, a beauty does not require witness to be significant.

Then they are gone, and the witness has either held his bursting peace or not. How does an overwhelmed, choke back his emotion, to bid perfection a well done? There is a sense of defeat in departure. Perfection, achievement may not be acquainted with sadness. To have suffered a moment of madness, just once in a lifetime. It’s marvel it played out OK.

There was the most elegant girl in the most beautiful dress. Ducking into a nearby restroom for time to think, I earnestly craved to rush up to this mere girl, with whom I was unacquainted. I wanted to rant at her, like I’m doing here, about her virtue, her peerlessness, whatever, yet every bit of magnanimous verbiage I could muster, crowded into my mind. The child would likely have been scared beyond her wits. But I was ultimately capable of abstaining from comment. Oh, that I might have written just then!

It was one the worst of my moments, really.

There was a trumpet virtuoso who performed to perfection, and solicited comment from the audience of university trumpet majors. I was there, dumbfounded. I articulated nothing.

There have been flower shops to employ me on Christmas and Valentines Day, with their plethora of poses to distribute hither and yon. I have become intimately acquainted with long stem red roses, their barbs and their charms. Petted a live faun, yes, a young deer! on her very own back, up close and personal. I’ve known such privileges.

The magic and charm of being young and in love was ours to cherish but for a moment, such that all the sum and total of all the bards and the sages of the annuls of time have not spoken or made music thoroughly or utterly enough to ever speak the spirit of being so young and in love as we were for that one pearl-like moment.

Such was the momentary depth of our special magic, my personal treasure and I.

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Mature

The many years have passed us by

Like a tapestry we may not have noticed

How many have actually seen every feature of an exhibit

On display at a gallery when coursing by

They themselves be thorough or not

We are only as mature as we are going to be

In our toughest moments

In this haphazard life within a lifetime of experience

Already behind us well enough

All our own treasure trove of personal history

For our reasoning acumen

With someone’s legacy behind us

Whether it be ours own or not

We have life experience increasing daily

Like a ton of bricks around our necks

Or exalting us to whom we’ve become

Sewing us into the shackles or comforts we alone may know

You have you job and you family

Your commitments by the score are yours alone

We wear our burdens however we do

I have my small family and my walking troubles

From a terrible fall only I can know

And the proverbial ton of bricks

Around our necks

Mine’s almost weightless – yours?

George Geisinger

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Pine Needles

Standing stalwart and unconcerned

Surrounded by deceased pine needles and sky

The long haired pine adorns my visage

With healthy hair

It grows beyond my window

My friend and I go explore

In a suicide machine

The sacred woods

My personal sanctuary

One of the few in a population

Of many long haired pines

I desire to honor the

Population of sheltering trees

My friend understands

We breath fresh air together

Fresh air

George Geisinger

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Crick Bed

In the woods

A crick bed

Babbles obtrusively

Voluntarily

The crick bed breathes

Witnesses

The essence of a nature

It speaks secrets of

To the essence of innocence

As it stills the childhood in our hearts

The children of both of us hides

From the monster in the woods

Goes away slowly

All too slowly

Till the trees talk

To mark the time

We both listen with new ears

As the trees talk one with the other

Nature herself lifts its solitary voice

While we two Children

Still innocent enough

In our hearts

Quiet enough

In our souls

To hear

Listening

To the crick bed

Breathe

As the sounds of the monster

Fade dead away

George Geisinger

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Once Upon a Time

There lived a captive young fairy Princess

Held in ethereal castle made of sky

So tethered was she

The castle of sky had her bound

In ghastly chains against she could not prevail

The captive young fairy Princess

Was at a loss for a remedy

Without a dashing young Prince

Who was ensnared useless foreign in wars

Without surcease

But the tale of the captive fairy Princess

Charmed the very heart

Of the dashing young Prince

Who left his legions

To fare how e’er they may

Whilst he endeavored to liberate

The beating of his heart

In the ethereal castle made of sky

The dashing young Prince heard the call

In his heart of hearts

From his useless foreign wars

Without surcease

It was an arduous Odyssey

The dashing young Prince undertook

Endeavored to liberation

Of the captive fairy Princess

Who had stolen his heart of hearts

From afar

With her magic she had stolen it

To fetch him hither to help her

With her ghastly chains she had binding her

In her ethereal castle made of sky

The great distance and the ghastly chains

Became nothing to either the lover or his lass

With the strength of four hands and two hearts

The dashing young Prince

Swept the no longer captive fairy Princess

Out of her ghastly chains made of sky

Upon his valiant white steed

He fetched her

Then made her his eager bride

And they lived happily ever after

George Geisinger

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Druid Hill

Air hears waters and stones babbling

Listen then not for waters or stones

But for the air

Air always leaving

But never gone

There lies the mystery

There exists the aromas and the drafts

Only the sensitive know

We are few

Since the settlers

Ruined the human beings

And the land

Leaves on sumptuous forest beds

Speak the ancient knowledge

Of the living and the dead

Only the wild know

Only the few

Human beings

Dare to listen to

The Air

 

George Geisinger

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Nature

Waters babbling over endless polished stones

Fluid flouncing jabbering waters

Waters always leaving but never gone

Waters the white noise is so utterly beaunificent

Bring tears to the heart strings of the few

Human beings left to know

Deceased leaves accumulating their to final resting place

Testifying of their natural scent to passersby

Among the human beings

From the wild to the hunters

To the bleeding hearts

Of them who know

Who are every bit as wild as the game

While winds converse unceasingly with the tall grasses

Winds always leaving but never gone

In a sanctuary more sacred than the greatest cathedral vault

We walk on sacred ground

 George Geisinger

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