Into The Daylight

Thespian Drummer

Concertos of music have never known the tranquility of your look –  like the undisturbed resonance of a lake across the threshold of true innocence. . . I recall that gaze over time and draw upon its strength, as if to drink from a well of Life that spews forth from His heart.  Instant upon instance, the Image plays over and again, that line I willingly spanned in my life which emerged from your original eyes:  I cross over into native land, holding all that is my own never once doubting the truth unfolding from your integrity and arise into the Daylight of Dawn.

© K. James Ribble

Childhood May

Thespian Drummer

In the rain
On spatter-clean lawns
Overcast feelings pour
Like milk over cereal  

I am a child once again
In this memory, a recall
of living dreams
Inside my life

Where most always
I am joyful
like music on a silent evening
In the midst of New York City.


© K. James Ribble

Awoken

Thespian Drummer

Unjust thoughts
Lying prostrate
Stretching thin like
The toes of a cat

A dreamlike state
(No – just like a dream)
Basking and waiting
Like willows unadorned

Seeping, seething
Just below conscious weight
Catechisms gone mad as
I watch and behold instinct

Compare and wonder
What of those who imagined
The First Thoughts of man
When becoming aware for the first time

Their Being now becomes
Undone to the wherewithal of Light
Unmasked – a treasure of his own tomb
Casting to dawn the knowledge of Self as one.

 

© K. James Ribble

“Awoken” first appeared on this blog in August of 2016. It was since published in Figroot Press – Issue Three December 2016, a wonderful collection of poetry, prose, art & photography, found here.  Check it out!  >KJR<

Summer

Thespian Drummer



Concomitant without parallel, we walk again,
Dance well behind the continental shelf of utterance,
That which we know to be true.

A wedding of reticent decisions made knowing
Full well a sweat on my brow was forming, just her
Look brings cool on a hot summer day.

Her rainstorms purge all the Gulf air into
My New York, while a burning sun hides under concrete clouds,
Gray stellar beings tearing at the thought of air.

But, like her, those same drops of water give life to me,
Becoming vapor long enough to know that
Hidden clouds don’t cry.


© K. James Ribble

Morning’s Love Asunder

Thespian Drummer

Morning’s daylight breaks above the roof
Sun’s gold liquid fills drops of grassy dew
Enchanted trees create dreamlike shadows
Enables all light to speak of you

The cicadas with all creation sing a
Clarion call to morning’s slumber
As birds dance unadorned by human cares
Their freedom speaks my voice of wonder

For who I am in this world that calls
In this time of truth and wonder
Life embraces all my senses filled
Captures me in deepest love asunder

Enveloped now by the sun’s true grace
And humbled by birds that fly above
With Cascade of Light before me now
It is your face of daylight’s love.

© K. James Ribble

Impromptu

Thespian Drummer


Unknown.  Unforeseen.
She came to me unlike any other.

A wisp of origin blown apart by her eyes like
The golden brown of sunlight in late afternoon.

Completely and utterly caught
Within a millisecond of her smile.

Her face, framed by long black hair,
Instantly projected all of her: genuine and genuflected

Straight through to my Honesty –
So I began to speak with vulnerability of truth

As though the world stopped all around us,
And we were the only two people alive.

At Fourth & Broadway by the foot of palm trees
My life changed forever,

Where her smile is still carved
At the root of my soul.



© K. James Ribble

Reflect

Thespian Drummer



If I could tell you I am not afraid
I would –

If I could tell you from the bottom of my heart
I would –

Cloisters vanish forth from an
Unknown source.

Confirming my presence to the
Dismay of my own reflection so I am

Dubious, at first, yet remain open
To the remedies of my time.

And before the song is over
I reveal among the stars

My own Self revelation
Succumbing to no one thing

Yet no longer chide my own
Discovery of who I am

As if my memory of these things
Became sacred to the Truth that they are real.

Cloisters of my own self
Healed and repaired by my own hands

As sacred as these halls are hallowed.



© K. James Ribble

Set Up

Thespian Drummer

I’m being set up:
Gravity has lost its meaning-
The cat, amused by nothing,
Now takes real interest in me.

My neighbors emit cordiality
On the off-chance I may say hello
Where, beyond my window, aches the
Pequannock sighing an urban breath;

Exhaling its sorrow for the day,
Winding a lazy path to calm waters
Like my own voice as it transports
The upwinds of my collective breathing

To a voicing of What Is -in this moment-
Rather than What Was. . .
As the cat, defying gravity, leaps into my lap,
An effortless motion like the sparrows now
Outside my window
Singing resolute melodies of warmer days.

© K. James Ribble

Emerge

Thespian Drummer


I’d lost all my strength
The natural urge to create
My apartment became a mess
Even the ants left.
The spark to create was lost
The art that reignites my heart
Giving birth to what I believed
Had died and felt abandoned
On the stage of my masculine agency
LIFE became optional
LIVING was perfunctory
I GAVE nothing in return
FOR the kindness of others
REAPING emptiness and
SADNESS . . . 
Finally awoken from this dream a
Dream of a sad, burrowed fog that
Lifted as my line-of-sight
Opened towards a doorway
Where I see all of you, your visage like 
Comrades-in-arms gathering
At dawn, like sunlight-as-water 
Spilling across the field of a new day.
 
© K. James Ribble

Dreaming Again

Thespian Drummer

It’s just like a ladyship knowing they’ll never die
Awoken by dreams scattered across her bed
The filtered excess of thought-in-motion revealing
All that remains of memory long faded by waking

Even now I cannot divulge what’s left to write
In that I may substantiate that lost vision just
For you so that it may reveal a conscious moment
Too lingering for it to become lost along the day

This urge this uncommon urge to want to know
Seeking deep access to what I cannot see inside
A realm all too real for interpretation of words
Yet catching all cataclysm of doubts lingering

Longer than my mind can unhide before they’re
Gone into the fray of a day’s motions in art form
Those unknown, unfettered bastions of grace
Lifting me up propping me against the wall of dreams

Returning me to you

Again.
© K. James Ribble