Parallel Lines
The day opens like a sheave of wheat as tiny herring fish twist and turn through torrents of water tumbling beneath my feet.
A chevron of water-fowl paddle towards the dam; a mixed flock of Canadians, gannets, and blue whistler swans, as swifts slide amongst them sweeping the brown water for mayfly and midge.
Golden strands of water grass rise like yarrow sticks on the cool dark water as the ‘I Ching’ enters my mind unbidden and that glorious phrase, ‘No blame!’
Scales of alewife, fin of shad, the multi-colored current tumbles down the chute to the pond below where bubbles soothe the mind to stillness.
A car horn interrupts my reverie, rhythmically beating out a tune, as a girl in a pick-up truck dances alone in her seat farther along the berm, her radio is too far away to hear; yet she seems to dance, arms waving to the bubbles.
‘Lao-Tse’ says there is only one Way, one Road, one River, and one beautiful
girl dancing on the side of the road, honking for your attention.
Starling wing and swallow tail, geometries of water rolling, rolling, between the worlds, lust in a river falling where blood-set and sunrise meet.
Tomorrow and today are always, like tiny herring fish seeking, not knowing why,
just moving for the pleasure of moving, not knowing that a ladder built by unseen hands
elevates them.
- Standing Atop the Fish Ladder
The day opens like a sheave of wheat as tiny herring fish twist and turn through torrents of water tumbling beneath my feet.
A chevron of water-fowl paddle towards the dam; a mixed flock of Canadians, gannets, and blue whistler swans, as swifts slide amongst them sweeping the brown water for mayfly and midge.
Golden strands of water grass rise like yarrow sticks on the cool dark water as the ‘I Ching’ enters my mind unbidden and that glorious phrase, ‘No blame!’
Scales of alewife, fin of shad, the multi-colored current tumbles down the chute to the pond below where bubbles soothe the mind to stillness.
A car horn interrupts my reverie, rhythmically beating out a tune, as a girl in a pick-up truck dances alone in her seat farther along the berm, her radio is too far away to hear; yet she seems to dance, arms waving to the bubbles.
‘Lao-Tse’ says there is only one Way, one Road, one River, and one beautiful
girl dancing on the side of the road, honking for your attention.
Starling wing and swallow tail, geometries of water rolling, rolling, between the worlds, lust in a river falling where blood-set and sunrise meet.
Tomorrow and today are always, like tiny herring fish seeking, not knowing why,
just moving for the pleasure of moving, not knowing that a ladder built by unseen hands
elevates them.
The Sleeves of Morning Open
The sleeves of morning slide
From the ground
Green pedestals of fiber and stalk
Elephantine leaves spilling
Downward into the mulch
strewn verdure of April.
***
Time slips sideways
Allowing a viewing
Both unexpected and drawn
Of my presence
Watching the flowers
Growing while they
Sense my attention
And pull their muddied
Knees from the ground.
As God wipes his
Sweated eyes to blink
At another season borne
And smiles then smirks
At the cross-purposed
Creatures so indolent
and groggy
So unaware of perceiving
And being perceived.
***
The muddy river
Flows past in chocolate
Stained sediment stripped
From mountain creeks
Loosened by snow pack and
Spring freshets pregnant with life
As red buds on swamp maples
Creep through their wooded casks
Turning grey bark to blood drop
While tearlets of lavender passion
Dazzle in sunlight on the sparkling morn.
***
Destiny and time
Wood ducks over water
The green flash of an under
-wing turning
To plumage for attracting a mate
The spark of a moment
Come and gone
Like the flashing motion of a
Mallard’s departure.
The seasons do not wait
for recognition
Mayflies live but an instance
on the wing
Sluggish catfish creep
From their torpor
On the river’s bottom
As planetary unravelings
Fill the depths
With warm water.
Creases in the land
This mighty river
Ferules in my mind
The memory of its passing.
***
How many days
Will these eyes
See the passage of
Existence funneled
Through me like
A channel of light.
Does meaning exist
In this frightened living?
Do small creatures need
A god greater than them?
Can I see past this mirror
Of riverine madness?
The etched visions of my
Failures meaningless and free.
Or will I go down in the
Ancestral dirt
Like so many before
Without acceptance
Of the lonely sorrow
of incertitude.
There are no questions
Worth pursuing than
The one that dwells
Within this palace
Of the moment.
Fly duck, flow river
Enjoy passage.
Thomas Belton is an author with extensive publications in fiction, poetry, non-fiction, magazine feature writing, science writing, and journalism. His professional memoir, “Protecting New Jersey’s Environment: From Cancer Alley to the New Garden State (Rutgers University Press)” was awarded “Best Book in Science Writing for the General Public” by the New Jersey Council for the Humanities. See: https://www.rutgersuniversitypress.org/protecting-new-jerseys-environment/9780813548876
He is also a poet and his most recently published poems were in the journals, New World Writing, “Bus Ryde to Skool.” https://newworldwriting.net/thomas-belton-bus-ryde-to-skool/ (3/31/21) and “Wonderland” Ekphrastic Review: (6/15/21)
https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-journal/wonderland-by-thomas-belton
The sleeves of morning slide
From the ground
Green pedestals of fiber and stalk
Elephantine leaves spilling
Downward into the mulch
strewn verdure of April.
***
Time slips sideways
Allowing a viewing
Both unexpected and drawn
Of my presence
Watching the flowers
Growing while they
Sense my attention
And pull their muddied
Knees from the ground.
As God wipes his
Sweated eyes to blink
At another season borne
And smiles then smirks
At the cross-purposed
Creatures so indolent
and groggy
So unaware of perceiving
And being perceived.
***
The muddy river
Flows past in chocolate
Stained sediment stripped
From mountain creeks
Loosened by snow pack and
Spring freshets pregnant with life
As red buds on swamp maples
Creep through their wooded casks
Turning grey bark to blood drop
While tearlets of lavender passion
Dazzle in sunlight on the sparkling morn.
***
Destiny and time
Wood ducks over water
The green flash of an under
-wing turning
To plumage for attracting a mate
The spark of a moment
Come and gone
Like the flashing motion of a
Mallard’s departure.
The seasons do not wait
for recognition
Mayflies live but an instance
on the wing
Sluggish catfish creep
From their torpor
On the river’s bottom
As planetary unravelings
Fill the depths
With warm water.
Creases in the land
This mighty river
Ferules in my mind
The memory of its passing.
***
How many days
Will these eyes
See the passage of
Existence funneled
Through me like
A channel of light.
Does meaning exist
In this frightened living?
Do small creatures need
A god greater than them?
Can I see past this mirror
Of riverine madness?
The etched visions of my
Failures meaningless and free.
Or will I go down in the
Ancestral dirt
Like so many before
Without acceptance
Of the lonely sorrow
of incertitude.
There are no questions
Worth pursuing than
The one that dwells
Within this palace
Of the moment.
Fly duck, flow river
Enjoy passage.
Thomas Belton is an author with extensive publications in fiction, poetry, non-fiction, magazine feature writing, science writing, and journalism. His professional memoir, “Protecting New Jersey’s Environment: From Cancer Alley to the New Garden State (Rutgers University Press)” was awarded “Best Book in Science Writing for the General Public” by the New Jersey Council for the Humanities. See: https://www.rutgersuniversitypress.org/protecting-new-jerseys-environment/9780813548876
He is also a poet and his most recently published poems were in the journals, New World Writing, “Bus Ryde to Skool.” https://newworldwriting.net/thomas-belton-bus-ryde-to-skool/ (3/31/21) and “Wonderland” Ekphrastic Review: (6/15/21)
https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-journal/wonderland-by-thomas-belton
