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Provocation, always a dicey proposition,
sometimes best laid despite its wake
Torn pages, thou which dost protest,
lay in remains
filling in the time lost
Along tides sweeping incoherently,
they don't drown
as much as they encompass the uncertainty
of a given moment's meaning –
places and names transplanted
The skin on your feet lurching forward,
tendons holding steady,
eyes wincing
uncertain glances
Lifting the veil, materializing
forward into the grazing downhill slope,
illuminating its view
in distant vantage
The circuitry of this moment,
unveiled
buildings of a city distant,
carve a blight against horizons
Rock formation,
endless forest,
foothills cast in blue vivid skies,
slightly tainted by a haze
of emission, sharply sped –
passing by,
in detriment of motion,
in monument of observation
Chaos roundly rumbling in silence
from a distance
Making clear the scope
of what is here, charting
position of its calling
Shaping spinning clay, unrealized
in the dignity of what it holds
Its shape, the way it feels
on wistful hands
The melding of earth, of color,
and aesthetic
Moments in its making, fleeting
faith in the bounty
of its creation, spinning
out of control in resignation
of unworthiness of the craftsman
It might slip away
in dark and damp surroundings
But it moves,
time's effortless motion
Waters circulate quietly, pulsing
around stones and limbs,
pushed from upstream
Materials, collection, moving life
headlong in quiet disarray,
chaotic order
Downshifting tension's disturbance
into radiance of color,
warmth of ambient light,
slipping through reminders
like clockwork
sometimes best laid despite its wake
Torn pages, thou which dost protest,
lay in remains
filling in the time lost
Along tides sweeping incoherently,
they don't drown
as much as they encompass the uncertainty
of a given moment's meaning –
places and names transplanted
The skin on your feet lurching forward,
tendons holding steady,
eyes wincing
uncertain glances
Lifting the veil, materializing
forward into the grazing downhill slope,
illuminating its view
in distant vantage
The circuitry of this moment,
unveiled
buildings of a city distant,
carve a blight against horizons
Rock formation,
endless forest,
foothills cast in blue vivid skies,
slightly tainted by a haze
of emission, sharply sped –
passing by,
in detriment of motion,
in monument of observation
Chaos roundly rumbling in silence
from a distance
Making clear the scope
of what is here, charting
position of its calling
Shaping spinning clay, unrealized
in the dignity of what it holds
Its shape, the way it feels
on wistful hands
The melding of earth, of color,
and aesthetic
Moments in its making, fleeting
faith in the bounty
of its creation, spinning
out of control in resignation
of unworthiness of the craftsman
It might slip away
in dark and damp surroundings
But it moves,
time's effortless motion
Waters circulate quietly, pulsing
around stones and limbs,
pushed from upstream
Materials, collection, moving life
headlong in quiet disarray,
chaotic order
Downshifting tension's disturbance
into radiance of color,
warmth of ambient light,
slipping through reminders
like clockwork
Matt Mauldin
1/2018
Santa Barbara, CA
1/2018
Santa Barbara, CA
