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Booth 7

The booth on the end
At the end of an era
Though the sign is clearly seen
Not one here can read the signs.

“A coffee for your thoughts?
It could be your last.”

“Here, we’ll wait on your again
As we look on upon the end
And wait ourselves.”

© Jeremiah Dowling 2017

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Hour 5

9:20: Around the Park
9:21: A Tiny Grip
9:22: Sekonda
9:23:The Jazz Age
9:24: Sips
9:25: Under Construction
9:26: Unexpected Worries
9:27: Newspaper Ink
9:28: A Covered Moon
9:29: 7 1/2 Inches
9:30: Beardless
9:31: An Orchard
9:32: Patches of Oranges
9:33: An October Snowflake
9:34: New Intimacy
9:35: Thumbtack Reflectors
9:36: A Parchment Lens
9:37: Follow-up
9:38: A Broken Bowl
9:39: Two Tables
9:40: Uncorked
9:41: Missing Lights
9:42: A Future Friend
9:43: Constant Alarms
9:44: Sound Effects
9:45: Uncovered Fears
9:46: A Toppling Tree
9:47: Points of Beauty
9:48: 60 Degrees
9:49: An Abnormal Bump
9:50: A Wooden Sled
9:51: Winter Splashes
9:52: Nothing but White
9:53: ‘Baldy’
9:54: ‘The Seven Samurai’
9:55: Remembered Moments
9:56: ‘The Fire Escape’
9:57: Homemade Hearts
9:58: Cooking in Tandem
9:59: Capsized
10:00: Learning to Move
10:01: ‘The Crooked Garden’
10:02: Relocation
10:03: Booth Alterations
10:04: The End of the Dock
10:05: A Honey Dipper
10:06: On the Run
10:07: Timeless
10:08: Virginia Sidewalks
10:09: Re-hosted
10:10: Sudden Strides
10:11: A Crowded Cabin
10:12: A Floating Tennis Ball
10:13: 48 Milestones
10:14: Caught and Cooked
10:15: A Snakeskin
10:16: Constellations
10:17: A Red Oak Crib
10:18: Sailboats and Sleep
10:19: A Laughing Horse

* I wrote this poem on August 22nd, 2016 from 9:20pm-10:19pm…
it is the 5th part of a series of poems I am writing every year for 24 years *

© Jeremiah Dowling 2016

Wild

Through this open gap trees converge.

They are locked inside medians and are planning their escape. Beneath the pavement their roots run wild to disrupt stability. From the bottom up they work against the surface, cracking the hard unnatural ground. It is as if they have been inviting the rain all winter long to dive through the cracks – expand then contract – and eat away at the soil. All the while hoping that before repairs are made they could break free for a moment, touch the spring air, and be wild once again.

Journal Entry 5-7-15

© Jeremiah Dowling 2016

The Backdrop

There are so many colors outside my window, and they make the rain look so mysterious.

Beneath the gloom of transparency pink flowers and green buds push aside covalent bonds. Foreign branches and common shoots spread like an umbrella to shelter us from depression. Contrary to our perception, rain impels blossums to burst. Like a magician it conjures the nearly invisible from the sleeves of nature.

Suddenly, a cardinal alights to a forgotten limb to help complete the contrast. A contrast between the gift of the giver and the response of the receiver. On days like today, it is easy to remember that contrasts often work better together, at drawing our gaze toward simple beauties, than do similarities.

Which leaves me to commend the cloudy skies for how they’ve shadowed my thoughts and opened my eyes today.

© Jeremiah Dowling 2016

Deep Water

It is chilly enough to keep one inside, yet warm enough to dream of Summer.

Spring is a day away, and we are all holding our breath hoping that the lingering warmth will grow as song birds sing. In so many ways it seems that when nature bursts forth humanity does as well. We take more risks and hope more boldly. We cling less to realities while pushing forward into the unknown. Uncertainty seems less daunting when green covers the naked world.

Hope rises as spring brings with it a beauty we knew would come. In such a way, we find ourselves rising up with it; moving forward beside it; crawling out of our holes and conversing within it. Once I thought spring was simply a changing of nature, but it is a changing of us as well. It is the purpose of our hearts finding itself once again. It is a reunion of dreams lived, not merely dreamed. It is a deep water finally pulled forth from the well to extend our fragile lives.

Journal Entry 3-19-16

© Jeremiah Dowling 2016

Winter’s Voice

Winter spoke subtly through the warmth, “I’m still here.”

We had forgotten about her when the sun shown bright and the snow disappeared between blades of green. Excitedly, we searched for the robin and the first day of spring. We scoured each branch for buds and bursts of life. In a moment of ecstasy we even thought of running barefoot.

Then, a chill snuck through the radiance and forced another layer upon us. The sun slipped behind some clouds and took a nap. Winter spoke and reminded us of our plight.

Journal Entry 2-17-16

© Jeremiah Dowling 2016

Shadows

DSCF3446
Shadows on the snow
Darken perfection
And draw our eye
To the light

© Jeremiah Dowling 2016

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