"Spin" in aviation training: a "stall" or loss of lift, a subsequent nose-down spin, the specific actions required for recovery, and the feeling, after recovery, that you could tackle absolutely anything!

Thursday, 26 January 2012

Hang on.

Hang on.  Hang on tight.
The evenings of crickets and porch-light moths are on their way;
Richness of a summer's eve, and
Punctuation to days of sun. Oh the sun!
Robbed from these winter days; fondly touted as principle role
In the languid heat of a July afternoon,
Ripe with blossoms, barbecues, or the soothing liquor of
heated pine needles on a granite shore.

It is tough, this winter gauze, lowering from the sky, day after day,
Forcing us to know ourselves, tangling us in self and motive.
'Easy, as creatures of light, to find joy with waves and sand,
Or steaming over a snow-covered expanse brushed with 
Sunny sequins.
But it is under this fractured promise; thaw and grey and heavy,
That we are driven to endure the intrigue of our deeper thoughts;
Intense and haunting, stuck and rolling in this web of humanity.

Hang on.  Yes, hang on tight.
Dare to take on this posturing dullness and embrace your strength;
There rooted deep in the softness of your yearning.
It is rich and round.  It fills you and moves you, as it should.
Just be careful of the edges; the sharp edges of your more
Sneaky, unbeckoned ideas, prone to tipping and
Cracking toward oblivion if acknowledged. 
So don't acknowledge. Just let them pass.
Hold, instead, to the gauze lifting and the sun hitting its mark again,
And you, relieved, but stronger for its absence.

Monday, 16 January 2012


There is effort in these days, settled after the
Slow blur of childhood,
Whirlwind of keys, to degrees to family tides;
Ebbing and flowing with
Challenge, delight and growth.
Time, though some question its integrity,
Is not the enemy.  It is not.
Time has arranged this; to find me here,
Deep into it, callused and spun;
Long ago past the point of no return.
Right where I am supposed to be.

There is effort in these days, unique and perfect,
Tumblers clicking to inspiration's gifts, to 
Solve problems thought unsolvable,
And to reveal the infinite beauty of
Pace, soothe, and heart.
Time, though some think it fickle;
A thoughtful facilitator, really.  Time is wise.
It planned a shift in perfect step,
Calm and patient, avoided the urge to
Try too soon and miss the goal, but waited instead.
Time waited; biding, biding.

There is effort in these days, but in one moment, a gain;
A subtle surprise of grand expanse.
With mindful guidance I am changed and
See myself a worthy soul, unbound from
Shadows, meek and timid.
Time saw fit to lift the shroud,
To draw me up in careful thought.  Graceful.  Brilliant.
And with new breath, new eyes, new heart,
In fresher light I see my past and
Take the future in my teeth.
But as I rise with appetite, a focus toward my best, my due,
A great injustice it would be, remiss, to wave time's mastery by
As just a thing, a passing nod;

It's nothing small.  It means the world; relief and zest,
And I am grateful, floored and new.

Tuesday, 3 January 2012

Delight's Fire.

I know I am here.
I do.
I have seen footsteps in the snow that have told me so.
I have spit steam from my breath, evidence of a beating heart.
And tonight, a brave shadow on the snow; gift of a
Crisping moon.
That's the thing of winter;  all else is quiet,
No interruption to reflection,
So when I find myself, all under my brim,
Drunk with the quiet and the 
Clean, cold edge of the air,
I gaze, undistracted, at the moon, stars, and  struggle to
Figure how to burn that brightly.
"How can I tag in?  Get on their map?"
Not for us.  I know, I know.
Instead, our fires burn within; mine,
Hidden magnitudes of young despair
Dampened so as not to disrupt, finally burst to molten,
Razing facades and defenses to
Thick, painful embers,
When all I want is to be full and choked with
Robust flames of delight.

I know I am here.
I do.
I have felt the pain and weight of steep decision.
I have soothed troubled waves of anger and longing,
Evidence of a seeking heart.
No longer a fool, I expect no league with the moon, 
But frankly use her tender shine as reminder of 
Dormant, vibrant, and all in the margins.
Shame on those whose fires languish for
Lack of intent or gut.
I would not trade my embers earned for any 
Hollow ease.
I can claim my footsteps.
I deserve my steam,
And one day, with diligence's promise, I will
Radiate delight's fire to a magnitude
Worthy of star's queries;
"How can we tag in?
How can we get on her map?"