Jupiter

Jupiter

In the dark of space

Floating in the dark of my life

Is Gustav Holst’s bringer of jollity

A gaseous giant

Circling the only star

We two have known

He's been seen by every life

Here on our world

I also am mostly gas

But not worthy of a laugh

I am hydrogen and oxygen

Jupiter's helium keeps him afloat

Just as my gassy thoughts

Keep me floating

I see you great godd

Holding your twinkling throne room

In the power of both day and night

You may be the Roman godd

Of lightning and power

Though my life has been simple

Lacking the power to make changes

I see my dear moons my friends 

Revolving around me

Undiscovered by Galileo

Yet I discover their love of me

Which seems to make no sense

We two have large spots

Yours is red and mine invisible

Perhaps the visible and Unseen

Are the same as each gives us

Strength and uniqueness

Of all about our orbits

My years will be shorter by far

But unlike you dear Jove

I'm on fire and you will never be

Until our sun expands to take you

Both our atoms will share some space

We are neighbors in the Universe

Ready to join whenever that year

Decides we are ready to love

And be loved by the other

Barry G. Wick

Old Photo

Old Photo

An indigenous man

Of this continent

Turns to retrieve

An arrow from his quiver

The attached strap around

His neck and shoulders

His right hand fingers

Surround an arrow

While his left hand

Caresses his spring bow

The power of which 

We only guess

His dark hair wrapped

In leather on two long tresses

One tucked behind his right ear

That hangs across his bare chest

To the edge of his breechcloth

His face turned to direct his hand

The high cheekbone reveals

A smooth careful thought

At the end of his long hair

His loins covered in tradecloth

Reach just above his knees

Held by a braided cord

His left hip exposed

The warmth of his skin

Shows all the way 

to his bare feet

Thin moccasins almost visible

Behind him a stand of birches

Frame him on his hunt

For game he might see

Scared away by his movement

To notch his arrows nock

On the taught bowstring

His anticipation is not evident

Though his slender muscles

Have been fed by the meat

Of his previous kills

He found in forest

And on prairie

As he waited at the draws

For his prey to hesitantly walk

With care on grass and rock

He teaches me correct words

In black and white

To admire his concentration 

The feel and quiet of bare feet

On dry grass and small rock

His movement so slight

Noiseless on a gray day

I only wish were colored

For my heart to worship

This hunter’s stealth

The wealth of generations

Father to son

The soft cloth unable

To chafe him in summer sun

Or alert rabbit or deer

He's a quiet man

Used to few words

Scraping hair and remnant meat

Quiet hours spent tanning

The animal’s skin with its brain

Each day his thoughts calmed

By his careful respect 

for the whole of creation

That surrounds him

A quiet prayer unheard 

At the bright mornings

At the edge of dark

By a warming fire

Soft hides of his own creation

Each hour warming him twice

Barry G. Wick