Love sparks

it happens in a flash, a brief
encounter, two people meeting
on the street, online, a coffee shop,
and they engage in conversation,
talk about the weather and where
they are from, it deepens into what
they do for a living, how they were
raised, what their hopes and dreams
are, they order a second cup, one
without cream and move from the
barstool to a booth, laughing at this
moment, this unexpected invitation
into each other’s life, though brief it
is heartfelt, passionate, and inside
visions of the near future begin to
arise, to come into light with color,
seeing hands being held, soft kisses,
playful moments in the park, with a
dog, and then a wedding, she’s in
white lace, seams adorned with gems,
her wavy hair falling on her shoulders,
as he stares, not afraid but frozen in her
presence, his vows memorized, they
walk the aisle together, into the
parking lot and the horse drawn
carriage, she steps in, he follows, they
embrace, her cup is empty, his still full,
she smiles at his silence as he comes
back to reality, he shivers, his hands
moist, but he knows, without any
doubt, right now, at this very moment,
what he must do, or fear losing
the magic she created in him.

                                          Jaymes Ian Woode



spring torrent, whips,
thrashing against pane,
wooden rocker, ghostly
old soul moving about,
screaming wind, trapped,
unsure they way to go,
swirling above, playing in
the trees across the street;
oh, how connected we are,
you and me, our existence
similar this night, spinning
about, destination unknown,
we sigh with heaviness and rage,
deep resonating melodies,
high pitches and low,
wailing aloud, lost, voicing
deep moans of frustration,
yet we pause, enough to tease
branches, waving as we pass,
at life, wishing to move, to 
uproot, though we, slapping
wind and I, yearn not to
remain uprooted, but to plant,
quieted and still, embracing
grounded possibilities.

                                        Jaymes Ian Woode


I often wonder of the pangs felt
by the tree that has grown
for many years; stretching tall
and weathering storms and
standing alone in one place.

Yet still, to this day, my mind
cannot escape the thoughts
of mountains reaching higher
and beaches eroding in salt
as the earth remains one size.

Tomorrow may bring more
changes in shapes and in the
weather throughout the planet
but does it ever just want to
calm and be still?

And I question my own
growth, so much in body
and in mind and in spirit
but all so quick as a person’s
time is unlike that of the tree.

So few days a person
wanders, the pangs of growth
never ceasing to exist, though the
ceasing of sunrises and moon
settings are almost extinct.

How does the tree do it,
continuing to expand without
ever having a feast with its’
neighbors or a university to
attend and cram for tests?

Yet it stands, still and alone,
only surrounding by others
alike, which must be the key
to its lasting for so long; to be
among those that can relate.

                              Jaymes Ian Woode