Pool of Souls

In the office park
There is an artificial stream
That gathers into separate
Symmetrical pools

Emerald green
(Thanks to modern chemistry),

Bereft of the
Of nature's

One pool:
A slowly circulating
Of autumn's castaways,
Dressed in a hundred hues
Of passage;

A second pool:
One leaf, poised
On upturned ends--
A miniature catamaran,

Sailing alone.

--Mr. Gobley


Past All That

The past is never
Here yet.

It is always arriving
And yet not fully here --
A train forever entering the station
Of consciousness.

The present,
So rarely apprehended
Until it is past,

Is like a doll's house
In its precious mimicry
Of all the memories
On which it's modeled.

i stand at the
Parallax point
Of this moving instant

And gaze back
At the vanishing
And yet moving union
Of the twinned trails
Of my journey.

And so
And ever so
i recede
Into the present

--Mr. Gobley