In The Labyrinth

By Patrick J. Leach

In the Labyrinth

Obscurity rattles me.
One labyrinth tangled inside
another. Skeletons with living
flesh hanging off, defying the
certainty of death.

Before I entered this being.
I would walk on Earth,
on feet of clay. Become
dust particles coalesced.
Over centuries orbiting
a star. I would be
honorable. Sober. Do
scrimshaw paintings on
bone and tusk mornings.

Walk paths through
labyrinths. Give love. Radiate
compassion. Be with those
I emulate. Shine with reason.
Respect. I would evaporate
the junk off from me.
Stare deep into the
essence of everything.

I would truly live
each day creatively.
I would pull all of my Creator
into me. I would welcome
death when it comes,
collapsing into it,
eventually...

Please join me in this fascinating journey through this labyrinth of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick J. Leach
• Release date: Jan 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370601530

Patrick J. Leach

Patrick J. Leach lives in Portland, Oregon. An artist and a writer, Leach has written professionally for companies and universities. He is co-author with Frances Price Cook of a biography, The life and Art of C.S. Price.In 1995 he abandoned the corporate life, focusing on painting and poetry while earning money caring for neighborhood yards and homes.Leach has published over 16 books of poetry and art, available in print and eBook formats. Watch for more of his books combining his unique blend of poetry and art.Leach studied creative writing (poetry) at Cornell University (B.S. General Studies, 1972), and holds two Masters degrees from Washington State University (Sociology, Education). "I've always considered myself a writer. I've taken many paths, tried a variety of occupations, always returning to writing and art."

Book preview

In the Labyrinth

Obscurity rattles me.

One labyrinth tangled inside

another. Skeletons with living

flesh hanging off, defying the

certainty of death.

Before I entered this being.

I would walk on Earth,

on feet of clay. Become

dust particles coalesced

Over centuries orbiting

a star. I would be

honorable. Sober. Do

scrimshaw paintings on

bone and tusk mornings.

Radiate compassion. Give

love. Walk winding paths.

Be with those I emulate.

Shine with reason.

Respect. I would evaporate

the junk off from me.

Stare deep into the

essence of everything.

I would truly live

each day creatively.

I would pull all of my Creator

into me. I would welcome

death when it comes,

collapsing into it,

eventually in the labyrinth

of time …

The Inner Workings

Belligerence yields to compassion with age

The mind is a complicated place to be

Slippery, hard to get a hold of, the harder

It is gripped the more it slips

And just when you think you have it figured out

It changes

And changes again

The inner workings of this reality

Change is the only constant

And in one raindrop –

Eternity

Cee Cee on Kee Beach, 2006

Bethey, 2014

the long, long river of life

the big, wide calm stretches

floating along

enjoying the view

the places where it narrows

with rapids

and rock walls so close

they threaten to smash me up

then calm

and the waterfalls

that must be portaged around

if I know they are coming

far enough away to get out

the wisdom speaks to us

in words not always easy to hear

"Enjoy the journey, this is all there

is. It is not the destination. You will

get there soon enough."

"Go visit the mango tree, apple,

orange, coffee, and pear. Climb up."

"When love presents itself, go all

the way in. Even when love is not

around, give yourself some love."

Alone on This Ocean of Life, 2010

Tryst, 2014

Brick Walls

When I was young

I remember the big people

Talking in hushed tones

Thinking I could not hear

But my ears were good

They would tell stories they heard

About men getting drunk

And driving their cars into brick walls

And bridge abutments

At ninety miles an hour

And I could not imagine why a man would do that

But now that I’m older

I understand

Who Goes There

San Francisco.

It is night.

On streets I walked with my mother

When she was alive.

That night we walked ten miles.

Rode electric trains. Parked in Golden

Gate Park. Rode trolleys.

Ate lunch at Fisherman’s Wharf.

Laughed and cried.

I watched her smoke her filtered cigarettes.

We did not know then they were killing her.

Sucking out her life.

We walked up and down hills.

It was cool and foggy that night.

We watched the light turn away.

I