ABANDONNED GARDEN

There is a clatter of brightness
trembling trough the branches,
as pillars of light fill empty spaces
with fragrance. Rose bushes stand
deep in grass , cobwebs breathe
between in olive trees where
memory lingers in a feathered
breath of bird.

The earth is fragrant
with past seasons and what
was there before . Unknown
is everywhere but there is
no pace outside today.

The sun behind white clouds
smiles on blooming weeds
in their unhurried  spaces.
They let the wind of world
fly through not concerned
about arriving.

Uncertain as a poem,
the garden’s voice,
sometimes a sweet
twitter, sometimes
a whispered  echo,
each word spoken
spinning its own
meaning through
earth and silence.

My mouth is the shell of a fish —
a slow flower of a bird.
Gray flower.
Ashen flower, like a breast sprung from the word of a fish.

Vine crystallized in the spasm of a vague and splendid wing,
a blow of mouth in the reflowering of the flower
in the fields strained white —
a blow born of nothing,
into the drowsiness of the shell.

Words watering in the mouth
toward the ether of the bird —
the quiver of the flower in the fish.

Come to me like a wild horse unbridled longing for the river
like a morning prayer on the heart wanting nothing more
Come to me with pining like a widow waiting for her love
like a soldier in the trenches, begging for cease fire ...

Come to me like a dove gliding over peaceful waters
like the otter and the kelp in a symbiotic drift
Come to me like stars of night shining with accord
like the morning sun at dawn, rising still on you

Come to me like a morning cup of coffee freshly brewed
like a sleeping soul awakened by dreams of yesterday
Come to me like the diner bell exhaling all your waits
like a soft caress on the skin filled with enchanting sin  

                            come to me lover with your loving touch,
                             for I love you, so much !

Trembling leaves stand out,
Yellow amongst the green-

First to expire in heat,
They tremble and fall
Decondensed,
Brittle dry harbingers

Of an early Autumn,
Chill borne on North
Sea breeze

This sunny Summer morn

In your eyes, I see my own.
I waited so long
for your presence to become real.

In that crucial moment,
I felt something
changing my awareness,
and the soundless vessels were filled
with joyful abundance—
colored by
pain and sadness
that time goes so fast
in underrated moments.

Materializing all these silent dreams,
this one little girl who is growing,
watching me with defenseless trust
like nobody has before.
Gestures, smiles, brief anger, and talks—
I gather them in endless memory.

Sweet Melody, my Purpose
from the first breath,
you chose me,
and I felt beautifully complete.

I know that a real journey
begins through terra incognita
Every day is surprisingly different.
I accept with relief my passing.
I see your blooming wisdom
in thinking smiles, and authentic recognition.

My Daughter, I want to give  
as much love and acceptance as you need.
Taking your hand and letting you go
when you’re ready
to walk into life on your own—
watching the indigo sky.
Breathing freely, without anxiety.
After each fall, another resurrection comes.

I am here, I hope to stay a long while
to finally return to my last home,
without fear, with some tears.
Please, keep embracing this existence
with good and lost people around.
Be sure that I will smile
in your still-beating heart
giving you warmth.
.

Pink confused with white
flowers and flowers reversed
take and spill the shaded flame
darting it back
into the lamp’s horn

petals aslant darkened with mauve

red where in whorls
petal lays its glow upon petal
round flamegreen throats

petals radiant with transpiercing light
contending
              above
the leaves
reaching up their modest green
from the ***’s rim

and there, wholly dark, the ***
gay with rough moss.

Our land of stars and stripes, now glows,
with screens that flicker in hallowed halls.
Entranced humans shuffle, with eyes fixed below,
on small gadgets that have us enthralled.

Should the Statue of Liberty, our symbolic girl,
be holding a smartphone up to the world?
While tweets fly like eagles and hashtags swirl,
foreign disinformation trends as fast as it’s purled.

In lunch halls, real conversations take rest,
as influence is sought—in hoity-toity, binary quest.
Friends are backdrops—originality in short supply
as likes and shares make our dopamine fly.

America’s zombies, though ******* drained,
shuffle endlessly on, with Wi-Fi stimulated brains.
Once the land of the free, we’re now the land of tech
with minds wrecked by truths unchecked.

As we rock and sway—the new robot way—
will our old, analog-republic simply fade away?
.
.
Songs for this:
Airhead by Thomas Dolby
.
Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_01.mp3

I smile just enough
and I talk just enough to
keep the questions out