A mini-sphere ruptures
amends untold lives for all time
abandons those close to devastation
the angel of death executes her calling
upon a still warm body
a man whose depression pleads for her to save him

Those left behind
remember the decimation
nightmares
demise, hollow
only dark memories float
angel of death clinches him
at once, they bolt into an unknown space of her choice.

Alone, in springtime, I cultivate my garden
***** my finger on a pink rose stem
a slight smudge of bright red blood
trickles to my palm
a blemish, no distress
resembles a red tattoo

I recall as a wee child
I would shriek at the glimpse of blood
time being I kiss the rose
grateful for its sugary fragrance
which edifies my spirit

Opposites entice
surge of the season
heat scorches the golden sand
swim towels scatter, soda pop cans astray
smell of suntan lotion and seaweed
trickles of waves bubble to the shore
last idle days of summer

Culmination
sun's energy pales
beaches hollow, beseech sunbathers, walkers
footprints of Sandpipers scamper
scents of salty waves swell near the beach
bright red faces fade, scabby skin

Brand new flavor bursts in
muffled breath of cool air
slight breeze swings one's hair
refreshes the core
hints of red, yellow, green hues
alight on leaves
sun glowers
fall beckons

Rain pours down on my broken core
my nerves pulsate from the soak
still I quiver, though I dry myself
in the warmth of the sun
darkness besieges within
as the world passes me by
my comfort lay in the blackness of the ocean
lifesaver that has its absence
only fleetingly

I find solace with the sea creatures
I am lulled
they greet me with an enduring glance
no pretense in my sanctum
voices of my sphere
who empathize with my pain
and, as I exit for a time
I deem unsavory
the colors of the detached world, onerous
I totter after my soak, rattle with unease
my repose is dark, as I yield to the inkiness in peace

Dandelion white seed cloud
ticklish to my nose, giggle
as it was when a young child
puff the airy seeds
whiff, only the stem remains
years ago, I rendered a wish
longed for it to come true

At present I am an aging arthritic
As I walk routinely about colorful fields
near my house, I pick these featherweight belles
say to myself "Am I too old to realize wishes?"
I ponder, and given that I am a sentimentalist
I go for it!
Blow and tiny seeds flutter and alight on me
I believe it is a good omen

While I walk I discover a bench, slightly hidden
behind a broad oak tree, all the while I hold the stem
sit, eyes close with ease
breathe the scent of freshly cut grass
slowly submit to a space between wake and sleep

I am in France, countryside, by a river
Ornate chateau, vineyard close by
stocks our bon vivant taste
acres of hillsides covered with
yellow **** and purple grapes
ancient road edges up to the chateau
garden of green, yellow and red vegetables
presents to table
freshly cooked by chef Henri
the pool is cool and refreshing
just as I approach my dive

I wake up!!
what a lovely sojourn
medicine for the arthritis
,

I used to swish about Bear Creek
behind our white clapboard family farm house
I remember the water smelled clean
Not salty or muddy
it squirts over glossy mossy rocks
all shapes ans sizes
slip slide after rain gushes down

When the sky opens its hatch
it belches rain in globs
Bear Creek swells swiftly
rocks fade away
it spins anger
waves emerge, frothy white caps
mimics an incensed ocean

Swollen creeks are bouncy
my inner tube travels fast
my bottom strokes frigid mountain water
but oh I wished it would last