are the roses the poses of *** scented
posies daffodils the  long stems of grass
the moss the rutting of rabbits
in the field(s) without
ravaging man's hands and intrusions

If we were more the masters might
we plant more hibiscus or petunias
or forget-me-nots
and I see
the mastery of natural selection

by being the one selected out
and it happens and
life goes on
and the fields bloom with beauty
year after year
with or without me

but man is jealous
of nature and seeks to tame
the untamable
the wildness the random
seeks to explain why
and hold to his breast

a velvet touch a silk rose
his wisdom
as better

To the herdsman counting his flock in the moonlight
The plowman repairing his tractor by lantern- light
The wood splitter , the fence builder , framer and rail tender
Architects of frozen December morns
Unsung engineers , freight worker and brakemen
'Twould be a privilege indeed to sup cold beer with the countries heroes , privy to stories of hardship and raw weather days endured by these American patriots
Iron tooled with steel , the churning grist mill , diesel engine roar ,
black earth turned anew , billowing steam settled over valley floors
Masters of metal , brake and die , machine and anvil
The crack of the peen long before sunrise
'Tis the bailiwick of farmer and tradesman* ..

This will be the only poem here that I do not first write in my notebook.
Because it is not meant for me, it is meant for you,
this community.
A community where writers dare to write,
and judgement is not cast, no.
Where everyone knows and understands that the words are just that --
our own, and just words,
and that disagreeing, shamefully disgracing, and harming another
would only harm the community.
A community with hearts of gold and understanding in the darkest
of all of our  times.
We know that when we are feeling worst, or better,
our best,
we can spill ourselves onto paper, and then this screen,
or skip the paper (but I will only this once!),
and we will be welcomed with open arms
to those that understand
on the fundamental level what it is to love and to lose,
and to those that will not cast their own bias toward us.
And although I only post infrequently,
and love and share others' poetry even less infrequently
(I always and will always feel guilty about my lack
of contribution to this beautiful place),
I know that this is the place that has literally,
yes, literally,
the best people around.
Even though I haven't been around much,
I've never been met with a word that was less than kind,
and I think that the world should strive to be like you,
each and every one of you,
this community.

she was prosedy
not encoded in anything shorter
than herself
and herself was vast

she was vocabulary and rhyme all
at once
she was the loudness
with which I cried

intensity and duration
spectrally my rhyme
you just had to hear her

whereby the pause
was significant
I cried higher

higher until
she stopped
listening

the passages play taking me deeper within
the catacombs the secrecy
along the dark I crawl on
hands on knees

until I reach this depth I seem
to think all is but a secret fallacy
a game we play with truth
and light and dark

at times I break away from reality
try to make sense of what i have seen
the melting clocks the obscene

visions of the holocaust
skeletons
are in the closet
of the whole of us

judge me
judge and as Jesus said
those without sin

I am calm now

I think there may be a day beginning
before another war
where we might
stop trying to
be
and all sit down together

in a round
amphitheater and hear
together
the angels sing

to decide are you better now
has the hand of fate made you wiser
richer or  more prolific

is that not enough time
to decipher truth and reason and rhyme
or I will give you ten more

and will that make the differences
to make you perfect then
then is what I look at

now needs to be studied
amplified sung seen
now is all there is

for certain and so fleeting
as to where it is or where it needs to be
but, if one

calms hisself himself herself its being
enough now comes crystal clear
now

cleanses the past de-worries the future
doesn't depend on fair skies or riches
now is breathing

is all we have
is something the Philosophers
missed

it is hard to grasp now and hold her down
in fact it's impossible
but if you can try

to live  in the  now
then then becomes passe

I have found the beauty
you propounded
your wisdom in choosing me

Heart melded perhaps
with wisdom
self with empathy

it took ages and
was not an easy path
to send me on

you , my muses ,
must have seen something
in my being

in my me, far off , you
saw future , predicted
where I might become

a mere human
striving for a muse or inspiration
among so many.

I am heartened
by the thought of you
inspiring

so many more