She is beauty, she is grace

She is the wonder of the day

She is whispered on the wind

Spoken highly of by men

The very talk of the town

She is the thought that comes around

She is the hope in all of this

She's at the top of every list

She is the dream you can't escape

Although you don't look for a way

She is the light to a man's path

Showing where it is all at

She's the cause and the effect

Over everything there is

After all is done and said

She is all that there is left

She is the fulfillment to man's need

All the best that's gone to seed

Out of all of this and that

She is woman at her best

I cleaned your mess up this morning from over the winter.
Swept it all to the ground to help nourish you.
So many seeds you have dropped.
So many leaves you had lost.
I sit upon my lounging chair with coffee in hand.
Its still a bit chilly here so a blanket I wear.

Such a beautiful tree you are.
Strong and healthy.
Leaves starting to come out, I cant wait.

Soon I shall sit here to have my coffee every morning.
To read my book in the afternoon.
To take a long nap.
To meditate.
You are the perfect tree that brings me peace.
Which clears my mind so that I rest.
You have become such a part me.
Thank you my wonderful tree.
A friend you are.

So mote it be.

The sacred ones
spin
circular,
tethered
to the womb
of the Mother,
pierced
forever.

See the sacred clowns
on the edge of tomorrow,
they sip sage tea.

I hear the winds,
I hear the winds
across
the great plains,
blowing
from the four.

It's a quiet sacred place,
deep in the oak hammocks,
way beyond the pine flatlands
& cabbage palms.
There I commune
with the crows
and the crickets.
And at night,
a bullfrog symphony plays.
The mosquitoes,
*****,
and armadillos
come out to play.
It remains sacred,
but is not nearly as quiet.

One day, I will build
a home made of cardboard,
a small enclosure
set on the vacant lot
located at the corner of
Fate Street.
Pedestrians will pass me by
as they gawk at my home,
a spacious two square foot mansion.
It might be slightly drafty
in the winter,
or perhaps need a fan
in the summer,
but no one can deny
if I will be happy –
perhaps a cardboard box
is all I need.