Perfect morning scene
Full quality of light
Fruit tree flowers flush
So very pink against
A sky so very blue

Honey jasmine air
Star petals frosty white
Burning bottle brush
with scarlet flames not quenched
by glinting candy dew

Leaves drink up the sun
See all the clocks
In all the trees
Sense shifting balance favour
less the nighttme, more the day

Triumphant feeling flows
The equinox
In quiet passing
Led to colours loudly telling
that the light will have its way

Impossible despair
When nature shines like this
Warming every part
From gloomy winter shade
To hibernating cheer

A message penned in glow
Unable to resist
Thaws the chilly heart
Where sprouting joy is made
And bliss is running clear

Less the nighttime, more the day
The light will have its way
Now spring is here

so i says to the bear when he woke,



hello,

i will be quiet today.



why, he replies.



my friend has died.



the bear says, then i shall be quiet too.

"what was the Maltese Falcon?" the boy asks.

his father replies, "The stuff that dreams are made of."


the world is loud:
sirens,
headlines,
grief, love, fear,
heartbreak and flames.

life is a rat race
and the rats are winning

so throw confetti at the funeral.

we name our ghosts
and call them love.
we chase the falcon
of black painted lead,
light candles in an empty room
and call it faith.

where do we go from here?

walk against the parade
through costumes,
floats and marching bands?

the night runs through us all
while the world politely burns.

we call it sanity...this quiet compliance.

but clarity assumes rebellion.
take the straight line
through the storm.

throw confetti at our funeral.
(sadness wears confetti, well.)


every moment the soul screams
we tread closer to the razor's edge.

October, bring me home to all the scents I so adore
clothe me in cinnamon dreams and help me collect
all the  colors that I so lovingly wrapped  
with burlap's gentle touch !

October, blush me with orange and tangerines
tint my lips with red and crimson sheen
and as the fall foliage falls away from me,  
bring me a mug of  pumpkin spice, Oh please

October, while  your busy bagging gold
I am gathering dry leaves at my feet
Raking in hopes for a mild mild winter,    
and marshmallows roasting by a lovely fireside.

After the first hard frost comes the gentle snow,  
then later on if we are lucky, a beautiful warm spring in toe...

Changing gear,
     my mind is on cruise,
becoming clear,
     as I start to muse,
about love and lust, *** and sinning,
     I'm starting to grin
          and I'm settling in
for a show that is just beginning.

Changing gear,
     her dress on the floor,
becoming clear,
     her skin shows more,
of lust and love, sinning and ***,
     She starts to smile,
          and looking a while
at the poet who is lustfully hexed.

I found her in the vapor of a summer dream
She was standing in the door to Paradise
When I asked if I could see her in the sunlight
Her laughter matched the sparkle in her eyes.

Her smile was like a sunlit pond at twilight.
Her eyes resembled sapphires at high noon.
Her hair was like a swirling touch of midnight.
Her voice as sweet as birdsong heard in June.

Her appearance gave me cause to stop and wonder
If who I saw was really standing there
Or was it just my wild imagination
Creating loveliness from smokey Summer air.

I crept a careful step or two towards her
My pulse was pounding madly in my throat
She frowned at me then edged a little backwards-
And suddenly between us was a moat.

There was no bridge or any walkway over.
She was securely on the other side.
It seemed as though she couldn't let me join her
She made that clear no matter what I tried.

I wrote a note of love on parchment paper
And sailed it to her in a little boat
She reached down to fetch it from the water
And read while lumps were forming in my throat

She tucked the folded note into her *****
And wiped a forming teardrop from her eye
She smiled and then she sadly whispered to me
The only word I feared - it was Goodbye.

The moat became a little stream of water
The doorway, two tall Jacaranda trees
The paradise that somehow she had come from
Transformed to smoke, soon taken by the breeze.

And I was left alone to stand and wonder
If everything I’d seen was truly there
Or was this just a middle-aged delusion
Providing me a thrilling tale to share.
ljm