I smell a fragrance
Familiar to me
There’s no one around
Except just for me
It’s quiet
It’s dark
It’s calm
I feel a gentle tickle on my arm
But there’s no one there
I can not see
I think it’s a spirit
Trying to talk to me
Someone gone before
But now just passing by!

The field is full of pheasants
All running around
There’s the runners and
The males and females
Abound in the long dry grass

I try to take a picture
But no, alas, they have class,
They’re hiding in the long dry grass
No pictures to be had
somehow it made me sad

It was a rare old sight
End of the day
Coming night
No gun just a camera
They probably thought I’d shoot

It really was a hoot!

The bamboo tree is waving at me
The wind is getting worse
It’s swinging side to side
As if it has a curse
And then it stops quite still
The rain comes down at will
And now he’s getting wet
The wind comes back with force
He swings around of course
His branches shudder and shake
I hope that wind will break

Far away we are
But at least when we look up
We see the same sky

Asphalt night
by red dawn’s light
descends into deepest fog.

A glimmer of bright
on the edge of sight
shimmers blue: I begin to walk.

A space-age fortress of glitzy build
stands empty. It had once been filled
with shining futures of tinsel, milled
of bronze for a time that all would thrill.

How empty the future past now seems
behind the glass of wasted dreams:
Once polished steel now dimly gleams
and old high tech lies there unredeemed.

Its giant clock now standing still,
the hands unmoving, like hopes that will
remain as frozen in amber that’s filled
with flies of dreams: placebo pills.

The mind’s a magnet
but also a sieve,
sometimes a dragnet
with nothing to give.

A mesh of iron —
or is it fool’s gold? —
attracts the ions
of whatever it’s told.

It scoops from the streams
of wisdom and truth
but catches jetsam —
what’s floating ’round loose.

Whoever may say
“Well, that’s just not me!” —
It will come, that day.
Just wait and you’ll see.

Four poles, four people, and I have four corners.
The color in me is red with a white background.
People like my colorful side, so they like me outside.
The strife of words has a momentary fragrance.
My simplicity requires the exclusivity of life.

My first fold is rather simple,
Closing the doors to my white side
And revealing my colorful side.

My second need is mythical,
Making me smaller while enlarging my weight.

My third fold is about keeping myself.

My fourth fold presents me to the whole world with layers.

Before my fifth fold,
I must fold myself into diamond and open up.

The last fold makes me lenient.
Now, I am a boat,
Discovering myself in this ocean.