I see faces in the clouds
And curtains and the walls
I see faces in the trees
And the leaves before they fall
I look into the mirror
And this is what I see
A face thay call a failure
Looking looking back at me.
I told my mother what I had seen
The mirror clouds and curtains
And the leaves upon the trees.
Her words were wise as always
She turned and said to me
Believe nothing that you hear son
And only half of what you see.

You were there
To put me right
When I was going wrong
Times when I was weak
You were there
To make me strong.
You were there
To keep me sheltered
From rain and heavy storms
A guiding light that shone
From the day that I was born.
You were the hand upon my shoulder
The wisdom from above
And now I have grown into a man
Your legacy is love.

dust cloud heavy
in an apricot sky
cottonwood mucker
under ambrose pale
whippet and shepherd
mill at the earth patch
yellow birch hangs
over red bench park

combine shavings
in crack rust brown
scissors chips fall
at the back stop
whiskey jack looters
sing patented chords
siblings (and 2 wheel enthusiasts!)
give thanks

joyous retrievers
master the criss cross
bare maples stand
at settlers way
barred owl and blue jay
whistle in the fore-wind
ghosts
and goblins
pull on the seeds

wind gusts belt
over the west gulch
a blood rush churns
in the chilling fall morn
hallowed grounds still
at the midday
quiet reflections
of the afghan
and hound

jumpers unite
at the oxbow
route runners bend
(on a sultry foray!)
meadows exposed
in the framework
ball parks empty
with pennants past

barrel dirt favors
the brew house
crimson and copper
find bracken ridge gate
harvest hands savor
the honey and hops
blankets of color
for a winter's hatch

brush fire kept
under steady peruse
bark bites fly
and embers glow
pine cones drop
from the timber tops
3 wick candles
grace the dinner place

shiver and ******
at the piper's call
cob web dew
on the shadowy gates
a chilled mist mellows
the season's return ~
poets and artists
and dreamers awake

The red maple tree
was a chord you set down
planted at the edge of the lawn
when I was born

you said it was
for the butterfly catcher
who will grow up
to gather up the cosmos

I disappointed
by staying low, a shrub no taller than your irises
Your granddaughter
inherited your songs instead
understands tempo
that shapeless country
of time signatures that counts ideas in seeds
She rambles across sheet music
turns that scattering
into the glitter of song

You've crossed the bridge of night
now you are lost in the stars,

You add to the Milky Way
your off-beat insights
still singing poetry
with Kurt Weil, Lenya, and Lees

your words traveling through
the heavens with Mackie Messer
who knifes the mysteries

You give it all verse
counting inspiration in the deep
your genius out there
where the moon's white mask
appears on stage each night
with requiems and prayers
giving stage directions
to the earth below.