~
I felt a funeral
between the timid breaths
of ruination, we plucked
to death the melancholic florals
called time flowers,
translucent growths
with crystal hearts,
gifted them to someone else's children,
placed them around the waist
of everyone else's wives.

When plucked,
that crystal core dissolves,
emitting the light trapped within.
perpetual splendor or
the endless cycles of death?
do the normal rules
of chronology apply?

Look now! here comes
the great unwashed riot,
we live in an age of visual saturation,
where tragedy and beautiful
distractions crowd in on all sides,
clamoring for our attention.

Perhaps the dystopian premise
is part of a fiendish plan,
becoming the backdrop
to a fluttering cornucopia
of florals, each outfit paraded
In the beginning of May,
a blooming display of finery
hiding a complex
network of roots –
sponsorship deals,
brand calculations,
dedicated craftsmanship,
exposure opportunities
– beneath its pretty skirts.
~

3 months old little Paddle began to change
His fluffy yellow feathers rearranged
His new feathers silvery brown exchanged

A little taller in stature, neck now long
Mrs. Fiddle and Mr. Faddle waddle doddle
Little paddle, full of **** and vinegar
full throttle singing a song

One fine day his family got larger, they say
Mrs. Toodles, and Mr. Doodles and their
3 triplets aunt, uncle cousins, arrived today
Doodle , Caboodle, and Scoodle  Triplets
The girls walking  and talking  liplets

The triplets Doodle, Caboodle,Scoodle and little Paddle scurry flurry off to play
Mrs Fittle, Mr Faddle, Mrs Tootle, Mr. Doodle  between them not much to say
Frazzled and dazzled, caring for their offspring each day

The geese parents getting older
The Young gaggle of geese growing bolder
As the weather grew colder?

The familys stay away from the flock
Each day time takes away the ever changing clock
Both parents know one thing fear the dock

The first snippet and tip it good weather
No longer needing those thick feathers like a sweater
The sweet smell of flowers, hang in the air, lilac, and Heather

It’s time to learn how to Fly
The gaggle of geese begin to nervously cry
Trying to lift off the ground their parents
Not a sound, cautiously, look around
Keep trying, encourage, parent geese flying
Take a run for the sky lift off high battle cry

The exquisite excitement is in the air
Feathers to and fro flailing everywhere
The triplets hover lovers without a care
Little paddles Svelte feathers show a tare
Slowly draft drifted Earth bound
A shaky *** slump, defeated down

Mrs. Fittle, and Mr. Faddle right behind
Little paddle’s battle to stay in the air
Incidence grew in intensity with Care

The truth his feathers were just not ready
Sadly madly he wanted to soar not steady
His wings too small it was not his time
The hardest lesson is being left behind

Little paddle’s glorious day will come
He will gleefully glide, in the big blue sky
With Mrs. fiddle and Mr. Faddle closely by

Will you... walk a while with me
Along my painful way
A love whose heart has eyes to see
When stars shine over the darken sea
The quiet rest at the end of the day
While all else sleep I cry and prey
Will you... walk a while with me
A friend who knows and cares to say
"Stay strong my dear I am always near"
Sweet words that cheer my questioning heart
No matter how distant we are never apart
Will you... walk a while with me
In spirit you take my hand
With tearful eyes I search for answers
In the kindness of your soul
Until the pain will let me go
Will you... walk a while with me

winter buries her flames,
buries whispers of river and leaf,

the sea wraps turquoise into bronze,
everything is full of white bones,

the sky is an illusion of clouds,
her petticoats blue rags,

the day is as heavy as a paperweight,
as brittle as a glass flower,

the light is as naked as the trees
gold could not be more cold,

the sunlight reflects in the snow,
her amber eyes gleam,

nothing flows, nothing flowers,
nothing flows, nothing flowers,

and your smile is the sun,
a ghost as faint as watercolour,

the brush dipped in daylight,
a little part of me.

Gauze
or some tape

to cover a scrape
or scratch

that we tell ourselves
is only a temporary solution

but then
ends up another

permanent accessory
to our makeshift lives

when the edge of darkness beckons
and thunderstorms are calling to you
from distant mountains,

fall slow,

so I m falling slow

like rain turning to snowflakes,
like snowflakes turning into rain.

the rain running down my window pane.
an unshaded lamp and a cold bed.

I roll to face the wall

and how cruel the raindrops
to cast teardrop shadows onto the wall.


the poet's dream;
the moth seeking the light of a distant star.

how many dreams forgotten?

I'm searching for
the summer of dreams,
songs, and a voice, and words

floating through clouds like roses,

I'm searching for the distant star,
the mystery of tomorrow
and a pair of eyes to fall into,
the silent touch of raindrops
turning into words.