She is a hive full of
Sweetness.
But , never far from
the sting .

“I see you “ she smiles
as she touches my face .

Upstairs she lies
with coverlets and curtains.

I am searching
and searching.
But , for what
I’m not sure .

Maybe diamonds
but probably
Fireflies and Lace .

Working towards not
losing my shadow.

My inertia’s held
prisoner
to her beauty
my moral vision
called and questioned.
The death of leaves ,
stranded on the high wire
in the back of beyond.

The stars try to shine
Down through indifferent clouds.
Her tears mix with rain
and water her path
defining the moments
Of forever.
Love is the fiercest part
of her being.
Though she struggles to
find it’s authenticity
Hiding her codes
behind barbwire and thorns.
Her hands are bloodstained
in the hours of time.
She is mysterious
With many latitudes
Calling from a different
Kind of universe.
Yet she walks that path of stones
Believing she is a different
Person than the one she leaves
on the trail .

Walking away from that
Hushed comfort of
understated majesty.
Hearing music amid
The squalor of verse
With strangers who love
among the poetic’s
of language.

I grow tired of the
Deep waters
I’m learning to navigate
the shallows
Where purring oratory
Captures me and leaves
Me spellbound beyond
All measures and time .

Deep on the other side
of the loom .
The other side of
a dangerous smile.
Stands the one who
knows all my lurid secrets .
Barefoot in a homespun dress
one hand against the wall.

Water runs shallow
over the rocks
across the fields .
Crickets chirping in the
cool night air .
A thousand moments
swirl over us .
An ancient wind carries
our secrets.
Rolling waters ,
crickets in our ears
suddenly we were young
and in the mountains again.

Broken compromise
and forgiveness
to balance the passion
and the need .
Blood and roses ,
a sweet kiss from
the dragon .

Laughter is the lyric,
Love is the music
a watershed melody
that never gets old .

We are lost in the
recession of time .
As three quiet birds
try to throw shadows
on our love .

Trying to heal a broken spirit
Damaged by loss
and in search of purpose.

Echoing richness in
Peripheral thoughts.
Crying for atonement in
each anguished breath .
Knowing this is our precious life
Even if any soft places
remain well hidden .

Fleeing outside to disappear
into the seven streets of Antioch
Asking for a God to save me
Cutting the fool , with prayer.
Losing the trust of the world
As bells rattle the belfries.

Ideals were put to the torch
Sequoit creek smelled
Rich and dark
With sweet sentimentality
Creative vibrancy and
My loves lost laughter .

Nothing happens that has no meaning
All of our experiences connect
Our lives
Through the open window of time
Into the nuisances that move the tides , paint the terra cotta steps with snow and
steal the deserts wind .

I make an incantation
for mercy
Un reconciled to suffering
Waiting to be cleansed of the unknowable .
The uncaring and indifferent
Stars watch from above .
Like fate .
In a mysterious biblical betrayal
Laughter fled and
Became a spider
Lost in the snow .

Ancient ruins,
Sacred truths .
Notions of thunder ridges.
Can her calling be
fever free ?

I whisper on the
high banks of noon .
A Cardinals whistle
is unlike a trains
yet each move past me
in evocative tones .
The sound of glass .
Simple vibrations
in the ether .

It was an early church
that sheltered the grave
of the one who
sent us home .

There are Fierce freedoms
holding me in orbit .
That help me step forward
and stand up .

I read in husky whispers
and am amazed
by how she glows
like the moon
through the clouds .

Remembered sensations
of cut stained glass dawns .
Rich in the embers of
fires from time passed .
Kissed in fury
Lost in tenderness.

The softness
The sweetness
The never diminished
Strafe of femininity.
A gentle peacemaking
roll of thunder .
Surveying the land
for promises kept .
Startled by glimpses
of echoed rememberances .

She was soft and eager
with a dangerous
primitive desire.
A hopeless appeal to
her lawlessness.
With no direction
she turned the corner
abandoning pride
neither giving nor taking .

As he’s finishing a painting
He wonders
would he hear from her again .

Life is beautifully random .
Accidental chaos .
A draining rainbow
riddles and conversations.
Rain and smoldering seasons .
Every theme a lovers soul
questions, locks and
Minor Keyes .
The verses of the mind
The poetry of the soul .

Thus to be remembered.

Sailing ships of worship slip
away from the shores of religion.
Poetry of composition
brush strokes of fate .
Along suffering
vows of indifference.

Grace and prose are her beauty.
Thorns and thistle,
Rivers and stone .
Time lost in heartache
Spiderwebs across the lense
of dawns looking glass .
Carrying daisies with
walking sticks and rain .
Time that’s worn
flattened and ragged .
Ripped from the lining
of a golden meadows hem .

Beneath a quilt of sorrow
is a straw filled conscience.
Making my peace
behind a long thicket
of wild rose .

No garden in this wind ,
no god in this garden.
The moon shot hope
from the meadow .

Walked in the forest
and yelled at the ferns
then apologized.

This feminine tree
seemed much older .
At the rivers head
it cried.

The vicious circle
closed then opened
and in it I flounder .

The final
sun on my shoulder
through the whispering leaves .

Heavily, the deep quiet
of the river bottom envelopes me .
How do rivers begin ,
I cried .

heart of mercy

crying to be heard

in the dimming of

dusks  last true light

and the chilly winds

of emptiness

following a trail of tears

to an eerie blue Twilight



what we can't forget

is hidden in our hearts

buried somewhere behind

the midnight rains

between the lilting

moonlit mirages

and the lost forests

tragic last refrains



heart of mercy

tolling for freedom

back from the endless

assaults on morality

beating like rain

on the hollow log

of a reckless

and uncertain eternity



where a red flower

is damp with dew

where hatred is lost

in the cool of the morn

where the thick limbs

of the sycamore grew

where young dreams

are waiting to be born

where sundown trails

like a faithful dog

where the promise of magic

is waiting to be revealed

where sinners fail

and lovers never part

where lovers fight on

and prophets kneeled

where there is still

mercy in my heart

Eternity between the moments
of the seconds .
God between the seconds
of eternity.

The flower screamed
in tendrils of smoke .
The tragedy of
the fundamental
redemption of sins
forgiveness.

Alone on a lost
ribbon of road .
Adrift in the cool
dog eared dawn .

Destiny has whispered
in my ear .
Forcing me to listen .
A friend lost ,
another a lie .

A hole in the meadow
filling with smoke .
Shadows laid claim
by destiny’s hours .
Two tracks thought true
One lost , one forsaken.

Terrified this is a test
from God .
Burden in the hours
from this age of faith .

Ditches of sorrow
trails of betrayal,
the smoke bleeds
the hours
and I confess .

Goodnight my friend
I say my prayers
of the Earth ,
of the four winds
and the rain.

You have given all that
was inside your heart
and have moved on
to the quiet peace
of the shadows .
Where the winds have stopped
and the stillness is eternal.

I will think of you
when the cold ashes
of the night fires
are relit by the
dying embers
of a shooting star .

Only the mountains now
seem immortal.
It is true and right to die .
To navigate the high passes
over into the valley
of the shadows below .

My friend the hour
of the mirror will hold us .

I will look for you
whenever my heart feels
the tug of the
roadless horizon.
I will look for you
deep in the shadowlands
of mist .

I know
we will come together
when the winds blow
inside the shadow
of the shadows.

Goodnight my friend
travel that wind
into the mists
cold and damp .

And I will say
my prayers .

As I sit down to
paint an image
That rolls through my eyes
like thunder through the valley.

Music all around
a ripple in the ether.
Used as a cats paw
from the misty East
to the dark veil
of midnight shadows .

Vinegar and honey .
Freedom our glory
entitlement our tragedy.
A broken anvil
of shadow men
to a fearful God .

We met at the twilight
of twilight .
As the waning moon
Floats on the slithering river.

Praying for vengeance
into the décolletage.
Mosaics of pain
and betrayal
inspiring me to create.

A crack in the mirror
skewers my reflection.
A world spinning
around me
trying to calm it down.

A fragment of a memory
going nowhere
lacking detail and rhythm.

Hot desert night
candles on the gravestones
A scar on his forehead
in the shape of a cross.

Dreams tattooed with
leaves and whisky.
Razor blades served
with printed instructions.

The worm in the bottle
has magical powers .
Better any day than
a bittersweet message.

Free will a desperate illusion
one which guides our way .
We are all aligned like
the moon and stars
Into the sightless
cruelty of fate .

Standing in the doorway
of the alleyway of fog .
If you ever loved me he cries
show me the shadow
of your mercy .

A vortex lost  in the
black hole of shadows.
The place where silence
was born
in the blood of atonement.

Born ****** in the heat
of the heartland.
The prophet rises in the
swirling dust
raises his arms
and screams .

I try to set the
screams to music .

There is no release from
sorrow as I cry.
Breaking the treaty
of silence of the
Ancient grieving.
Antilight remains a
dark secret
in the night garden.

Her words had The sweetness
of Honey that only
Wild bees can make .

I often call on god
to explain
but , I get no answers.
He bellows a silence that
I think comes
far too easily.
I receive abundant nothingness,
as it is a hard god
that dried up my prayers
and let me move on
to where my rivers run deep
with drown desire.

I grew up in a house
painted the color of a Bakery .
On a street named after the town
that Bakery is in .

I feel myself drawn
back to the beginnings
catching Salamanders ,
Tadpoles and barefoot
Girls hearts .
Pepe barked and baseballs flew
As the wild Bees
made Honey.

Now I live in a house
the colors of the Bakery
in reverse .
I pick up leaves and
make tracks in the snow
shaped like peace signs .
And I search for that
elusive wild Honey.

Willow barks and
memories fly .
I find my comfort
in my realm of circles .
Until the Universe
finds me and
calls me Home.

Ancient whispers reverberate
through the valleys beyond description.
Saddlesore and invigorated
reins and stirrup sunsets .
Praying to the fire before the lowing dawn .
Smoke rises on an early
morning snow .
Hoof tracks coerced in the
silence beneath the winds .
There is a trust inherent
between the horses  and
Their cattle .

Those ancient spirits guide us ,
So strong and unwavering
we drop to our knees in awe .
And weep .
This land cannot be taken .
This land unyielding and
relentless.
This land that cannot be
controlled.
The hours hold no mercy
for the profound soul
of another age .
The duel between land and Skies .
Freedom in tears and brambles , the thistle and the thorns .
Ridges and thunderheads
Collide, beautifully deep
beyond words .
Casting the dreams that
whisper in your eyes .

Hard work and long days
honor in the wind runners,
depth in the spurs and the saddles.
In the feathers and the ropes.
Pilippa smiles , she’s home
on the range .
It seems there is only the skies above and the earth in your toes.
The open range , the one you love .
Dreams filled with Prairie stars .
The big skies seemingly dancing with the ****** land
creeping on forever .
Maybe this land defeats us .
This Savage land whose
music forever haunts us .
Or maybe it defines us .

This vast landscape
of dust , time and heart .
Boundless energy,
romance and danger .
Never wanting to leave it
to never say goodbye.
If there is a judgment
at the end of this trail .
Know it’s to follow your Lodestar.
Take risks and begin anew.
Know this land fills your heart
and sears your soul
to those ancient whispers.