like a sigh of contentment
the mist rises and hovers
over the ridges and peaks

slipping silently along
softening edges to a blur
giving an ethereal feeling
to an already heavenly sight

we pass between bright pink
rows of bursting Redbud trees
cheerfully waving us on
scattered patches of golden
wildflowers
saluting us on the hillsides

all of which makes the rain
less dreary
and the broken white line
less tiresome

This stuff I write,
this stuff in black
and
white.
Isn't black and white
inside.
It's not
just dark
and light.

It resembles more
a jumble
of colors wild
and bright,
juxtaposed and scattered
strewn
and
thrown about.

More artist's
demented rage
than words
arranged
just so
on patient, pliant page.

walk with me
through dark of night
be my light

In the darkness of winter
find the light
inside your soul

offer it to those you meet

In the coldness of winter
find the warmth
in your heart

offer it to those you meet

for when you give
your light
and
warmth

you receive them
back
like a flame's
reflection on the window

In the bleakness of winter
find time
for yourself
for introspection
for rest
for renewal

a time
for inactivity

to see
the quietude
of nature

draw that calm
into yourself

Find joy
in simple things
a cup of tea
a crisp **** apple
warm wool socks

Curl up
by a cozy fire
to read
to plan
to dream

Take with you
a seed catalog
to hearten

a craft book
to inspire

a book of poetry
to find tranquility

When you've rested

Let your mind
create a space
of fertile ground
to later sow

Let your mind's hands
dip into the loam

smell its mellow
richness

Close your eyes

Let your mind
grow
whatever it is
you wish to cultivate

see its bright green
shoots

let them fill
your mind
with
freshness

Rejoice
in the anticipation
of spring!

June explodes green
yellow summer sears
hot,
slow,
persistent

Hazy blue mountains
******
into sunset's rosy sky
that melts
over them

Singing under a full moon
shadowy seas dream
the white dance of dawn

The whispers gather,
becoming louder
swelling
to a thunderous roar

Dawn splits the sky
with golden jagged spikes

sooty clouds darken
to coal
quiver
burst
the world is drenched

Cold rain

winter's gray ghost

From earth's marrow comes water,
sparkling and clear.
A mother's womb creates life,
fragile and dear.

A pearl in its oyster,
a plant coiled in its seed,
dream of being unearthed
and their loveliness freed.

The poet's thoughts rise
like a mist from the sea,
having known her depths
long and intimately.

The artist's brush conveys
keenly the passion that wells
in the core of his being
that no words can tell.

What makes a flower bloom
is its soul reaching out,
giving love and spreading
its beauty about.

Unfolding brings magic
once hidden from sight
wondrous things from within
released when their time's right.

He's your other half
your heart's deep red
your soul's mystery
your life in your head

He's the warmth of sun
your morning light
the stars of evening
moon shining bright

In the chill of winter
he's your temple of fire
a refuge, a sanctum
of burning desire

When beads of sweat
form on your brow
he gently smooths, then
cools as he alone knows how

You're bonded, so close
how can we know
where one begins,
the other one goes

A unit, a whole
that won't come apart
one being, one soul
rhythm of one heart.

Speak your words
Speak them loud

write them down strong

scatter your thoughts on the page

write till your fingers are numb

drain your heart of the blood
so filled with pain

unlock the chains
on your soul

take an axe to the tree
that's diseased inside

giving only
fruit that's no good

its roots won't hold
its limbs will split
in the very least wind
rising up

finding its grim branches
comfortless

even birds
have flown
taking with them their song

let it fall
let it compost
create fertile loam

say goodbye

cry
as you must
water this place

this place
that you've cleared

scatter fresh seeds
allow them to sprout
unspoiled green

then
let your light shine
on
new growth

sent out a plea not long ago
for "sorts" that I might borrow
I find myself all out again
but I know just who to blame

and where they must reside
- those enigmatic sorts -

asked for just a trim of hair
she cut it way too short

My messy house!
This holy jumble!
Let it be a shrine to Shiva,
Hindu god of destruction.

May I view the dust as
ashes of my ancestors,
imbued with their spirits
and creativity.

Let the stacks of overdue books,
mail to be sorted,
bills to be paid and
records to file
be a draft of my history,
raw and waiting to be shaped.

May I see in the cobwebs
the dust of stars and planets
from ancient times.

Let the chaos represent
a potential universe.

But mostly, please
let me have
time to clean it up
before my guests arrive!

I am the night wind.
I blow the dust
off the stars
and
brush the face
of the moon
with soft clouds.

I am the night wind.
I ruffle the hair
of lovers both
young
and old
as they exchange
their breath
for mine.

I am the night wind.
I whisper sweet nothings
to the trees
as I flirt among
their branches,
tickling their leaves.

I am the night wind.
I greet the awakening
dawn
and bow to her beauty
she blushes demurely.

save your tears
for those who cannot
cry for themselves

save your tears
for meaningful things

for birds of flight
who have lost their wings

for the baby seal
dark eyes eternally deep
who trusting man
feels his heavy club
before eternal sleep

don't cry for your own
misfortune
or pain

think of trees
showered with acid rain

save your tears
for things that
affect everyone

save your tears
for
meaningful things

like fewer song birds
to sing

cry for waters filled
with man's trash
for landfills
and sewage
and sooty ash

don't cry because
your possessions are few

or because
someone
doesn't care for you

cry for the rivers
cry for the sky
cry for the child
who doesn't know
why
his earth is covered
with concrete and steel

cry for the birds
cry for the trees

cry for diminishing numbers
of bees

cry till the world has
no more fears

cry till the salt
is gone
from your tears

cry till the water
that runs
from your eyes
becomes
a new river
clear and wide

let it pour through
mountains
proud and tall

let it rush
to the ocean
mother of all

may she embrace
the rain from
your eyes
water of a being
loving and wise

save your tears
for meaningful things
save your tears
for birds without wings

save your tears

I miss the prompts
the prompts inspired
gave us ideas
got us all fired up
to write,
to challenge ourselves
to shake dust off the pages
sitting on our minds' shelves

to dig in the word pile
stashed in our brains
looking for those just right
looking for those to explain

why we love poetry
why we all write

looking
for new ways to express
how a bird looks in flight

how the moon and the stars
make us feel

how love has betrayed us
or
how it has found us,
making us reel...
                    and real!

I know we don't need them
but each, was a fun surprise
like a gift to be opened
and then tried on for size

where do I start?
do I write from my head
or do I write from the heart

these are questions we often ponder
do I use a particular form?
short or long, and do I rhyme?

but being given a topic  
we didn't have to wonder
what to write about this time

I think I may have
an aboulia
maybe even
aboulomania

but I'll give this a
pirouette
with panache

unless I come down
with
asthenia

I'll set up a balize
to guide my figurative
calamus

as words debouch
from
my thalamus

words that have been
in the eccaleobion
for a time
aeonian

it won't make much sense
as these things seldom do
a blague is a blague is a blague
completely
all the way through

as long as they listen
my soul will sing
as long as they listen
my heart has wings

as long as the children
look up to me
with radiant smiles
content I'll be

as long as they listen
as bright eyes gaze
as long as they listen
I'll feel the sun's rays

having chosen these
with special needs
I'll continue this journey
see where it leads

as long as they listen
my soul will sing
as long as they listen
my heart has wings

alleviate
remediate

bombosity
pomposity

callow
shallow

decorat­ed
celebrated

elucidate
illuminate

fantastic
bombastic

gratefu­l
plateful

humble
bumble

idealistic
unrealistic

jocund
fecund
­
knowing
growing

lush
plush

mellow
cello

noted
quoted

ocean
m­otion

pacify
rectify

quotable
notable

realize
visualize

savor­
flavor

tawny
fawny

union
communion

vow
allow

whimsical
atypi­cal

xenial
genial

younger
hunger

zany
brainy

As taught,
I live in the layers.

Until
they become
too suffocating.

Then I move
to the place where
my mind unveils
and my body fades
to nothing,

shedding the layers.
I dance as dreams pour
into the river
around me.

Brushing its surface
with desire,
I caress the river.

Moonlight enfolds me
in a silken cloak,
soothes me like a newborn babe
with milky smoothness.

The wind renders a seductive strain
as the stars spell out words
in languages
my tongue did not used to know.

My voice becomes an angel's voice.
I sing with abandon.

When the song is complete,
I return to the layers

They are not so oppressive

Between the layers,
I hear the song
for awhile...
      
       for awhile...
            
             for awhile...

The sun descends lower
and
lower
spreading
a pink and orange haze
across purple clouds,
while stillness
diffuses
across earth
and sky
creating a space
for nighttime
till finally
the Daystar pulls up
its night covers,
letting the darkness
take hold.

did you have any garments
that were not a shade of blue?
that's what I see you in
when I stop and think of you

you loved to tell the story
of your own sister's slip
I think it was at my wedding
how funny
you would quip
that your own sister
would say
and say it right to you
your dress shows off...
but wait
they're not
your eyes aren't blue

now sometimes
when I "see" you
a vision of time gone by
you wear your color
a childlike smile
and a glimmer
of blue in your eyes

Patty preferred purple
she would only wear that
from the shoes on her feet
to the tip of her fuzzy hat

purple pants, purple shirt
purple socks, purple shoes
purple hat, purple gloves
she simply wore no other hues

Patty wore purple
whatever she did
she was a picky
persnickety kid

she didn't like peach
or pomegranate I think
and she most positively
did not like pink

sometimes it was hard to find
just the right shade
"just try the pink"
her mother tried to persuade

but Patty was stubborn
she wouldn't hear of it
she wouldn't even see
if the pink dress would fit

she yearned not for yellow
nor did she chartreuse
to get her to change
well, it just was no use

until one day picking flowers
(purple posies, of course)
Patty saw riding by
a magnificent horse

shiny black was that steed
red bows in his mane
a white star on his face
and gold bells on his rein

upon his saddle of
warm chestnut brown
sat a beautiful lady
in a marvelous gown

more hues than a rainbow
had her soft flowing dress
she smiled down at Patty
as she rode past

so many colors
Patty never had seen
like soft lemon yellow
and aquamarine

the pink of a sunrise
the white of the snow
and robin's egg blue
were all part of the glow

the horse and his rider
rode on down the lane
but the glow of their colors
seemed to remain

Patty picked up her posies
but in her bouquet
she saw flowers of all colors
that lovely spring day

now she wears other colors
even pink

nonetheless

Patty still prefers purple
she still likes it the best

...bit the proverbial dust
came crashing down like
a mighty tree in a gust
lay there without a sound

couldn't take it...I fussed
tried hard to cuss
but the words had
vanished to rust

I should be nonplussed
I should be...it's just
it's now ruined my trust
can't think of the words that I lust
for...or those that I feel that I must
find to make my speech more august

speak those words
go ahead
speak them loud
shout them from the roof

just don't expect me
to listen to you
since they're mine you
stole away

massage them
into
a slightly new form

polish them
to shine
like evening stars

it won't matter
a lick to me

pretend they're yours
strut them about

but we both know
the truth

don't  
just don't
expect me to listen

when you're up there
on the roof

Laundry hung to dry
drapes the windows in steam,
thick and hazy,
closing us in from the world.

Crowded at the table,
we eat white bean soup,
cloudy, opaque.

Everybody talking
nobody talking.

From a cardboard carton
baby chicks peep
their sun
a light bulb;
world in a box.

Mother clucks, makes
her hen sounds to shush them,
clucks to shush us.
Keep quiet.
Don't tell of anger or love.
Keep quiet.

You are earth and water
to my fire and air

My once sailor
who now works the earth
and sweats the salty sea from his pores

My dark-haired, dark-eyed
"Green man" who holds me,
connects me to the earth
while
my thoughts skim through the air,
sweeping out towards the fiery sun.

You are earth and water
to my fire and air.

Your hair the deep brown
of rich fertile loam,
mine
the color of gold and orange sunrise.

You swim.
I want to fly.

You are earth and water
to my fire and air.

You complete me.

"There's the little girl with green hair!"

She Runs
She Hides
She Cries

Aunt Mary Lou's visit...
Every time!
She weighed 300 pounds
the "fight" wasn't fair.

~Looking back would love to ask why?
Is it fun to make a little child cry?~

"Orange hair
orange freckles
and your eyes, too."

"No they're not! Stop it!
That just is not true."

She Runs
She Hides
She Cries

Big sisters time and again!
Big sisters jerking her chain!

~Later years..."Didn't you know we were just jealous?" says one.
Oh, she should know that, but you didn't know better,
it was okay when you would make fun??
even though you were older,
ganged up on her, too
making her cry
making her blue?~

So I ask...

Is it any wonder redheads are feisty?
Well, this one sure is!
Feisty and fiery, proud of it, too
Look out, her sharp tongue
could decimate you
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
No, not really. She's soft as a kitten
mooshy like most of the stuff she has written
BUT
if it's needed the feisty comes out
she will use it plus fiery to muster some clout
SO
Do not, whatever you do,
do not give her crap
I'm warning you
do not make this Ginger Snap!

Don’t stare,
but
don’t look away

as if we don’t exist or
will disappear.

Don’t judge.
“So glad that’s not me”

It could be.

Don’t assume
“drugs”…”lazy”
“offer a dollar
it’ll go for *****”

You don’t know

Don’t presume to grasp
the reasons,
the whys the wherefores
don’t write us off
as useless,
worthless,

less…

If you can’t help,
don’t want to help,
are afraid to help,
don’t trust,

then

Just offer a smile,
A good wish or prayer

But acknowledge we exist,
we, too, are human.
We breathe, we feel,
We need…
trust and love,

Not disdain,
not even pity
if that is all you have
to give…

don’t…

I remember...

shorts, barefeet and bare chest
crawdad fishing, bike riding
creek wading, rope swinging
and
flower picking

Wild gallops on the ponies

hide and seek among
(I can almost smell it)
sweet corn stalks

kick the can and tag
sitting under the apple tree
eating ("they'll make you sick")
green apples

fish fries, carnivals
and
strawberry socials

making ("my turn to crank")
homemade ice cream

thunderstorms
                     rainbows
                                             making mud pies

catching grasshoppers
and
fireflies

  staying up late
and
sleeping on the floor

evening drives
and
  honeysuckle

hours of make believe
running like the wind
and
freedom!

August

August comes
turns up the heat
August comes
with no relief

the summer air lays heavy
encasing all nearby earth
even fireflies' frolic
has turned to more a dirge

everything moves sluggishly
slowed to snail's pace
the languid cat's indifferent
to the moth
he'd earlier have chased

Augusr comes
turns up the heat
August comes
with no relief

Serenade

Sweet voices of the evening
delight of summertime
do you sing to make the sun rise?
or to make stars brightly shine?

enchanting summer concert
echoing all around
do fireflies keep your rhythm
as they dance and flit about?

do you usher in the dreamtime?
do you croon the flowers to sleep?
and

where is your song in winter?
does it rest in slumber deep?

With eager smiles they come
they come with widened eyes
like flitting butterflies they come
and pick the flowers they prize.

They taste **** berries, check what's ripe,
catch toads and set them free,
hopping themselves in synchronicity.

They say What's this? It's really tall
What's this? they ask and marvel at it all.

With eager smiles they come
they come with widened eyes
like flitting butterflies they come
and pick the flowers they prize.

Hands raw
from working the land,
back bent
and stooped
he hauls the last load
from the hay fields,
sighing in relief.

The stock will be fed
for
another
winter.

The sun burns
the horizon
as it has his skin
bronzed and glistening
among the wrinkles,
wrinkles
that
furrow
his face
like the fields
he plows
in spring.

Removing his worn
straw hat,
he wipes his brow,
hears her call him
to the evening meal
as she takes
the wash
from the line.

Later
in shadows of night
their silver-streaked heads  
propped
beside each other
in bed,  
their thoughts
struggle
with finances,
wondering
how long they’ll endure.
No words
need to pass,
their minds
are as one.

as sleep approaches,
clasping
hands,
they close
their eyes.

For now…

the land is theirs.

to be loved by a child
what more could one ask
in the light of their eyes
one can warmly bask

find a child to love
an elfish sprite
find a child to love
set your world right

innocent faces
spirits free as the wind
laughter and smiles
they almost seem winged

find a child to love
maybe even two
find a child to love
why not start with
you

The tide rolls in with a gentle breeze
as your music fills the air
with silky sweet tones
that echo this time we share.
Days of warmth and sunshine
daydreaming on the beach
cerulean skies, billowy clouds
feel within our reach.

The tide rolls in with ruffling waves
caressing the soles of our feet.
Hearts wishing summer could last
we know that time is fleet.
On moonlit nights of reverie
while strolling hand in hand,
ghost ***** dance and dart
on the cool and dampened sand.

The sea rolls in and steals our hearts
in return she leaves her gifts
strewing them at our feet:
A pearly pink shell, a lustrous black stone
arrive with her gentle beat,
the ancient ebony tooth of a shark,
a glimpse of a long ago past,
a feather dropped by a seagull in flight,
bits of smooth colored glass –
golden, azure, and rose,
amber, turquoise, and green
to be loved and treasured, to remember her by
when winter seems endless
and sunshine only a dream.

slowly night dissolves
sun and moon melt into one
pink blush of dawn

again
the moon
perched
atop
a darkened
plank of cloud
floating
in iridescent
river of sky

again
the moon
pregnant
with
the sun’s
light
round full
lake of fervor

again
the moon
opalescent
in
the stars’
glimmer
silver frosted
ocean of ecstasy

again

                        the moon...

my heart is loose
I can feel it
rattle
against my ribs

having nothing
to cling to

now
that you're gone

it drifts
aimlessly

like a tumbleweed
along
the desert's sandy floor

lightweight
empty
brittle

not completely
broken

but
a slight breeze
is
all it needs

to crack
and
fall apart

so

I hold my breath

Is this a dream?

Please let it be a dream,
a convoluted
non-sense
nightmare
of sinister clowns and cretins,
a dream of being  
lost or chased
stumbling
through darkness
terrified,
a perception of falling,
grasping at empty space.

If it were a nightmare,
at least I could wake up,
maybe even rousing myself
with screams of terror,
but
then I’d feel safe again.

This much hate and ignorance,
evil greed,
utter chaos
can’t be reality –
can it?
The world can’t sustain
the weight
of this much
depravity.

If I cried as much
as I need to
my 60-some percent water
would dissipate,
evaporate
into the abyss
that’s forming,
deepening,
followed by a lifeless body
dead and shriveled
like a sand-colored autumn leaf
making its spiritless descent
into the nothingness
of decay.

Is this the way the world will end?

Humanity gone,
defeated,
beaten down.
replaced by uncaring callousness,
war and destruction
bombs and bloodshed,
people fleeing
with nowhere
to go,
no one to trust.
Children crying
for the planet,
crying for their lack
of future,
crying for life.

Has time run out for humankind?

Can no one
wake me
from this dream?