Gathered together with friends.  We welcome the warmth. The bread is broken, the soup is pure.  Tonight we celebrate. Outside no more.

Dust in a bowl,
an empty page.

You are the dust gathering, day by day.  A mirror image of an empty page, the stars are shining but your curtains obscure.

Her feet touch the earth,

growing like the grass.

White clouds part, the canvas turn dark, inside these thoughts still gleam, seeking out the stars.

The warmth of the water, the foam, the bubbles, simple things comfort and calm the mind.

The view from the window, the autumn leaves, lost amongst trees, thoughts branching, deep breathing.

The old clock is ticking, hands working together, small moments savoured; this afternoon, washing dishes.

The tobacco stained ground shimmers in the heat. Dusty boots stand alone, solitary monuments to past journeys.  His old rope lies untouched like a coiled snake... yet the memories remain.

In the blue
clouds drift,

Silver linings,
hidden inside.  

Together we dance,

A small frog leaps,
the lilly pad pops.

June becomes a shadow in time.

Still resting here as the blue jay flies.

Rebounding raindrops
sparkle like diamonds:
relaxing in the garden.

The words lay down their lives, poetry is the temple.  

No faces required, no images desired...

From black and white the colors emerge.

Drifting on the breeze, teardrops fall.

Into the skies I glide, a blue dream begins, years regress, I surf through time.

The garden so green, together we spin, dizziness is our altered state.

Old faces return:

"Hey Grandma, I've picked some mint just for you... don't forget the rosemary, you'll enjoy that too"

Old sounds play:

"Yesterday all my troubles seemed so far away"

Together we spin, twisting the trance, returning to another time.

In the sky we fly, drifting and dreaming of her deep blue eyes.

Gripped by the thoughts of a thousand years, swimming in the sea of a zillion dreams.

Twirls of seaweed, and glimmering shoals we pass.

Into the monument, a lost shipwreck; I anchor my life in her underwater scenes.

Bubbles rise, the world
awaits my voice.

Together we dive, hiding our secrets, afraid of the past.

Antique screens hold golden dreams.

You smile for nothing in particular... the truth is unknown, a flipside moment when all is lost.  Triumph hides in the shadow, in order to see the light you must first leave the dark.

Shadows fall, the path winds on, each step I take with care.  There is a chill in the air, wind blowing autumn leaves, too dark to see, yet so clearly I hear.

(Footsteps)

My heart thumps,
adrenaline flows.

So many thoughts:

'Don't look, keep walking, why now, why me?'

The music plays, tones rise and fall, emotions follow.

Here within the ear I hear,
as thought becomes sound.

To become the rhythm, I concentrate as the river flows beneath my feet.  Blue is the spirit as I view the stars, painting silver lines upon my palms.

Emotions rise and fall, and the music plays on.

My eyes are the sunset, tangled webs of green.

Water is my freedom as twists of blue do leave.

Rolling down the blinds, I seek myself a dream.

The leaves fall, rusted orange, upon the grass. My thoughts drift with the breeze as I fade into a daydream...

The Mississippi tunes play their blues, the mango *** tastes sweet, the rhythms enthuse, but eventually the apple must fall.

The whiskey becomes your genii,
a spirit which guides the way.

Out of the daytime mind, moving
away from the mundane,

adventure whispers your name -

"Together we'll soar like an eagle"

Lovers entwined, like venomous snakes poised to strike.  

The fascination draws them in, the magnetism enthralls.  Her blue eyes, his laughter... together they are separate in their dreams of becoming one.

A lost gem he seeks,
she watches as the
flowers bloom.

The brown brogues shine once again, his suit expertly pressed, aftershave's applied... Steven is no longer just a Friday man; his time has arrived.

Old memories are tossed aside as the color of life reappears.

Passion strikes like Cupids arrow.... tomorrow is forgotten, yet their future is crystal clear.

Those curves of hers are stranger than her words:

"Tonight, my dear, we shall discover a multitude of broken hearts"

"Oh how delightful"

With a flickering candle we begin to explore.

Everyday is a rewrite, the opportunity to redraft the first verse.  My purple high-tops strike the sidewalk as I converse in morse code.

Regrets?

Just a few thoughts can lead us astray.  

Today I'm the poem walking upon a blank slate, re-painting the canvas within...

A Mediterranean heat warms my back. 

Her laughter still echoes, another reminder of those sun-drenched days.

Mountain tops, snow covered...

A mountain-biker with the funky frame, the picnic bench, the poems.

Walking, wandering, contemplating the first draft.

Torn in two, stripped to the bone, head's rewired, thoughts removed.

Your flex in a reflex, reactions to action, she preached in the precinct whilst craving creation.

A submariner survives in daytight compartments, his thoughts become deeper, she prays for his relief.

Hermetically altered the gold-dust is spinkled, as the fish keep on swimming blue in the reef.

Broken down, and beaten... this egg's cracked in two.  Reborn in an instant, cappuccino's still new.

Merging with death,
I seek rebirth.

Tossing my name to
the winds,

I am born anew by
removing my skin.

Scaling a dizzy height I struggle to achieve, as the ladder wobbles my jegs become jelly.  Step by step I grasp each rung, dreaming of the peak.

A secretary returns my smile, her note is exchanged in the wink of an eye.  To race like formula-one and hit a perfect swing , the satelite spins as the thread is stripped.

She lived for golf and danced like James Brown whilst, I surfed the airwaves seeking a new sound.

Melting down, crossing barriers, breaking out, stepping round.

Pieces fragmenting, character isolating.  Green-acid, hair follicles, white is the blank slate, painting blues with reds.

Freaks from a sideshow, muscles in the sea, six-packs in a grog-shop, dancing improperly.

Beguiled by your bounce, sleep-walking this town.  Fine is the white wine, poisoning the liver, spining on a sixpence, ******* follows dinner.

Gaunt and slack, a reject for the trash.  His smile faked, his sad eyes weep.  Forty years of passion fading out.  No purpose in his life, hear his actions speak:

"I'm invisible and long forgotten, no use crying, my time has come"

Poems like spilt milk.

A blank canvas

paint-splattered:

These

Empty words,

this

Restless mind.

Cultured, wandering, lost to finding, standing, waiting, hurting, hiding:

Forget the past
seek the dream.

A one-sided coin,

alone I spin.

Youth slips into old age.

Golf swings in the ballroom.

Green is the growth,
majesty is movement.

Blind to the plastic:
old beauty fades

Red is the smoke rising, blue is the heart of the moon, orange rests alone...

Purple are the clouds in hiding.

The rain rattled
upon the rusted
wheelbarrow.

Her old skipping rope begins to spin.  Lyrics taste sweet, soaking up youth, dancing with imagination, agile once again, she is the grass that sways.

Down with dogtown,
carving the concrete
and riding the rails.

June flowers again as a caterpillar crawls upon the cards of condolence.  This transformation is a kickflip hidden within a butterfly wing.

Earth is gathered and offered again.  Grandfathers' home the empty shell.  His clutter decluttered, her signature removed.  

The final supper, a cell phone speaks in secret codes, bourbons are broken in two, with the jigsaw complete their sky is blue.

Glasses full of laughter, we drink them all.  A thousand dollars will secure the deal.  A headstone holds their story.  Together they are reunited.

Along the beach, the sands of time are clear.  Footprints leads me astray.  Driftwood captures my attention.  An emerald green bottle is taken by the ocean flow.  I stop and stare, enthralled.

Messages float upon the waves. Torn at the edges, those yellowed pages, contained within, drifting with secrets.

The candle flickers, ink flows, the page is filled.  Shadows dance, ideas emerge, her voice is clear.  Fragments arrive, a puzzled piece, at last we shine.

White like a canvas, she conceales the image within.  Colors impregnate her thoughts, and a simple melody is her guide.

Soon the rusted leaves of autumn would be hers.  Soon she would remember the blueberries, and the hazelnut tree.

Golden seeds fell like raindrops
.  She smiled as the second hand ticked.

A die is thrown and
she wishes for a six.

A blue ball bounces into view.

She watches a young girl run, her rubber boots splash in iridescent puddles.

Reminders of adventures past.

The seven of spades spins upon the table.  A whiskey glass awaits a drunken grip.  She fears the worst whilst he silently prays. Seven times the black and white dream had come.  The chair creaks as he shifts position.  

Magic coursed throughout his DNA; he believed with every ounce of his soul, but she was not so sure.

The seven of spades slowed its spin... his breath followed suit.

When the card stopped he felt the magic thrive. His prayer was a success and now they'd both survive.

Ring tones from telephones,
& shattered dreams.

Wisps of smoke and wavy
lines of radiating heat.

Leather brown, bomber down, hit the bottom, rise again.  The resounding sounds bounce around.  It helps to misunderstand the plan, so follow these directives if you can.

Green amygdala your orange eyes create suspense.

Hipster blue, the denim, black boots, and those paperback books.

He walks with attitude,
reads for romance.

Magnetic the charm bringing them in.  Stood in the centre as the hurricane spins.  Tethered to nothing, not even a creed.  A miracle in the making, an empty street, a canvas unpainted, a jewellery box recieved.

Forgotten like a broken teacup,

London bridge on a windy day.

Heartfelt are the rains that fall.

Green fatigue smothers the mind as purple smoke drifts in the breeze.  The earth comforts with shimmering grass, but these illusions never last.

Time begins its chaotic spin.  Voices call out.  Many languages and dialects I hear.  

A dragonfly hovers, my eyes become hers.

The green fatigue fades, the smoke fragments, the voices so far below.  Slowly we rise, leaving everything behind.

Freedom on a wingtip,
together we fly.

Her name
upon the
window.

Painted in
purple to
say,

Like your
favorite
flower,

I am here
for you
today.

Sidewinder Steve lowered his shoulder.  You're a lucky girl, we've scored a direct hit.  Hummingbird flew directly into view as he imagined her perfectly still.

The old winds resonate, clouds come and go, their nature thrives, their story survives.