Hydrangea framed in cedar shake
Pastel blossoms for display
Ghosts of whales & whalers past
Salty mist of Atlantic spray

Bumblebees making love or war
On an Easter Sunday morn'
Spritely fairies in pinkish frills
Wearing their patent leather buckles
Little boy blues in powder blue suits
Running amok in the chapel belfry
Sanctuary dressed in lavender hues
As the ***** sounds the call to worship

Crash!  Boom!  Stomp!
Warlike scream bellows
Fierce knees and elbows

Ashen fencepost in the sun
Barbed wire slowly rusting
Scrub grass straining for the sky
The milk cows ever mournful

A stately, noble visage
Multiplied many times
Proudly mans the shoreline
A spirit lost in time

Deities carved of stone
“Primitive” one might say
Meanwhile, in the sky above
An unseen God holds sway

The story of affection is told in two volumes
One of the calmness and balance of reason
The other of rabid and base emotion
One taking year upon year to cure
The other infinite and ever pure
 
Some say having both is but an agreeable dream
But I say no, for I have seen it so
And it is all of the wonder and glory one would suspect
Each possessing both volumes, passion and respect
 
And if it exists, it shall be my quest
To search for these volumes and take no rest
Until I have found that which I seek
And of true love I too can speak!

Pencil straight pines hold up the blue
Of an honest Carolina sky
Rich sandhills on ancient shores
Illicit smiles of wry

A horse blanket of Navajo design  
Serape the hues of Montana's sky
Prairie quilt vibrant as Great Plains thunder
Oregon looms weave history's wonder

Laces snake through sneaker eyelets
As shuffling rubber squeaks anew
An impressionist blur of mottled colors
Shuttle end to end with fury true

Death stares exchanged
Muscles spring loaded
*Explosion, slide, safe!

The old man of the yard, the sage
Wind-burnt and callused
Gnarled limbs, intertwined fingers
Like capillaries ripe for bursting
With a harvest of simple blooms‏

Demon ***
Fill me up
Numbish tongue
Blur, slur much

Walked out of kindergarten
Straight into retirement
No detours along the way
Life will seem this way one day

My life is well arranged
Neat, tidy and clean
Sharp at all four corners
An intruder-proof scheme

Wail 'n' whine of the saxman's blues
The syncopated sizzle of the drum kit
Trinkle, ****** of fingers fervent
The jigsaw jazz of a cubist portrait

My heart is a patchwork
Of geometric scraps
Sectioned off one by one
Quilted for protection

Forget the math
Just for tonight
Souls entangled
Embracing strife

A well-groomed stranger walks an unfamiliar path
He breathes deeply of the cool, damp air mixed with the musk of mud
Filaments of sunlight filter through rapidly denuding branches
As his troubled mind turns to the day’s solemn occasion

Beside a simple farmhouse
There stands a useful shed
Sturdy in its crooked way
Loyal sentry till the end

Three rounded ***** of fallen snow
With mismatched celluloid buttons
Sprigs of pine for makeshift ears
A nose from the carrot patch
Burlap scarf to keep him warm
He's really quite a catch!

Like a scene from Doctor Zhivago
Silent snowfall glides on the wind
Settling amongst its fallen brethren

A landscape painted in reverse
Each flake a dab of pigment erased
Till a clean white canvas emerges

Like a pike
Through my skull
Her sadness
Impales me

If I could grant you one wish
Happiness it would be
To see all the wonders
That Alice did see

Waffled glass
Resting on a rustic oaken desk
Half-filled with the powdered sweetness
Of dappled peppermint

The great men meet
To decide our fate
To consult their god
In Wonderland's gate