Pale
denim
overalls
cover the bear
waiting for Sarah
to return from an MRI;
polished shoes and white coat speak
to the four-year-old's mother. Child
embraced, parted lips radiate smiles.
In Teddy's ear she whispers, "It's all gone."

We should all be able to recite Dickens's famous line,
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness";
and many of us can finish this J. Austen quote,
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that."

If these authors, whom we have proclaimed
through the ages to have produced
some of the greatest writings we have known,
used a passive voice to tell their tale,
why then do we now state to the same audience
that voice is an evil so great that the flowing cloud
of ink from neither pen nor printer can be allowed
to touch their paper with its words?

Facing the dedication plaque of The East Coast Memorial in Battery Park,
sat a navy spiral bound with a worn post-it note upon the cover.
Head slightly tilted, I scoff at the carelessness of some kids.

Intending to toss the book into a bin we keep at the office
filled mostly with hoodies and socks –
don’t ask me how you lose just one, ’cause I don’t know—
I look down upon the cover in my left hand
and notice this phrase, written in a young girl’s script,
“Please take me home, share your journey, then pass me on;”
and I am struck by the naivety of these words.

Flipping the cover open, my eyes are then met with,
“April 24, 2001
My name is Samantha, and I live in Moneta, Virginia. I’m twelve
years old and enjoy science…”

What am I supposed to do with this: a child’s attempt at unifying the world?
Turning the page, the date was now September 10 of the same year,
and the story is of James, a homeschooled old boy from Richmond,
flying up to Colorado to visit with his dad. Tossing


it on a terminal chair near a flight bound for LAX it was found
by a twenty-something named Megan, meeting her twin who had just finished
his second tour in Kuwait. The new mother briefly skimmed
the pages while waiting for her brother, then penned a piece
about who she dreamed her daughter would become:
a surgeon, particularly that of the heart.

Becoming intrigued by this woman, I sat down on the nearest bench
and continued their tale. Seeing John’s flight arrive,
the diary was placed into her pack to be carried home,
before she rushed to greet her closest friend.

Four years later, while cleaning out boxes for a New Year’s resolution,
the journal was thought of and Megan left in the Kroger basket
while she gathered the ingredients to make her great-grandmother’s vegetable soup.
On his way to pick up medication for his father,
a history professor saw it next. Adding a short account
regarding his focus on minorities and women in American History,
Dr. Clark handed the spiral to his niece, who was heading towards Manhattan
to visit her grandfather.

After a five hour flight, an orange duffle bag was placed upon a hardwood floor.
Tales of life left on the living room table, Amy settled in for the night.
A veteran of World War II, Walter is eighty-seven years old
and takes his life moment-by-moment
because that was the only way to survive
with bombs exploding and friends falling dead on either side.

Though he rarely spoke of his time in Germany,
as he sat before a carved eagle,
like he had every morning since its dedication in 1963,
he thought about the men who served under him.
And in this notebook, he wrote their names: every man in his unit,
who did not come home.
Entrusting their stories to another, he finished his walk.

Staring down at this last entry, my mind forgot how to think.
I was overwhelmed that this diary of a twelve year old girl
had somehow managed to become a memorial to those killed in action.

Silent moments passed, and with bound letters still in hand,
I thought about my niece, who lives in Virginia,
about fifteen minutes from this girl called Samantha. I wondered
if they had ever met and if that child had the slightest imaginings
about what passing on her tale would become.

And yet, what was I supposed to write?
How could I follow the somber courage left behind by this man?
And then, as if lighting had flashed above my head, my body jolted
with realization that my tale was theirs.

golden
        i     r
   c              c  
        e     l
  
  d
  r      
  o
  p
  s

to  floor ... quickly eaten by dog

In this limited mother tongue
by which I communicate to you,
all I can call it is love.
Cannot express through the utterance
of a single word, if a father holds
a daughter in his arms for the first
time with a smile like the glowing light
of the full moon, looks at his wife
and says, you're both so beautiful.

This thing we call love cannot articulate
the husband and wife, who married as teenagers
have been together for seventy years:
stood by each other, with barely any food,
thanked God for what they had;
and when he could no longer stand,
then she would pause beside him.
Nor can it show the heart struck newly weds
eager to be just like them.

Love does not express the emotions
of adolescence. Doesn't define a deceleration
with flowers, chocolates, or teddy bears. Nor
tell me if we're in a Romeo and Juliet
fin'amour named true love.
My language has been redefined
through technology and celebrities.
But fundamental element, binding our souls
is spread so thin, how could be defined?

Underneath the Australian sun,
we have begun to gather wallaby grass
for the night's fire. It hasn't signaled
anybody, but scorching flames keep the wild dogs
at bay.  Losing count, four

nights, I think, have now passed.
Mother and father must be ill
from worry; we've
never been far this far out before. Amidst play
of seek and hide, Frank went in search
for the perfect spot -- a fairly good one
as it took two hours to find him--
but night arose, and father's compass
had been left upon the porch's rail.

A few days later, we managed
to find a small amount of water,
but it won't last
with three of us; and I can already see
the exhausted expressions carved upon
my brothers' faces. Though Isaac
continues to search, I believe
even he shall soon relinquish the hope
that rescuers will arrive.

It's been a week. At what point
will the police discontinue our search?
When a month has passed?
With no food and the last drops
having evaporated onto our parched tongues
before the sun was set,
how could we survive that long?

But the question wandering deep
within my mind is, “Does anyone
even believe we are alive?”
Perhaps it is not worry
our parents are now suffering,
but grief.

Though I cannot tell the boys of my suspicions,
nor can let them see my fatigue

Whispers: black holes concealed within night sky.

why, God?

can't you see the
tears flowing
like the Jordan
from these eyes
that You created?

why?

Adonai,
why has this shame
been cast upon me?

in this village You
placed me in, there
are a hundred
laughing children
in the arms
of every other woman.

am i alone put aside?

Lord,
you know how much
i love Your ways,
kept and followed
every command
since i was a girl,

let me love a child
for a little while,
let me suckle
a son to my breast
and i will give him
back to You.

Rapha,

let this prayer
fall like pure
soundless snow
from my lips

look down
upon Your servant,
look down
and remember her.

impressions left upon ground
digging deep into the earth
walk on the narrow path
journey alone, deep in the woods


warm air fills my lungs
                 deep breath in
and out
dandelion and snakeroot
    tickle my nose
and the ever present scent of
pine is underneath


             on then
first step          over fallen log
which has just begun to rot
rest
sip  fresh water and have
a protein bar


up ahead lie two gardens--
carefully planted
one yields potatoes, one nectar
a place for butterflies to dance


walk by the stream
    then head past pavilion
          finally go towards the car
dream and wait for another Saturday

hope
joyful
happiness
radiates through
a beautiful smile
as youngest child is told
the great news by her mother
tears begin to fill in her eyes
she hugs her teddy bear and whispers
can you believe it? the cancer is gone

slowly creeps towards heaven's lights
moon's smile is filled with her delight
shinning now so full and bright
love's in the night, love's in the night

at his lovely wife Darcy gazed
beauty, character he's amazed
on stone sitting at entrance's maze
catches her gaze, catches her gaze

off of the bench she starts to rise
Helen looks into amber eyes
small blush, devotion amplifies
with love she sighs, with love she sighs

lifting dress, then running with grace
laughing now he begins to chase
catching up, their bodies embrace
hedges encase, hedges encase

petal path
of purest red
roses lain on ground
sweet fragrance teases
as she walks on the buds
heading towards her handsome prince
she is pure and full of grace
finally reaching journey's end
there are champagne glasses
honeymoon begins

stretching, greet dawn
with great yawn rise
the lawn to ****
and plant seed tree
next knead bread and brew some tea

in crystal does she reside
frozen, she will abide
until the time he finds a cure
body will not mature
timeless until he succeeds
she is his wife-- Nora Freeze

safe in her husbands arms with peaceful sigh
now slumbers youthful wife while dreams beguile
storm's thunder passes: some ire others mild
clap in the air, from lover must she pry

babe's cry rings out in starlit sky
and mother rushes toward her child
was he awoke from storm, or's ***** defiled?
with turn of little light see smile that's shy

she lifts him up from crib of purest white
on changing table she lays little one
fresh, no new diaper, she picks him up and
his eyes gaze up with the shade bluest bright
love sounding in voice, mother hums to son
she starts to rock him back off to dream land

Grapes on the vine
Innocent wine
Until refined
A drink to be

Rice in the field
Innocent yield
A drink revealed
A wine to see

staring up at tallest tree,
whose seed has danced around the moon
I am awed how we are one

I am marriage.
Not just a goddess,
I'm their queen.
I am marriage:
the one whom women seek.
I am married.
I should be loved;
but my husband is faithless.

I am Hera,
and many ******* wrath.
I take seriously my vows,
and suffer not fools in my path.
I am Hera,
and I sent Hercules abroad.
I helped Jason in his task,
and by men am I awed.
I am Hera,
and I will not be played the fool.

Back
and Forth
Back
and Forth
eyes gaze around the park
Up
and Down
Up
and Down
children on swings
and the teeter totter
bark
laughs
softest chatter
young couples with their dogs
and old ones holding canes
wind rustles
through his paper
face glancing up again
he looks around
and considers
each
one
when lethargy takes the closest star
and he can no longer pretend
to read
the man walks towards his car
then hears sirens
as trucks pull out of the nearest
fire station
forcing his face to stay neutral
he wonders which home
his brother has chosen

shimmering through trees
wind reveals in shadows lay
newborn fawn by doe

Among the summer woodlands wide
Anew she roams, no more alone                                                                   (Alfred Austin, Agatha)
And the white mist curling and hesitating
Like a bashful lover about your knees                                          (Richard Aldington, The Poplar)
She walks in beauty, like the night            
A heart whose love is innocent                                                   (Lord Byron, She Walks In Beauty)

Chequer'd with woven shadows as I lay
Among the grass, blinking the watery gleam   (William Allingham, A Day-Dream's Reflection)
I try to think of some one lovely gift
No lover yet in all the world has found                                              (Richard Aldington, Prelude)
A sunset's mounded cloud
A diamond evening-star                                                               (William Allingham, An Evening)

I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields    (J. Keats, To a Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses)
It was a little budding rose
But sweet was the slight and spicy smell                            (Emily Bronte, A Little Budding Rose)
Plucked I for my love's delight.                                                          (Rudyard Kipling, Blue Roses)

But in the sun he sang with cheerful heart
Of coloured season and the whirling sphere                                   (William Allingham, A Singer)
I told my love, I told my love
I told her all my heart                                                                           (William Blake, Love’s Secret)

Arise from out the dewy grass                      (William Blake, Songs Of Experience: Introduction)
So much grace, and so approve her,
That for everything I love her.                                                                       (William Browne, Song)
All thoughts, all passions, all delights
Whatever stirs this mortal frame
All are but ministers of Love                                                                       (Samuel Coleridge, Love)

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise
I love thee with the passion put to use                                                   (E. B. Browning, Sonnet 43)
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed                                                 (E. B. Browning, Sonnet 10)


In secret we met—                                                                      (Lord Byron, When We Two Parted)
Beneath such dreamy weather                                 (Lewis Carroll, All In The Golden Afternoon)
The long grass now
Waves dreamily in the evening wind                                             (Emily Bronte, The Sun Has Set)
A flower was offered to me
Such a flower as May never bore                                           (William Blake, My Pretty Rose Tree)

In movement, in dancing                                          (Raymond A Foss, In Movement, in Dancing)
flowing, spinning
twirling, to the dance of love                                                                  (Raymond A Foss, Dancing)
surrendering to his leading                                                        (Raymond A Foss, Dancing Today)
To be fond of dancing was a certain
step towards falling in love                                                          (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice)

A shudder comes o'er me—                                                      (Lord Byron, When We Two Parted)
Whereat the lips, moved with delight and pleasure
Through a sweet smile unlock'd their pearly treasure                 (Thomas Carew, Lips and Eyes)
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth                                                      (Song of Songs 1:1)
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed                                            (E. B. Browning Sonnet 38)

Why, when I gaze on Phaon's beauteous eyes,
Why does each thought in wild disorder stray?      (Mary Darby Robinson, Why, When I Gaze)

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise
I love thee with the passion put to use                                                   (E. B. Browning, Sonnet 43)
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed                                                 (E. B. Browning, Sonnet 10)

a skeleton in my closet resides
thinking of him makes me sigh
I want not the world to know he exists
but eventually they will persists,
and know the secrets of everyone
from hated truth, I'll not be undone
so before they are given the chance
I take him out, teach him to dance
learn foxtrot, tango, Viennese waltz
polite conversation, he will exalt
he'll learn to stand in the limelight
once I'm done he'll be a sight
to behold that's filled with glory
oh when I'm done they'll tell a story
but not of my misdeeds, oh no
this one they'll love, never let go
a perfect gentleman for all to see
soon they'll be jealous he's dancing with me

Little Jacques,
you are a handsome child
cheeks of golden red
and curls upon your tiny head

Little Jacques,
dimples bless your smile
your now eyes flutter into sleep
as you lay under stars and sheep

Little Jacques,
travel to the land of nod
dream now of teddy bears
and know you're ever in my prayers

Little Jacques,
you're safe here by my side
I'll protect you forevermore
you'll always be cared for

I found her in the bathroom
With silent tears, facing the wall
We hadn't been back a week, but it didn't matter
Dried eyes, walked out
Teasing again
"Leave her alone"
Glaring, they went to class
"I'm Monica"
"Rachel"

earth bound gaze, love's moon
blossom's silk caress the ground
river creeps steadily
all but two are snug in bed
fireflies dance around them

It was half past noon,
when he walked into my shop.
He looked nervous,
wide-eyed at so many choices.
I'd have bet that he was expecting
nothing more than a few roses:
red / white /pink / yellow,
maybe a lily or two,
certainly not the plethora of choices
laid before him.

Walking up with I smile,
I asked the gentleman,
what type of arrangement he was looking for.
He couldn't have been a day over nineteen,
but he looked serious as he said,
I'm looking for something special.
Not roses, she's not that of girl--
I'm not sure what her favorite flower is,
but I know that she loves summer
and waking up to see the sun rise.
She helps tutor kids
and on Saturday she volunteers at the shelter.
I know they say red roses express love,
but she's not that kind of girl.
She watches the classics, but really loves action films.
She enjoys swimming, but hates the beach.
I know she stays up late sometimes,
but rarely is she up past nine.
When she smiles, her dimples show,
and she cries at Disney movies.
I know she's a wonderful girl,
and I haven't bought her flowers before,
this is our first date, you see--
we've been friends for awhile,
but could you please help me?

Heart touched by his thoughtfulness,
Said, I have just the thing.
A small bouquet yet beautiful
sounds like what you need.
Sunflowers stretching towards the sky
with smaller ones intertwined
filled with heather pure as snow
and lilac dances down below.
Looking at it a moment or two,
he said it's perfect;
it's just her style.

Wrapped up in lace
and tied with a card:
I waved goodbye,
and wondered about the girl
whom he loved.

Poet's pen--
most think of it, as the
instrument used
to complete the greatest
of works.
But truly,
it is only a way to immortalize
a beautiful view on life.

Upon white sands do I reside
Staring into deep blue
With toes dipping into the tide
Beautiful view, tis true
Beside the sea is where I sit
Thinking about the night moonlit
Beside the sea
Beside the sea
Where water reflects sky starlit

Upon white sands do I reside
Content with fate's dealt hand
Watching the waves and beach collide
This is my wonderland
Beside the sea, I watch fish wade
Watch lovers sail, sunrise fade
Beside the sea
Beside the sea
Children dance where mist is sprayed

Upon white sands do I reside
Breathing salt, feeling wind
Touching waters, traveled worldwide
It's like my soul has grinned
Beside the sea, completely free
Here I sit under a palm tree
Beside the sea
Beside the sea
This is where I discover me

The dragon hunted them,
the babe and his mother.
It followed them into the wilderness,
but they were protected
by the LORD.
In heaven above,
Michael and the serpent fought;
the dragon, the fallen were cast out.

Thought about this for awhile,
what time period would fit my style?
Renaissance with books and paintings
And castle jesters entertaining.
Russian palaces with diamond gowns,
And for the wealthy, food abound.
Ancient times with jeweled cuffs,
Choosing one might sound tough.
Yet as I truly consider this,
Much of my own time would I miss.
Modern medicines is extensive,
And slavery is found offensive.
Fresh water's available too,
And from the moon we have Earth's view.
Much of the world can read and write;
And, just think of the beautiful sight,
Which can be shared from a photograph,
And preserves where I can see a giraffe.
And I am a woman, this is true,
In past times I'd be a possession to use
For political gain of my father or brother.
No, now is a time unlike any other.

It sat on the the oldest bench
in New York City's park.
There was no one around
to claim the spiral bound journal.
Approaching it with slow steps,
I looked quizzically down
and read upon dark blue cover,
"Please take me home
Share your journey,
And pass me on"
Curious, cautious
I picked it up
and began to read.
Filled with poems
I wasn't quite sure what
to make of it at first.
Yet as I continued on,
I noticed dates, places.
Seven people
had held this book before me.
Seven people
had written tales of their lives.
It started by the river,
with life in a small town
in Virginia.
Traveled West with family of four--
the youngest brother wrote that one.
A new mother found it next
and wrote of her precious child,
her hopes and dreams,
of who her daughter would become.
Her brother found the book next,
then taking it with him on his flight,
he wrote about his war time overseas.
Left in the airport,
a history professor caught sight
of the spiral
smiled at shared memories
before writing a short piece
on his journey home.
Taking it with him, northbound,
it was left at the next terminal,
and picked up by the granddaughter
of  a WWII vet, staying with them
for the winter break.
She penned a piece before heading off to bed.
Tales of life left on the living room table,
The warrior wrote about
a short piece of his life he rarely shared.
A little after dawn the next day,
he followed his morning routine,
walking through the park near his home.
Then, resting on the oldest bench in the park,
he sat the journal down and finished his walk.

I am a mother
I have three children
and I teach them daily
I teach them to play, to speak,
when it is best to be silent,
and how to hunt.
I have a spouse,
we are loyal to each other,
mated for life.

You fear me, hate me
simply because I exist.
History has portrayed me,
my kind as evil,
especially in your fairy tales.
Yet have you ever wondered
how many of those stories
were actually based upon my brethren?
Or, why, in these tragedies,
do you portray, a single predator
when you know we are a pack?

We are a small group,
mostly eradicated by your people.
Though we are beginning to
have births, growth--
we are still too few.
You cannot speak my language,
do not understand how we
protect each other,
provide for each other.

For a while you guarded us,
but now you call us a danger.
What have we done to you?
Why are you hunting me? my family?
Do you hate me because I survived?
because I did not die out when you
invaded, destroyed my home?
Do you hate me because you fear me?

Christ:
He is the lamb who was slain at
Passover
for the sins of the world.

He is the Son of God,
He is God.
The Alpha and Omega,
the first and the last.

He is the only one
found worthy to open
the seals
of the scrolls
in Revelation.

Immanuel.
He is the King of Israel
      and of Judea
Ruler of all the earth.

He is the Lion.
Holding the scepter
prophesied by Jacob called Israel:
the one to whom it belongs
has come.

He is worthy.

So let now,
heaven and earth forever sing,
as we bow the one true God,
"To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
be praise and honor and glory and power,
for ever and ever!"

Every Christmas, birthday, or any other holiday
              where gifts are exchanged,
I am asked the same question,
"What would you like?"
Don't you know by now?
It's not gifts I want.
I don't want jewelry or clothing or  money or trips;
I don't want new books--though you know I enjoy those;
I don't want chocolate or a new phone.
Don't you know by now?
All I want is to spend some time with you.

Bare  skin--
no makeup covers her face
when she wakes first thing in the morn.

Her blue eyes sparkle as she blinks back sleep
and heads towards the bathroom.

Pulling out her makeup--
foundation, powder, eyeliner and shadow, blush,
         mascara and lipstick--
with care she applies each one.

Will she every feel, know
that she is beautiful just the way she is?
That she looks her best
          not covered in camouflage,
but the way she was created?

In the city-state of Lycia,
in a country we now call Greece,
there lived a monster mostly forget
they called it the Chimera.

Two heads, one breathing flames,
it was the combination of three beasts.

Finally slain by Bellerophon,
or that's what Homer says,
there were many
who came before the warrior
ridding on mighty Pegasus.

This their tale.



Two-hundred.
Two-hundred and ninety-nine
of my brothers have fought before me.
Two-hundred and ninety-nine
of my fellow warriors  have died.

Today I go out before the beast.
Only my shield and weapon at my sides.

I fight today with the trident,
others came to face it
with the sword.
I do not know if that will make the difference,
if it will be how I win
or if I will only die faster than the others.

But I cannot
entertain thoughts of it killing me.
Not now.
Not as I prepare to slay the thing ravaging my town.
my people. my family.

I will **** this thing.
I must.


Dawn is rising.
I kiss my wife and son farewell
as I step forward to defend them.

I can hear its harsh bellow in the distance
as the Chimera makes its way
towards my home.
The sound causes the babe to cry.
Its ironic symmetry is not lost on me,
but I must go forth.
I have to protect. defend. slay.

Walking forward,
weapon clasped in my hand
I prepared to meet death:
mine
or his.
One or the other
would occur today.

I am a simple soldier,
prepared to meet my destiny
hero or warrior.
Glace down at my shield:
Ἢ τὰν ἢ ἐπὶ τᾶς
Either with this or on this,
come back victorious.

Words to live by
and die by.
Honour is all.


How will this begin?
Best to strike first
Strike hard
Strike fast

Feint right
Rush left
Miss whispered breath
by mere seconds
before fire is released.

Battle continues
until Apollo's chariot
is directly above us.

This thing is larger than any I have ever faced.
But I can conquer it.
I can be victorious.
Return with your shield or upon it.
I will face my family again
with my shield in hand.

Stab up
Step back
I cut one of the necks,
the one which breaths no fire,
but it is not a killing blow.

Once more I stab
but with its next strike,
fangs have pierced the
armor
directly above
my heart.

Knees hitting the ground,
my hands clasp the earth while
blood and sweat run down my body.
Taking another shallow breath,
flame engulfs me,
and I become
three-hundred.

The Creator has provided a wondrous plan
        for a couple united together
in holy matrimony.
Within the Lord's scriptures,
Paul was inspired to write
in a letter to the Ephesians
"Submit" and "Love".
Not just for the woman,
the man is told as well,
make this a partnership
   with your God.
Like the trinity, there are three:
the husband, the wife, and God
   as the head.

Give thanks, brothers and
sisters too. Give thanks mothers
and fathers for your
freedom comes from the brave troops:
Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines.

Soldiers who die,
have fought for you willingly.
They left all they knew,
picking up camo and gun,
training for hours on end.

Give thanks as you sit
surrounded by family and
friends, for those who are
right now in combat, who are
awake, wishing they were home.

Knowing Alexandria would burn,
I would save her library.
I wouldn't warn of the incoming invasion,
for that could change too much.
But swiftly, before the war began
and the fire broke out,
I would take as many scrolls as I could,
and hide them, safe nearby.
All the knowledge, history, maps
secured.
How would our view of history change?

Just one, brief look.
How bad could that possibly be?
Just one, brief look.
It couldn't change my life's outlook;
don't have to open door to see,
as tempting as that though may be:
just one, brief look.

A child's heart breaks
for the first time,
when Simba sees Mufusa die.
He learns to grow and face
          his past:
Fighting his demons
and falling in love.
Macbeth with lions.

Asked the baker to his wife,
"Sky was filled with light,
know you what occurred last night?"

Looking at him, she replied,
"Beauty fell in love with Beast."

Gathered at the castle now--
hall filled with dancing--
cheers sang though the crowed room:

"Tale as old as time, song as
old as rhyme, Beauty and Beast."

Oh, Coffee!
Thou art liquid gold flowing through my veins:
The only thing keeping me awake
          on these many college nights.
Muse of many test and papers,
Your song rings sweetly in mine ears.

Soul transcends heavenly sky, seeking perfect match, reuniting in life or death.

Philosopher's stone of a different kind,
grant me now this wish of mine:

The ability to speak with anyone--
from future, present, or the past--
regardless of their native tongue,
answer any question asked.

Talent will not to me be constricted,
to my descendants shall it be passed.
Wisdom shall become depicted,
as our knowledge is amassed.

Scholars, engineers, artists, and writers--
endless possibilities for who we become.
Fabric of time, personal cyphers:
this knowledge begets new freedom.

a fierce guardian will stand
with flaming sword
guarding Eden's gate.

black birds sit on stone
mother singing with her young--
cast iron silhouettes

Toddler climbs on Santa's lap
to whisper in his ear
wishes and gifts sought after
for this Christmas year.

Sitting by her window
a young woman is
painting a flowered vase,
which sat upon the
table by the salon wall.

Brothers running outside,
playing baseball--
CRASH

Hand rushing to heart
as the ball flies by,
knocking over paints
onto the canvas.

Setting sun lights the sky's candles:
Red, Purple, Orange, Yellow, Blue.
Each one lit, illuminates the sky
In a warm wash of colourful joy.
Flicking beauty fills the heavens
As softly twilight falls.
Lit flames shine in darkened sky--
Stars.