I walked past blue mountains,
Beside the crystal stream —
I ambled deep into the forest,
In a mist of emerald green.
Beams of light pirouetted,
Sol’s fire of purity,
Birds preened their wings,
In a shade of serenity.
Whispers rustled in the air,
Earth, water gushed,
A hymn of wind in symphony,
In harmony though hushed.
Midst the song of the forest,
A murmur in the breeze,
My soul, engulfed in silence,
Yet singing . . . at peace.
I stood on firm earthen ground,
At one with trees and ferns,
Knowing it’s from here I come,
And here I will return.

A palette of paint to paint his face,
Clothes full of colours bright,
A round red nose that bobs like a ball,
He is ready with a smile.

Comic antics that delight folks,
He rides, slides, cartwheels and falls,
Slips on banana peels, juggles fruit,
Tickled faces all.

When night comes, off comes the paint,
The nose, the wig, the clothes bright,
In dwindling darkness he rests himself,
Now his face he hides.

A jester, he jested, he cheered —
A camouflage in art,
But to himself, alone and quiet,
He rests his aching heart.

An act extraordinaire —
Oh how he does beguile,
But to himself, now alone,
Who’ll make the jester smile?

Celestial and spritely flower head
A cloud of white in a wheel
A spread of stars on a sunny bed
Enchanting - a vision ethereal
Blooming afar and clustering nigh
What bud, what blossom, what ****
Blowing away with just a sigh
In a breath, in the wind that breathes.
While the rose is crowned and daisies loved
How often are you brushed away
But magic lies in your snowy fluff
As wishes fly night and day
You greet the morning, a languid dawn
As the skies turn pink and bright
Then gather close with the moon's rising song
That plays with the coming of night
A fairy's flower you seem to me
A joy - a charm - a delight
Flying away over meadows and leas
In the wind with your wings of white.

Tonight, I lie in bed and
scribble in a black spiral
notebook.
Why is cruelty easy for
some? Like laying down
a card.

One of my three cats,
Mojo
sits sleepily on
my old maple desk.
She is all black.
The computer screen is
black.
So are the speakers,
microphone,
and a coffee cup that
sits on the desk.

Above my dresser is a
quote by Hemingway.

"There is nothing to writing.
All you have to do is sit down
at a typewriter and bleed."

It's on black paper.

I've had the room set up
this way for over a year.
I'm just noticing all the
blackness.
Midnight in Nod.
It could be because I miss
my daughter.  She's seven.
All the black fades away when
I think about her smile
and those eyes that laugh at the
rain.

I notice that my shirt
is emerald green, with a
few drops of red.

Plop
Plop

Plop.

First frost
riming the landscape
A white dawn
Announced by the crow's harsh call
The waning moon hanging
In a cloudless sky
As the rising sun's rays
Twinkle on the frosted fields.

Father please hear me, I have something to say,
These are my words, they won’t go away.
I have longed for them to be answered, day after day,
From the time I was a little boy
To the man I am standing here today
I am burdened with your silence like a heavy weight on my chest,
Living in your shadow
I have always tried to do my best.
Through every single failure
success,
Through every single fall
I have waited for something—anything at all.
Have I ever made you proud,
Do I belong?
Am I just guessing,
Was I always in the wrong?
I have looked in your eyes, they never would tell, they never would say, now you’re leaving, about to die today, I fear they never will,  I fear you won’t even try.
Still, I am here, if you are wondering why,  my heart is torn, a son who has waited since the day he was born, for a father‘s pride, a father‘s love, anything for his father to finally be proud of, but………..
Dad it is okay, if you have no words, If you cannot say, you’re proud of your son here today, then please take my hand, don’t let this moment slip away. I will always love you
Today tomorrow and yesterday.
R.I.P Stacey Lynn Stoops(DAD)
10/28/1954~08/2023

I go back in time
as I get a whiff of some familiar scent.

Like the aroma of spices from my mother’s pulao —- the blend of bay leaves, cinnamon, black cardamom and cloves
that left eyes sparkling in anticipation of a royal meal.

Or the scent of fruits
that made their way into my lunch at school - bananas, apples, grapes, oranges
along with an embroidered napkin
that held onto the smell of the season, the love of parents and the comfort of home.

The tanginess of lemons in my father’s cologne —- a burst of summer every time I opened his closet.

The fragrance of roses from incense sticks that my grandmother would light as she prayed —
the mysticism of life in her folded hands.
The smoke would rise from the sticks, curling, to reach heaven along with her prayers -
and I would look upward wondering if God could hear her songs and smell the roses.

The heady scent of rain and earth as we played in puddles
walking and slipping
splashing and laughing
lost in the moment
hearts as light as those drops of rain.

A whiff of these and I travel back in time
I miss the innocence
and melange of those
happy scents and aromas.

It seems like a different world.
And though far away —
It seems like yesterday.

Somewhere between words and a phrase
And images that waltz on a page
Naked or masked, with a ** and a hum
Read me in the lines of a poem.

Curled up with flair in cursive ink
Or in italics that make one think  
In bold scribble of soulful blues
Meet me in a syllable of haiku.

In sounds and rhyme, in free flowing feet
In rolled up, crumpled paper sheets
On kissed ends or in couplets terse -
Trace me in a little verse.

Midst damp and broken metaphors
In sentences loud or hushed whispers
Hidden behind some quaint smilie
Find me in poetry.

Poesy — a world large enough to hold
Sordid moments in its fold
Sweetness of life and broken hearts
Harsh reality and runaway art.

It’s an addiction, an affliction,
And I don’t know what to do,
For I am madly and deeply,
In love with Sudoku.

It’s unnerving, disturbing,
And I am going all cuckoo,
For I can’t take my hands off
A game of Sudoku.

In the morning, I’m yawning,
But my fingers are all glued,
To a pen on a Daily,
Immersed in Sudoku.

A passion, an obsession —
With numbers just a few,
Oh I can’t get enough,
Of this wretched Sudoku.

One to nine, how I pine,
For these numbers in a queue,
On my phone all I see is,
A game of Sudoku.

I run late, miss my date,
In a mess through and through,
My heart full of digits.
And head, of Sudoku.

An attraction, a distraction,
I sigh and sob and rue,
To be so in love,
With a game of Sudoku.

It gets worse, now a verse,
Such a long poem too—
Oh me, oh my,
All for Sudoku.

Skies darken as blue fades,
clouds burst in happiness,
a cascade of drops,
soaking earth,
a rosary of shimmering beads,
crystal droplets dance in puddles,
peering through glass windows,
tapping on roof tops that slant,
on thatched homes that drip,
on twigs and branches,
on ruby tangerine roses and sunny marigolds,
settling in scarlet and auburn crevices,
on emerald leaves and blades of satin green grass,
glistening like drops of morning dew,
and in the midst of the gentle splash of the rain,
there you are —
it is always raining you

Wayward curls shine in silver
New strands each day I see 
Nothing will ever stop these waves
From greying furiously  

Why then be lost in troubled thoughts 
And hurry those tides of white 
Breathe in and breathe out instead
Let little things delight 
 
Sing of the joys of nascent spring
Dance to a happy summer song 
Paint trees in burnished gold 
Spin tales of leprechauns

Embrace brazen winds that breeze
The earth that holds well-walked feet 
The canopy of light and dusky night 
Where the sun and the moon come to meet 

No tarot reading
No fortune teller 
No crystal ball I see 
Why riddle the eyes with endless thoughts....
What shall be, shall be

I learned to spar with my stray thoughts,
Every ounce of fear or anxiety,
Becomes a battle of wit.

Though that may not work for everyone,
Some just build lanterns,
A way to see through the night.

Others learn to silence their worries,
Utilizing weapons to wipe away their nightmares,
Burning holes where there once was doubt.