~ Ode to Spring ~

Cherry blossoms filled with bloom
rhododendron’s sweet perfume
warming winds feign summer’s breeze
songbirds singing from the trees

Open windows, déjà vu
sunsets filled with graceful hues
families gather on their strolls
Mother Nature for the soul

Baseball season at the park
evenings lifted from the dark
daylight savings' finally here
patios for wine and beer

Cleaning house and planting seeds
rebirth fills the days and deeds
picnic baskets, hummingbirds
poets find their way in words

Kaleidoscope of bedding plants
shorts in favour over pants
farmers markets, garage sales
power-wash the decks and rails

Hiking, tennis, gardening
inhale the freshness of the spring!
painters, sculptors shape their art
gather here with grateful hearts

1212

A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

regrets come free.



free as rain on my face



to wash through to take it all away; better that way.

into rivers below.



one time in tidal flood

water came down muddy & high took the cattle away

blocked  the bridge; we ran to see still in our pyjamas.



the boy came running to say the debris from the upper village

was on the way

to stand back.



we did

&

saw the water behind us.



retreated high up along the wall.



we named it the great storm & never remember the year.



some things are better swept away.

Pen Can Write
Pen Can Draw
It Can Even Paint

Pen can fill Colours
In Shapes and Drawings
And in peoples Life too

Pen has Sympathy
Pen has Empathy
Pen has Emotions too

Pen can Heal
Make you feel
Calm and cool

Pen can save
It can control
The way we behave

Pen Can Fight
For your rights
And for others too

Pen can **** colours
From peoples life
And make it pretty hell

Pen can help you
****** poor's property
And make you very rich

Pen can throw
Culprit in Jail
Or can even grant him bail

Pen could be Cruel
Only needs some fuel
Then it could easily burn

Pen is Sharp
It can Cut and Wound
And Make you Bleed

But is it really the Pen
Or the Hand and Mind
Of one who uses the Pen

Pen is a Weapon
Pen is Lethal
So handle with care

Haunted faces from past sorrows,
deflect the pain of new tomorrows;
Which build historic ties with vanity,
while exposing dark tales of insanity.

Already feeding emotions' loss,
the timeless urge sustaining cost;
Of shuttered walls closing in on fate,
as their hallowed halls reverberate.

With every reckless movement seen,
our curious eyes caress the dream;
That powers strong and ruthless take,
whatever evil hearts can break.

Take it all in and breathe a sigh,
like children do after they cry;
The world is numb to wanton fears,
along the path which fire sears.

When in totality discovery reigns,
despite the lonely mountain range;
Which towers above in gilded edges,
yet wields the magic of future pledges.

Night wedding
on the
mountainside,
flights of tuxedos
in the grass shadow.

I'm watching
from the moss mane
that coils
the monadnock.
Slopes of music
spill against
the tarnishing
puck of moon.

But weddings cease
to move in me,
even now,
seven months
before the divorce.

Gaze out
instead on
the rockfall
where we
backpacked in
cottonmouth July.

Is there an
emptiness
in me?

I sit apart,
dress shoes
shine in
the moon switch,
mountain
a long strum,
the forest
is phthalo.

I melt
down my past
and recast it
into something
better.
Because maybe
the moon
is just
a cinder
crumble.

Maybe the
low-footed mountain
just some angles
in brown.

Maybe all
the deep green
woods are
just trees,
some trees.