He is
my happy thought,
my best friend, and
my rain lover

The aroma of the coffee I drank in that picturesque village persists in my mind, eclipsing all other memories.

A Thought:
                 Maybe there is no grand crescendo to the human symphony
Maybe life ends, and begins, on a prolonged refrain
A steady, repeating, fading rhythm
The only flourish of a lonely universe
Trying desperately, in its way, to find a dance partner for the darkness
Eternity; our veiled mistress waiting past the mist
For the light to outrun an endlessly unfurling landscape of black
The space between
The mimicry of a photograph, and the true shape of the memory
That a frame can never quite squeeze
Those lost edges lie in wait
Just beyond a waking moment, and the closing scene of our final dream
A place not lost, but yet to be found
That is all,
For now.

The key to respect can be hard to find but vision tolerance and dexterity can unlock the door to unity

Oh Baby,
These still pictures seem to be running free
Tell me why your eyes have begun to move through mine
Just you, in a field of flowing flowers
The red and blue tulip hues
Wish and wave before your legs
And there you are, in full bloom

I am not so mad, that I believe I can touch the past
But I can feel, still today, the warming rose color upon my face
See, nothing ever truly gets washed away
We linger still
In a longing look just beyond our windowsills
My tortured rain has gone away
For these rolling fields and riverbanks, you have my thanks.

The waves of years that carry along,
our ocean of thoughts where memories belong;
Compel us all to do our part,
to ignite the passions within our hearts.

How quaintly do our treasures speak,
like stones that fall along the creek;
In mellow moments we sit and stare,
and wondering if we ever cared.

While looking back upon the days,
which sheltered us from sunlight's blaze;
As falling rain disperses each thought,
in cascading drops to cure the drought.

Our hearts and minds can be uplifted,
from spiritual notions which are gifted;
In heaven-sent moonlight from above,
the craving redeemed by eternal love.

And round and round and round we go,
our illusions parting like melting snow;
Life passes by but we've been blessed,
in ways that soulful winds caressed.

Trust the process. Whatever is happening (good/bad) ,trust your life:
It is not easy to trust the happenings and events of life when nothing is in our favor. And it isn’t easy either to be optimistic about it. But that’s where our toughness and resilience is being tested. People who can’t trust the process of their lives cannot expect to excel in their lives. It is not that we should blindly trust everything that happens and not change the course of life for the better. What I mean is that we should work out what’s in our control and if we can’t work out what isn’t, then leave it. Don’t ponder upon it and don’t waste time on it. It will work out with your persistence and hard work.

I slip shrouded through a summer’s mist
Away from sterile streetlights
That cast a distorting haze, hiding
Endless solar waves, that rest above
This earthly place where I pass my days

With stars tied tight to an infant night
I run and cup one lightning bug for my lantern light
Like being guided by my adolescence, to an open shore
Where the sky meets the vastness of my sleepless mind
This place is free of weight that holds me down;
No thunderclouds hover above me now

Constellations; like scars upon the sky, share stories
Through the passing tides of time. Cassiopeia undone by her pride,
Reminds me when to swallow mine. So often, I feel chained like the maiden;
Andromeda, imprisoned by a pious Poseidon.
On this lonely beach,
I trace my own tale, like a signature on the night. Not a hero but,
I was here. The simple story of a wandering man,
Always willing to lend an ear.

Paris, earlier today. It’s a (vaccinated) summer family reunion and I’m catching up with relatives I haven’t seen for AGES. Like my impeccably dressed (three piece suit on a warm, un-air-conditioned, Saturday) 83 year old great uncle.

We cheek kiss

“STILL searching for love, Uncle Remy?”

“Forget love. My dear, I’m an old, self-absorbed narcissist. What I look for is someone young and frivolous whose most complicated desire is fun - specifically fun that can be bought - that’s an important distinction.”

I gasp and pose.

“You’re looking for MEEEE!,” I squeal.

“Oh, if I needed a spoiled, over-serious, temperamental, unappeasable rich girl - I’d think of you.”

“You GET me!,” *I beam with pride

Ignited
Excited
My body roars
Through my veins
Lit
Straight fire
Passion incarnate
Primal desire.