If you're tired of carrying such weight,
that droops your shoulders and skews your gait
That you feel numb from the pain of the past,
and every new problem leaves you aghast

If you think you're one of the condemned and shady,
because your troubles come and never leave,
listen to the story about this young lady,
and then thank me for what you shall receive

She comes from I know not where,
and she goes I know not when,
spell her name, I know not how,
and speak to her, I know not what

Be not deceived thou yet my friend,
for she does not hide what others conceal,
she lives her life like an open book,
and every page has something to reveal

But what makes her unique and what makes her rare,
is how she oscillates between fun and care,
she looks at black and white in the same color - red
and that, I guess, is enough said

You may think she is born of privilege,
but let me tell you that is not true,
she gets her share of joy and pain,
trust me, she's just like you

And just like you she's afraid of insects,
and ghosts and ghouls and all that stuff,
but unlike you she doesn't run away from fear,
and unlike you she's pretty tough

So next time you feel like it's too much to bear,
and you feel engulfed in fires,
just read this poem and once again,
think about the girl who inspires!

Rain falls in garden,
Little drops of tawny warmth,
A downpour of birds.

Gentle Gods playing—
Rain drops falling on still pond,
  .  .  .  Ancient melody.

Lune in still water—
Under my bridge of long night,
Judgement moon above.

Blueberry picking was no chore.
In the hoary-head of blue things,
Stuff was easy, and ripe for the picking,
Bunching blue-baubles in baskets over-ripened
Of berries.   On special mornings, due southwest
In lazy hills, round my home, — bells  
Were breaking, in quiet sections of the Canton,
Massachusetts woods, and playing by them,
We rounded blue notes, some friends and I,  
Plucked-out tunes to the breeze, on leafy-
Instruments, and pulled our weight, into moil-moisted  
Bushels, (one batch of blue was more than a ton  
Of any other fruit!)  
Toiling, till the sky would peek  
And spill its hue.  Foragers were we, as teaming
Minnows round a polk-a-dot reef, feasting on some great  
Blue-Fin’s roe, brave savages, painted in the glow of ember-
Light, of burnished yellows, and bushy-blanched browns
Drenched by dew and dappled in the stipple
Of sun-brushed fire, all the colours making patterns, even  
Box Turtles knew.   How merry it was we made our labors,
Why it was wicked!  And muggy from the heat of cool  
Indigo stars, we squenched our thirst, in glugs  
Of kisses, each following the greatest by far,  
And one soft day, we did notice the crown
Of a Princess, set on top of each full  
Noble-blooded faery-pearl dropped
As if to commemorate all  
The things that were worth  
Knowing, stuff that was ripe,  
Easy, and rapt
In blue.

Love of summer goes,
Two birds toppled faulty nest,
  .  .  .  Fallen leaves bury.

Snowy peaks, white skies,
Faintest line of mountains crest,
  .  .  .  Jagged razors edge.

Love, out of blue sky,
Appeared as if heaven broke,
  .  .  .  Shut monochrome world.

Bright moon, perfect, full,
Her *******, unbound in starlight,
Heavens outnumbered.

Mellow wafting branches,
Late spring, purple magenta scent,
  .  .  .  Summer in the wind.

You are song,
Rain dropping on still pond.
You are sky,
I see Heaven in your eyes.
Your are peace,
A garden above the world.
Your are grace,
The gentle path of the swan.
You are knowing,
The wind that whispers alone.
You are star shine,
The dust that lights the plains.
You are vast ocean,
Mother to the Fathering atmosphere.
You are dancing light  .  .  .

Red edging needles, pine
On blue mountain, nostrils
Of elk smoke with a bulls
Eye, scarlet stares of steely,
Steepled raven, snow drifts,
White fires in the lighted sky.

Bees hum in clover,
Wings flutter, birds stuttering,
Meadows colour sings.