The faded beauty,
a desiccated blush
Still seen by you and me
was evidence of
a scarlet flush.

But the season is over
And the mating done.
Splendor still hovers
Until the two are one.

But who are we to stand and gawk,
Though they rest in shade and know us not?

Their hour is spent in the maiden sun,
And we arrive after the race is won.

Stoop low to gather useless information
about magnetism and procreation.
We are nothing more than nature's shields
And the guardians of whatever she yields.

Sometimes I sit and wonder
At the joy and plunder in this life
While some are dragged down under
Others are lifted to new heights

It's not like we're even given a choice
The powers that be have their own voice
On the verge of life and death
As time runs out its course

It's hard for you to grasp a clue
When you're being thrown for a loop
Out of nothing that you say
And certainly, nothing that you do

Sometimes it gets hard to count
The reasons aren't important now
On the verge of life and death
There's no way to figure out

Who's to say the time we make
Won't change today from yesterday
Is it circumstance or is it fate
That some stay while others fade away

I've seen them come I've seen them go
Whose next I guess soon enough we'll know
On the verge of life and death
With no way to know who will or won't

I dance with the
Ethereal shadows
Of sublime melancholy
Under the violet skies
On some nights
They take my hand
And spin me around
Round and round
Till my breath comes out
In deep sighs
And i can no longer breathe
The scented breeze
That makes
The leaves sing
A hauntingly beautiful song
So with a weary heart
And a drowsy mind
I sink into the void
Of a languid sleep
With a hope tucked
Somewhere in my crevices
That the elysian world
Of dreams that'll greet me
Will replenish my
departed energy
And my bones
wont feel so empty
As dawn unfolds
Before me

I can feel
the upbeat melodies
resurrecting my synchronized feet
slick beats
pulsing spins
wheeling bars
fire sparking eyes filled
with intense bold hues
funky eyelids somersaulting
in timeless centuries
a swinging sensation
harmonizing with various nations
a rolling wave of flaming sounds
electrifying the air
dizzy landscapes lost
in the booming jam
drunken brains
deep chemistry cheeks
smoking hips fading
in mainstream dimensions
underground hypnotics
compound high blazes
complex equations
seeping physics sinking in a
lifetime of intensifying boundaries
assembling sheets flowing
in a sea of glorified grooves
a lyrical volcano erupting
into brilliant scenery
dancing diction
crystal consonants
basked in perfection
marching metaphors
lucid tambourines
drumbeating trombones
swaying saxophones
all gleaming between
the sun and Saturn
the shimmering stars and serene moon

Gaudi hedges his bets
Against the future.
More than one hundred thirty-five years
Of building the infinite
La Sagrada Familia.
A stone mason’s nightmare.
An architect’s dream,
Painted by de Chirico.
Faith and nature intertwine.
Brown earth smears the facades.
Nativity and passion morph
Into angular designs.
A lizard, a leaf, a cross, a dove.
Bejeweled pillars bend and rise.
Crowned towers reach and climb
Spiral staircases to the heavens.
Chapels pray for silence.
Tourists pray for photo-ops.
All views turn inward.
There is much work to be done.

Can you tell me
please
which way now is home
I used to know, my dear
The way was clear
There was no fear

Tying my walking shoes
I knew I needed to get clear of here
thought I'd find
all that was dear

The road though, it is narrow
The cliff it is shear
My balance is
woozy

Can you tell me my dear

which way is home
which way do I go from here,
I think I oughta know
But the hills they are wavering
The ocean is in turmoil
The mountains are slick
far too dangerous

The desert has no mercy

I know something and with this knowledge
I think I must be cursed
I think I have it
Peace & Home
goes and comes
and comes and goes.

The frost is still there,
Throttling the rhododendron leaf,
And ice stalls the dissolve
Of the stone-like snow,
Yet I am happy.

The sun-rays are almost Etruscan,
Filtered low through lace and blind,
Like that ***** of sunset on Irene’s hair
Sad “couleur de feuille-morte”.
Yet it is sultry.

I can open a window
And breathe the warming air
Finches flock close, careless,
Now desperate for food
And pluck menescent fruit
Off an ice-bound branch.
In the distance, a cardinal sings.

Thick drapes are drawn aside
And geraniums strain toward the light.
In a nook outside the door,
An old cat basks on a corner of sun.
He yawns, seeing me, and strolls across the snow.

All nature seems to wait, but poised,
For the final unfettered token.
Will it be a sudden, favonian breeze?
Or the robin’s unrelenting noise?
Telling us, “Winter is broken”?