White flurries descending from the gray sky
Starting to envelope the ground like blankets
Leaves are lovely as if they have trinkets
Naked trees suddenly have ornaments
The cold wind blows the crystals in rhythm
Snowflakes are dancing like tiny butterflies
Winter's beauty truly isn't pale and colored light
The earth's not asleep, only dressed in sparkly white

i cannot seem to discern where sea becomes sky in a serene slippery oneness of grey and pink the black fishing boats dart across the surface like birds and i feel if i could touch it i would turn into one of them and
                      fly
                               away.

She danced in circles by the Sea,
Barefoot, a hypnotic scene,
He gazed in awww, as her silhouette met with the sunset
A view like this has to be heaven sent,
she danced in circles as if carefree, drowning her sorrows by the Sea,
He watched her fondly... and for a minute buried all his woes,
under the sand where no one goes,
just for a moment in time the world rolls on,
We're stuck in a gaze,
We shared agony and love with such a Grace,
For one last time she danced in circles against a reddening sunset,
Eyes locked she got to see....
for one last time,
His smile,
His laughter and his humanity

One of the things
I love most
About the northbound train
Is the art
That gives life
To the tracks.
While the river bends,
Cities light up,
Buildings crumble,
The graffiti, it speaks;
It says I’m not allowed,
But I belong.
While the factories smoke,
Churches point upward,
Lotto billboard pops,
The graffiti, it shouts;
It says I take risks
To be heard.
While the bridges arch,
Traffic stands still,
Telephone lines wrap,
The graffiti, it raps;
It’s says what may be dark
Is also colorful.
While the junkyard piles up,
No trespassing signs warn,
Comedy shows advertised,
The graffiti, it weeps;
It says time will heal,
But I will not forget you.
I am merely passing through
This fine cultural gallery
Generations felt worth painting.
Appreciating the pretty concrete,
Imagining the stories
Of lovers, fighters and punks
Still begging to be expressed.
Wondering what bold message
I would moss spray
If I got off at the next station
To tag what’s in my heart.

Northwest damp cold
Comforting envelope
Hidden in its own
Shelter
Sealed by
Drizzle
Its palette
Thickly drenched in
Charcoal shadow
Meshed with evergreen
On a cobalt metal roof
Dancing in-between
The cracks
And living in
Black rain boots

An eerie mist descends
just above the water level
as daylight begins to fade
All the trees are bare
and the ancient mountains
are stubbornly standing there
All the boats are in shore
having their winter makeover
Odd flickers of light
quickly come and go
adding to the mystery
of those who have perished there
in Lake Windermere

I remember passion fondly,
sepia-toned snapshots
of vaguely familiar faces,
preposterous poses
grinning at memory's camera.
Such children we were,
bloated with self-importance
raring to be loosed
upon an unsuspecting world
     (they'll never know what hit'em).
Battered by time,
small success and major failures,
a one-sided smile
crawls up my face today
as I pray
for a fragment of that fire,
a torch
to light the rest of my days.

A cradle of no laughter,
               the silence crawls on
                            Every sheet.

Where there was fondness of
blue pools filled with stars.
           Now black holes
                       Of desperation
Collapse within the weight of self.



The cradle is voidless in our
   Sunken voyage of silence.
       I look upon the stars
            And you became a supernova.