Oh sometimes in the snowy
mist of my dreams.
I see you mom.
I know way back then.
You were unhappy.
The clean house
The perfect smile.
The pearls on your neck.
The imperfect marriage.
I know you had to leave him.
Your heart was too empty
Too vacant to carry on.
But what did I do mom?.
All I wanted was your
Kiss  goodnight.
Your soft lips
cooling my fevers.
I miss you mom.
But I hope you found
Your place of sweetness.
I know I am still looking
For mine.

Let's dance the next dance
like it's the last dance,
like we know
that it's our last chance
to dance and when
the band begin to slow
hold me like smoke,
there is a flame inside my soul
burning the dancefloor,
let's dance before it goes...

Innocence is the days when
I thought that monsters
lived under the bed rather
than slept right beside me.

It was the times I feared
heights almost as much as
I now fear brooding stares.

Back when I thought
passionate love was the
only kind worth having
— that I now wish for a
lover who loves quietly.

Innocence was thinking
danger was an ill-advised
adventure, not a man.

It was admiring a tornado
heart and not realizing the
damage it would cause.

And we are mummified in shrouds of love.
After eternity, dawn like a dove,
A merry archaeologist – he has the light.
-from "Here We Loved" by  Yehuda Amichai*

It is so heavy now, it is so juicy,
this fat peach sun sinking down.
I want to slip between your fingers
and plunge through,
Can I weigh on your chest and your
legs and your arms
and your breath?
Wrap up all the hurt and burn the ends,
like a two-way candle
when it's done and all my
excess has melted off. I am feather
I am ghost, I am heaven

THE BOUNTY OF MY HARVEST

The harvest is over this year
I wait for next year's summer
Nature never fails in its promise
One season faithfully follows another.

Yet the bounty of my harvest
Is richer than any that nature can provide
In your loving heart shines the eternal green pasture
I need nothing more---all else I set aside.

Our love is the ripening
Of all that grows in this fertile land
Far away from the fever and fret of life
Upon luxuriant and faithful soil we stand.

Every seed of love we plant together
Will flower and grow to be ours alone
This is our pasture of endless beauty and joy
This is the most splendid bounty of what we have sown.

I have an old guitar named Gypsy Queen.  Normally this would not be much of a momentous occasion, lots of people name their guitars,but Gypsy is hand made by me.  Many moons ago when my ex wife was pregnant with my only child, a daughter, I took an adult education night class while I was attending college as a day job.  Our instructor had recently taken a trip to Canada to buy wood as he made his living building custom guitars and he had some of the most beautiful birds eye maple I'd ever seen and also some very good spruce for the top of the guitar.  We met at the local high-school's woodshop classroom.  I knew all the power tools there having taken wood shop twice in middle school and again in high-school.  From raw lumber I fashioned her pieces, sides, three piece back, neck, keyboard (made from some exotic ebony my instructor had), and top.  While my wife was patiently waddling about the house I shaped and sanded those pieces on our living room floor.  The interior struts, the binding, and frets for the keyboard had to be created as well.  When I finally got her glued and assembled she was quite a sight, almost perfect in every way, and the quality wood she was made from was so beautiful I had never seen the likes of her before.  Most of the people in the class didn't get that far not having the skills with the tools or the coordination necessary to succeed.  Still she needed to be lacquered and finished.  All told, special tools and accouterments, cost of the wood, glue and sandpaper, plus the frets (nickeled silver), and the grover tuning pegs she cost me about $160.  But almost 500hrs labor went into her creation, whole free weekends spent sanding and shaping.  It was a year or more before I finally got her lacquered and she was so beautiful I could scarce believe I had made her, totally from scratch.  I had even inlaid her mother of pearl keyboard art, god she was a sight.  Both she, and my daughter, are now close to 40 years old, and she still plays like a champ.  Ask any guitarist about guitars they use a lot, see how many survive that long.  She's my prized possession to this day.  Her custom bridge is shaped like a bird (something I've never seen to this day anywhere else) and I'd put her sound up against any expensive Martin made.  Plus she is so much prettier.  She's old and her finish is crackled some but her neck is still true and her action is superb.  Through the years she has brought me so much joy, I'm so glad I took that class.  I hope she survives till I die cause I want to mix her ashes with mine before they get spread around by my friends.  I'll want something to play in the afterlife.