You speak and I hear
A voice like music spoke
If morning is beginning
I loved you ere I woke

You speak and I hear
A song in perfect tune
If mid-day is our time together
I'll treasure afternoon

You speak and I hear
A laugh so sweet and true
If evening is eternal
I'll spend the night with you

a single leaf skipped by
on a gust of wind
i heard it sadly sigh
for what it once had been
at first light did it let go
while others stayed behind
it wandered wistful down below
alone and cruelly blind
i held it up at its behest
deep green its color took
in my heart it's now pressed
a leaf within a book

Whence comes the welcome warming
Of water, wood and stone
With earth and sky together forming
The love of Home is sown

Much can be said for worn-out old boots
And the soul of an insatiable rover
As much can be said of reverent old roots
And a family to love and watch over

Aphorism of the Day:

Wealth makes an insidiously tacit
demand that there be poverty.

In the race
to discover
the purpose
of life
nothing beats
happiness.

When light defies inexorable night
And dusk is held at bay
I'll cheer the rebel's futile fight
That comes at end of day

When blood yet streams through stubborn hearts
And beats its raddled drum
I'll sing the song till it departs
Upon the final strum

When water meets a grateful shore
And every thirst it saves
I'll drink a cup forevermore
Of all the blessed waves

When slumber coldly shoulders in
And vows to not redeem
I'll kiss the day without chagrin
To sleep, perchance to dream

i followed close the river's flow
upon a winding road
it softly whispered to and fro
its secrets as i strode

i came upon a saddened child
who knew much more than i
i asked his name and he just smiled
and turned to say good-bye

the air was sweet and warm and dry
the river bade me follow
thoughts of the child that would not cry
kept me from my wallow

the river narrowed and flowed with haste
and i ran to match its pace
but the image still was not erased
of the saddened child's face

what did he know that i did not?
why sad and yet still smiling?
what mystery was his lonesome lot?
why was he so beguiling?

with heavy foot did i then tread
as i neared the river's end
into a larger river, it now led
whose course that i did wend

i trekked along the riverbank
one thought still filled my mind
then and then my poor heart sank
at what i was to find

again the saddened child i met
and the vigil that he kept
his eyes upon me now were set
as the saddened child wept

What are fingers, anyway?
What gentle touch is missed?
On whatever given anguished day
When fingers form a fist

What are hands for, anyway?
If not for us to lend?
Can I make you do just as I pray?
Is your will my hand's to bend?

What's a conscience, anyway?
If not a simple guide?
How does one have final say
With indifference, what has died?

What's a dream for, anyway?
What nightmares must we reap?
Till comes the morning of the day
We rise from peaceful sleep

There once was a poet from Britain
On whose reading one day did I sit in
When the throng said, "Arcane"
He was heard to explain
"It's not for you that it's written"

From first breath to last
Among all living creatures
The thing what makes us gods
Is our laughter.

(a song lyric)

i looked long upon the forest
and i beheld a tree
i handed it a smile
and it gave one back to me
it's the simple things in life i love
and me darlin'
so does she

i watched a herd of birds in dance
so expert in their glee
i bowed to them in wonder
and they curtsied back to me
it's the simple things in life i love
and me darlin'
so does she

she keeps my winters warm
and my summers always cool
autumn takes her blessed form
spring took me for her fool

i saw a tiny dog do handstands
and sing on bended knee
i clapped so joyous for him
that he sang a song for me
it's the simple things in life i love
and me darlin'
so does she

i felt a yearning heart so lovely
that struggled cross the sea
i whispered words of hope to it
as it beat inside of me
it's the simple things in life i love
and me darlin'
so does she

What does the aching world now hear
With each new turning of its sphere
Now passed unto another year
We creatures of primordial fear
The gun and fist and pen and spear
Words that burn and hate and sear
Will only come the last shed tear
When throes of rage at last does clear

The Autumn of life
Like the season
May be clad in beauty
But blessedly unlike the season,
It holds and can long last
Winter then steals in
but unwanted
Overstaying its use
Save the first blanket of snow
Prayers are for it fleeting

if someone is absolutely convinced
that the sky is plaid
and you try to tell them
that it is in fact blue
and you point up at the blue sky above
and you ask them to just look at it
try not to be too surprised
at what they see.

gimme gimme gimme some wonder

write a message on my wall

i'm tryin' to keep from goin' under

i wanna be above it all

gimme gimme gimme some wonder

sing a sweet and clever song

i got time for one more blunder

but no time to be dead wrong

the time that's left is shrinking

the days pass by so fast

now it's only wishful thinking

my future is my past

gimme gimme gimme some wonder

show me the unworn trail

let me hear the loudest thunder

before i set my sail

gimme gimme gimme some wonder

tell me something i don't know

one more thought that i can plunder

before it's time to go

"See that up there?"

"Up where, Daddy?"

"Right there," he said, pointing at the moon that had

risen high above the silhouetted trees.

"That's the moon," said the little girl.

The chilly, early autumn night was such a warm welcome

from an endless summer of tropical, stiflingly humid New

England heat.

"That moon," he said, as he put his arm around her,

and drew her close to him, "belongs to everybody

in the world. Everyone, as soon as they're born,

gets a piece of that moon."

"It's very pretty," she said.

"Well, here's the thing, my darling sweet Daughter. I'm

giving you my piece."

"What?...Why?"

He smiled, and told her, "If I give you my piece,

the moon will be yours."

"How can that be?"

"Because you'll own two pieces of the moon, and

that's more than anyone else has."

"But what if someone else gives their piece away?"

He laughed, kissed her on the cheek, and

said, "That's impossible. Everyone loves their

piece of the moon so much that they would never

give it away...unless they love someone as much

as I love you...and so...that's impossible."

The moon shone brightly in the autumn sky, as

brightly as it ever, and always will.

"It belongs to you."

On this, the year end's longest night
Embarks the sting of Winter's bite
From spent December's weary light
To Olde New England clothed in white
A fertile Earth waits out of sight
Till comes the Crocus and the Sprite

Through dew-filled coddling earth
raised toward a siring sun
my longing arms confirm my birth
in a measure just begun

With verdant sinew lithe and strong
my feet grip firm the ground
entrenched in land where I belong
to each beloved sound

Upon an arbitrary breeze
in every thread that's spun
a secret kept by ancient trees
is told when Autumn's done

The rising sun and fickle moon
etch an ever artless slate
until my withered stem is hewn
by an ageless, common fate

O when autumn's pendants leave
and comes the setting sun
do I rejoice or grieve
the tree's bare skeleton?

O when sheds the summer fleece
in colours o'er the earth
the dream of spring is my caprice
from winter comes rebirth

Atop a sea's forsaken cliff
Bowing to its final curtain
The overlooked forgotten if
The requisite uncertain

What's left now is only when
With no future nor no past
Our fists clenched tightly once again
The die once more is cast

That man's not my Brother
Or so that's what I've been told
That stranger is an Other
His blackened heart beats cold

We've danced like this before
To the same old tired tune
We've marched together off to war
And we've all come home to ruin

Will this be our only always?
Our unalterable only fate?
Timid mice trapped in a maze
All know the hour grows late

how is it we, that wear the crown

what lion do we release

that simply won't lie down

with a simple thought of peace

why is muscle prized the best

when it's without it's strength

can muscle feel inside our chest

a long and full life's length

when will all things understand

there's nothing that's above

the simple moments right at hand

and the living we all love

I built a house high on a hill
Before I'd held a nail
I crossed an ocean on a sloop
Before I learned to sail
I took to wing among the clouds
Not knowing how to fly
I fell in love at autumn's call
Not knowing how to cry

Comes warmth and light to sire your name
With blue and orange and red
Comes stalwart as a white hot flame
Where the wicked dare not tread

A loving Titan did then conspire
Not giving second thought
Defied a God and gave us fire
Though misery was his lot

Much is written and at great length
Of where true beauty lies
It's in the wisdom and the strength
That dance in Julia's eyes

New fallen snows
Silk wedding gowns
All that life throws
The ups and downs
Beautiful rose
Paper made crowns
And so it goes
White's dear sweet sounds

In this old world as I grow older
When my old watch forgets the time
There's much less for me to shoulder
And so much smaller hills to climb

I look to once my future past
I forget if I remember
But if my footprint is to last
I must walk before December

A long time drawn line
Now who will go first
With a stiffened spine
We who are well versed
How do we now cross
That line in the sand
Can we suffer loss
Within our proud land
We all know we're right
We just can't be wrong
It's better to fight
Than sing the same song
If we're to survive
Then we'd better learn
That music will thrive
When each takes a turn

I traveled to a land of trees
As summer turned to fall
I shivered in the biting breeze
That warned of winter's pall

I spoke to every tree I met
And every fallen leaf
The wind they said had not blown yet
Much so to their relief

They swayed together all as one
And shared a common fear
With roots so deep they could not run
As winter winds drew near

I tried to reassure my friends
Each year begins anew
The Earth will surely make amends
To every one of you

I spoke to what I knew of change
And what I knew of spring
But something in the air seemed strange
There tolled a plaintive ring

And then I saw what troubled me
In this dear painted wood
A plague infected every tree
Where once they proudly stood

Two old friends sit on a fence
With their cap in hand
Grateful for the odd few pence
Past dignity be ******
The future is their wistful past
Each month a day gone by
And when their time is up at last
They'll heave a grateful sigh
The tune is not yet over
Though weary do they stand
They'll rest in fields of clover
And lie in grains of sand

We artists, peasants, fools and King

We beasts that roam in packs

We citizens that claim to God we sing

We players of one act

Our hopes a hollow, smirking jest

Our dreams for darkness lack

Our past remains a futile quest

Our future ten steps back

tell me why there's Mother's Day
what sets the day apart
why should i give a flower bouquet
when i could give my heart

each rising sun and amber moon
through streams both wide and narrow
comes singing brave, a happy tune
a strong and gentle hero

so tell me why there's Mother's Day
one day's just like another
it's always been just child's play
to have you for my Mother

There once was a broadcast debate
That for Trump was too little too late
Because of the COVID
He'll soon be out voted
For women will determine his fate

(an elegy for Aylan Kurdi)

carried on the foam white crest
on wood on water on sand
the cruelty that must be jest
has washed across our land

once i knew a fine young boy
who looked with sad old eyes
upon his own dear life's joy
and the happiness that lies

lift me up my last old friend
my finally, again last chance
my dear beginning and my end
my fleeting final glance

Let me lay down to rest,

in a sleep that is owed,

on a calm verdant crest

of an old country road

Sing to me a whispered song

and grant my simple plea

Let me stay the whole daylong

beneath a perfect tree

at morning's end
clinging to an eave
out my window
hung a frozen spire

the mid-day sun
flickered through it
with simple beauty
gold and silver blue

each passing hour
I watched the spire
slowly waste away

till finally it let go
at the end of day

It was autumn
A better day could not have been asked for
The clouds were on vacation
The laser-like rays of the sun dotted the yellow, red and brown
Discarded cloaks of the Maples, Oaks and Birches  
Cloaks which were lazily dropped upon the forest floor
A cool, mercurial breeze playfully roused the brightly colored leaves
Into a chorus of whispering mysteries.

(The Students of Parkland)

A brave young heart that's never sinned
Is caused to take the helm
Tired echoes baffled by the wind
Are exiled from the realm

A brave young voice sings clear and strong
A song that will be learned
A simple tune of right and wrong
For which we've too long yearned

If everyone
Got
What they wanted
No one
Would
Get anything

There once was a call to impeach
A conman who's merely a leech
He'll trade arms for dirt
Who cares who gets hurt
It's all just a day at the beach

Aphorism of the Day:

If everyone were to follow their dreams, then
who's going to pick up the trash?

I traveled to a land of trees
As summer turned to fall
I shivered in the biting breeze
That warned of winter's pall

I spoke to every tree I met
And every fallen leaf
The wind they said had not blown yet
Much so to their relief

They swayed together all as one
And shared a common fear
With roots so deep they could not run
As winter winds drew near

I tried to reassure my friends
Each year begins anew
The Earth will surely make amends
To every one of you

I spoke to what I knew of change
And what I knew of spring
But something in the air seemed strange
There tolled a plaintive ring

And then I saw what troubled me
In this dear painted wood
A plague infected every tree
Where once they proudly stood

With sleep once more before me
My mind sought to implore me
In my wall the smallest crack
Why care were I to notice
An etched line of thinnest black
A flaw of the remotest
It hadn't been there yesterday
At least I think so anyway
I'm off at last to face my dreams
Of riddles, lies and brittle schemes
When morning pulls me from my bed
I'll put aside the evening's dread
That fissure in my bedroom wall
I may have conjured after all

There falls a simple drop of rain
Upon a lime green fern
A blessed link of ancient chain
That takes its rightful turn

A precious breath of earnest air
That fills a grateful breast
Needn't say a wishful prayer
To hold it to its quest

The heavens steeped in fickle blue
Hold up a captive Sun
The dawn so old but ever new
A canvas left undone

An excessive amount
of money
more
than one needs
is the root
of
all
evil.

Whence begins a brand new day
Old bitter clouds die parched
Overflowing rivers marched
To green from darkest gray

Hence so falls a sad lament
To a blithe and silent death
Sorrow sighs a childless breath
In taciturn descent

Thence a soul is unconfined
Left free to its devices
To entertain that which entices
A just and fertile mind

Christmas is coming
It's practically here
Drummers are drumming
to the best time of year

With carols we're humming
there's snow in the air
Strummers are strumming
Our loved ones are near

The wait can be numbing
but scrumptious to bear
To joy we're succumbing
It's Christmas, my Dear!

Between the lines and faded pages
I tried to read blurred words
Of all the now forgotten sages
And for what their portent girds

A chapter for the innocent
And the simply reasoned pact
Written ironclad as their covenant
Sold as 'it is written' fact

A long passage spoke of virtue
As if it's for the choosing
A uniformly clannish stew
For which there's no refusing

A word of love made up a phrase
That warmed my lonely heart
I'll carry it for all my days
As an imperfect art

A sentence then did run on
It seemed to not abate
A web that it was spun on
Was made from wanton hate

The epilogue was too unclear
For resolve did I then *****
If just to ease my troubled fear
To find a word of hope

There once was a Rep named Lee Zeldin
And dodging was what he excelled in
You can ask what you will
But your battle's uphill
His candor is too often held in

What are fingers, anyway
What gentle touch is missed
On any given anguished day
When lips cannot be kissed

What are hands for, anyway
If not for us to lend
To hold each other everyday
For strangers we befriend

What's a dream for, anyway
What nightmares must we reap
Till comes the morning of the day
We rise from peaceful sleep

most of what i read
on Hello Poetry
is a sad stampede
of mostly woe-is-me