Dreams have changed
      This side of their lives,
What once was urgent
      Has become faded dusk
New visions arise
      Out of experienced change
A flame grows dimmer
      Another bursts brighter
A wishful ponder
      Becomes a faithful hope
They’re molding my dreams
      As I endeavor to mold their lives
Let them become
      All they can be
Let me watch
      My emerging dreams
Drawn out of hearts
     That being instilled
Were known before they existed

       Dreams changing,
             Hope growing,
                    Faith rising,
                          Life realized.

I thought it doesn’t matter
What you do with your life
Can’t still affect me
Or so I thought

I was just on the outside
Walking past a window
As I passed I’d glance
Catch just a glimpse

Just a short look nothing more
I wanted to pretend
All was still the same
That nothing changed

From the outside looking in
Things looked fairly normal
Until I saw her
Through the window

I just couldn’t walk on by
Like all the times before.
She was really there
And my tears fell

As my tears touched the window
It shattered around me
No more pretending
Reality

In deepest wood
  A home once stood
Roses bloom by chimney fall
       An old stone wall
Lines remnant trail
Gives heed to open well
                     Where lilacs trace
                           An empty space
                       And fills the air
              With scent to wear
                 An apple tree
       And mulberries
           An old home site
                 In morning light

r  ~  9Mar14

To ocean's roar--the sea oats dance
To music of--nor'easter's glance
Holding fast on--windswept seashore
Lending hand to--rippled dunes' chore

Paniculata's--feathered lance
Leaves not the sand--to nature's chance
To leave in dunes--an open door
To ocean's roar

Sea oats seeking--perfect balance
Barren beach and--storm's dalliance
Shorebirds nesting--while sea gulls soar
Still ocean tries--and shouts for more
Sea oats bending--yet still they dance
To ocean's roar

r ~ 9Mar14

winch sinched grimmace
hung at half mast
in an attempt to hold rebelious bicusbids in their place
     but they still wiggle like a bobble-head jesus glued to the dash
     every time that you laugh
so i guess that's why you're giving it up

your arms look like a road map
     riddled with pin-***** ***-holes
and with routes to hell and back marked
by distressed vasculatory flares
     so you ask to borrow my sweater
     and another fourty bucks
with no explanation why

for once
     you didn't lie to me