Chain link fence with barbed wire greeted the visitor to the dream.
We could not enter so we walked around Nature’s extravagant garden.
We followed a narrow thread of a trail which
          stitched its way through the green fabric of the forest.
The ground, underfoot, was a jigsaw puzzle of leaves, bits of bark, and pebbles.
The air was saturated with the scent of moist evergreen compost,
          a silent shout from a hillside defiant with life.
We passed trees dressed in velvety moss sporting calico patches
         of green, yellow and bark.
Fronds of green were about us, everywhere—a climbing army on the hillside
         taking a break from their labors.
The trail adorned itself with dainty flowers which would never know life in a vase.
Above it all stood towering sentinels guarding their occasional fallen comrades.
Their arms held multi-leveled lacy branches vibrating in the breeze, like
         the fans of an exotic dancer parsing out glimpses of the sky.
At the end of our trail lay stones; abandoned enormous toy building blocks
         piled imprecisely at the end of play.
Beside the stones, behind the fence, we spied silhouettes, patches of sky and trees
         mirrored in emerald reflection hugged by the silently crowding undergrowth.
At center stage, a tiered gray rock supported a bridal gown of white-flowing water,
         like a department store display of a June-bride manikin.
In fact it was a Sunday in June; we on the other side of the fence.  
         We were told that the park and the pool would not be open till the first of July.
Somehow the trees, the water, the ferns, the flowers, and my heart knew better.

J. Sandy

Chain link fence with barbed wire greeted the visitor to the dream.
We could not enter so we walked around Nature’s extravagant garden.
We followed a narrow thread of a trail which
          stitched its way through the green fabric of the forest.
The ground, underfoot, was a jigsaw puzzle of leaves, bits of bark, and pebbles.
The air was saturated with the scent of moist evergreen compost,
          a silent shout from a hillside defiant with life.
We passed trees dressed in velvety moss sporting calico patches
         of green, yellow and bark.
Fronds of green were about us, everywhere—a climbing army on the hillside
         taking a break from their labors.
The trail adorned itself with dainty flowers which would never know life in a vase.
Above it all stood towering sentinels guarding their occasional fallen comrades.
Their arms held multi-leveled lacy branches vibrating in the breeze, like
         the fans of an exotic dancer parsing out glimpses of the sky.
At the end of our trail lay stones; abandoned enormous toy building blocks
         piled imprecisely at the end of play.
Beside the stones, behind the fence, we spied silhouettes, patches of sky and trees
         mirrored in emerald reflection hugged by the silently crowding undergrowth.
At center stage, a tiered gray rock supported a bridal gown of white-flowing water,
         like a department store display of a June-bride manikin.
In fact it was a Sunday in June; we on the other side of the fence.  
         We were told that the park and the pool would not be open till the first of July.
Somehow the trees, the water, the ferns, the flowers, and my heart knew better.

J. Sandy

As always, amazing, Will.
So much there in your poetic words,
like countless shapes in the clouds...
clouds which frame the sun, and those that are inclined to rain.
Poet, philosopher, artist, all know the freedom
and occasional dangers of obfuscation.
They do not fear it.
They paint, and paint,
with brushes and words of many colors and shades,
while the sunbather and the farmer wait
for their share of warmth and rain.
All is not always as it seems.
The crow learns that, at the drive-up
one has to pay his way, to "have it your way" at Burger King.
And still, despite it all,
the farmer's crops and the suntan continue to confound impotent anxiety,
while the crow makes his way beneath the benches
where random crumbs embolden him to claim his own victory.
So passes another day in the life of a poet.

She's lace and confetti
With stars in her twinkles
A bright morning sunlight
Where smiling nose wrinkles
Perpetually moving
A bird and a flower
Now growing, now stretching
With all of her power
A tomboy, a lady
Whom nobody heckles
Until someone mentions
Those cute little freckles
She lives in her world
The star playing softball
At times sharing secrets
With kitty and her doll
But few in this world
Can know her so well
As I, sworn to secret
By her radiant spell
She's sometimes the thief
Just playing her part
Unknowing, each day
She steals in my heart
So one day tomorrow
Like roses, will bloom
With joy and with sorrow
Will leave with her groom
But come that tomorrow
Whenever it may
Forever in my heart
Forever she'll stay.

J. Sandy

Dear Algebra,
Please stop asking us
To find your X.
She has left
And she will never return,
And don't ask Y.

-Anonymous

In times when day has ended,
I simply can't go on
with energies expended,
my motivation gone
the mind begins to wander
so aimless as if lost
and deeply do I ponder
about the coming frost.
The topic's unimportant
in trash heap it is tossed
now everything's discordant
no matter what the cost
for miles the day's been ended
but in one place I run
oblivious, unintended
unknowing when I'm done--
just then I hear your voice, dear
say "stop and come to bed"
the stupor lifts as I hear
from heart and not my head.
So ends another long day
just snuggled close and mum
beneath warm covers we lay
with love, and more to come...

J. Sandy

A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,
  
Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,
  
Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown--
  
A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.
  
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,
  
Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,
  
Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves.
Memory by memory the mind--
  
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.

A poem should be equal to:
Not true.
  
For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.
  
For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea--

A poem should not mean
But be.

Archibald McLeish

Late last night
in a crumpled bed
all my courage gone
when my dreams all fled
you were on my mind
as if you were here
though I reached for you
you were nowhere near.

Rain upon my window,
rain within my heart
makes me weak to wonder
have we grown apart?
Will this coming morning
bring you back to me?
Or will a misty daylight
tell me: "You are free"?

Soft the rain is falling
as I think of you
sweet caressing outlines
of the one I knew.
Will you still remember?
In my heart you stole
bringing life and meaning
to my very soul.

Still, the words unspoken
but actions did approach,
commitments never given
with nothing to reproach
I turned and said my prayer
forgiveness in my heart
and wished you new beginnings
with love if we should part.

It must have been while thinking
that sleep at last won out
and sometime in these hours
I woke and looked about
the clouds had all departed
a sunrise morning's day
beside me you just whispered
"I'm here, my love, to stay."

J. Sandy

Because you loved me
you will always remain young and beautiful
in my memories.
You will always smile
with your lips and your eyes
as when you melted my heart.  
Because you loved me
you planted a seed of joy which still,
and always will live.

J. Sandy

May the stars shine just for you.
May the rainbow display its
Most glamorous colors for you.
May the sun shine golden and,
May the moon embrace you in
Her silver light every night.
May your mirror not lie to you.
May your heart best your mirror.
May your day have room for prayer.
May your sadness leave room for joy.
May your joy leave room for sharing.
May you love the world as well as
You love yourself. And,
May you be an asset of joy to the
World you live in,
And to the next.

- J. Sandy

Can you find God in a dewdrop?
In the vastness of the sky?
Might The One live in the tear drop
Which you shed when asking: "Why?"
Are you certain or just speaking
When you tag "Him" with a "He?"
Will "He" silently ignoring
Turn a deaf ear to a "She?"

When you're praying or you're singing
Can you find Her in your heart?
And each moment while you're living
Do you think you live apart?
In the eyes of all your children
Can you see His love within?
In the lives of all you brethren
Look for Her and not for sin.

So I ask you: "Can you find God?"
All around you, there is life.
Is She growing in the green sod
Or just hiding from all strife?
No more questions, I won't tease you
I will soon give you the sign:
Not in buildings made to please you
Will you find what is Divine.

- J. Sandy

As I reflect on slow dainty sips,
The light from the window
Disclosing your tea-wetted lips,
I remember thinking that your profile
Was sweeter than soft caressing rain
On the strangely distant windowpane
And that your features betrayed
The subtle art of nature's paint palette
As surely as she had conceived
The embrace of a summer's eve.

The rhythm of droplets lost in time
Whose steady drip, drip singing
Formed a calming refrain
Played host to
The afternoon canvas of exuberance
Which now bleeds its
Pastel colors to oblivion
On the pages of my mind.

You had a compelling innocence then
Which could not conceive of boundaries
While your twinkling eyes
Recalled in me the
Urgent spice-aroma of
A hot midday field of wildflowers
Full of defiant life and
Nearly exploding from the neck and temples.

In the half-light of the study
I marveled at the hue of your
Cinnamon-cream skin
In its summer blush;
The delicate symmetry of your lips
The easy confidence of your laughter
Your casual, almost unkempt hair--
Inviting a touch or a caress--
Which conjured within me
An urgent near-irrepressible expectation
Of the scent and feel of your embrace.

You were made for love
The kind of love
Which fills each moment,
Each glance, each act,
With the awareness,
The intensity, and
The passion of a lifetime.
Your eyes opened to
Well-guarded secret possibilities
I had not dared to entertain before.

And as I became overwhelmed
by your beauty
and the sweetness of your voice
my eyes returned to
the flower in my hand
its color and scent
enchanting reminders of
you
the only missing puzzle piece
which can complete
the longing in my heart.

J. Sandy

Here lies Alex Rex
Who lost his life from unsafe ***
While attending the Preakness
Roving eyes showed his weakness
Till the filly and he met His ex.
                                - J. Sandy

My sweet lovely lady who brightens my day
Awakes with eyes smiling which beg me to stay
Her eyes full of laughter as green as the sea
Now whisper her heart's song with magickal glee.
With soft silent motion I'm warmed by her breath
I breathe in her spirit which saves me from death
For death would come swiftly if we cold not be
Two soul mates as one who must love to be free.

The closeness so glorious a moment it takes
When breathless excitement within me awakes
The veil of her red locks cascade down her face
Inviting caresses of nature's soft lace.
Oh heavenly whisper: "Good morning" she said
As sweet perfect moist lips in smile I see spread
"Good morning my sweetheart" the whispered reply
Bursts forth from my lips with the force of a sigh.

Then hand touching hand with caressing which lingers
Brings gesture to close, interlocking our fingers
Soon arching above velvet-soft are our kisses
Each touch now fulfilling our passionate wishes.
Once more eyes of passion make one of two lovers
With giggles and laughter now both under covers
I long for these mornings, the rest of my life
Two soul mates and best friends, a man and his wife.

J. Sandy

I traveled this life once in search of my treasure
For anything easy which could give me pleasure
My choices were many
A buck or a penny
They all wanted something
My life or my money
Their eyes were all jaded
In faces soon faded
Though now I remember
In early September
The voice in the crowd
The warning out loud
A wizened old crone
Yells: “You’ll be alone.”
The message was wasted, I just could not hear
The din of the music left no room for fear.

I traveled this life then in beauty surrounded
In places where sunshine and nature abounded
The feeling of wonder
Undimmed by the thunder
And flashes of lightning
From clouds to down under
I ran through the rain
Ignoring all pain
My youth was my own
Now soaked to the bone
As if in a play
With nothing to say
The words of a bird
Which I never heard
The colors were muted I felt quite insane
Now heedless and breathless I missed the refrain.

I traveled this life then to see many places
The dull and the dreary with beautiful faces
But if you would dare
To sample the fare
You heeded the warning
To always beware
Of laughter familiar
And manner peculiar
The one who would sleep
Was not yours to keep
Just keep moving on
The show is now gone
No Jack, Jill, or Joan
Once more you’re alone
The bed sheets were wrinkled, and no four-leafed clover—
As aimless I wondered “How could it be over?”

I wandered through life, Pacific, Atlantic
The message I missed oblivious and frantic
I paid no attention
Eschewed all convention
While others still blaming
With dark condescension
Within me the flame
Was seeking to blame
A cadre of gents
With dollars and cents
Whose zero sum game
Of fortune and fame
Had thwarted my laughter
From now ever-after
In vain had I hoped to hear on the phone
The answer I sought while living alone.

I anchored a lifetime in hopes for a cause
And fearlessly battled for years without pause
Great rallies attended
At times apprehended
Thought nothing of giving
The cause I defended
I sought to inspire
Uncover the liar
The world never heeded
What I knew it needed
And yet, to the end
I learned not to bend
So true in my quest
Rejecting the rest
I battled with others till they fell away
As each found a reason why they couldn’t stay.

I traveled a life where my friendships I’d borrow
As happiness faded I turned now to sorrow
But in a reflection
A dream of perfection
Once more I was smiling
Now steeped in affection
The treasure I found
Through reason unbound
Defying all logic
The secret was magick
How could I have known
Why I was alone
Still trying to reach
The star from the beach?
My love bore a flower so radiant and free
It unchained all the hearts who had sought it in me.

J. Sandy

The breath of summer still filled the tiny space
When curtains parted inviting in the breeze
The candle flickered, resisting the embrace
Then winked in answer as shadows it would tease

Outside, the night, filled quiet timeless twilight
With whispers, sweet, to while away the hours
Dark satin shapes beneath the brilliant moonlight
Now standing watch, entranced by sleeping flowers

Upon the bed, oblivious to the instant
She lay asleep, her passions now expended
The velvet warmth, so close and yet so distant
No mem’ry where each had begun or ended

What does it mean? How can one say: “I love you?”
Will that convey a feeling so unending?
Or can we speak and read in eyes as you do?
Or just go on, denying and pretending?

Oh gentle grace, please let me be not blind
Teach me to see with an accepting heart
See love’s return which seldom is in kind–
Teach me a way that we may never part

Tonight again, the shadows and the moonlight
Remind me of the wish I made so often
The moment passed, as silently as midnight
Into my heart—oh, how I loved you then!

- J. Sandy

Love is…
Asking and being asked how your day went.
Wanting to see the world from the other's point of view--even, and especially if it is different from yours.
Quietly anticipating and being always willing to act on the needs of the other.
Being happiest in the other's company.
Always assuming the best about the other.
Pitching in without having to be asked.
Not letting fear or embarrassment stop you from always communicating how you feel.
Always wanting to know, and be willing to listen.
Sharing life goals, disappointments, sorrows,  joys, and triumphs.
Lots of small daily things, not just the big things.
Making love--not just having ***.
Feeling whole and complete because of your relationship with the other.
Feeling supported and empowered to stretch and reach for all you need, to be you.
Doing everything in your power to help the other as they grow to reach for self-realization.
Making allowances for the other, without keeping a tally.
Quiet happy times, alone, together.
J. Sandy

On the Threshold of Love

There is a place which I recall
in quiet moments when I'm alone
where the light of a candle and
the sound of your voice seemed to merge as one
as they cradled my soul.
Your tender silhouette, so gentle yet strong,
set the world to right
and the music of the chords
as your fingers caressed the strings
gave meaning to life
beyond all comprehension.
Life was so simple and so complicated then.
You kindled in me
the moon and the stars
who drank deep from your eyes
and from your innocence
with no demands,
no expectations,
no explanations.
We were alone in the world,
in the silence of a look, a touch, a kiss.
How I loved you then!
How I love you still!

J. Sandy

The clouds raced by
Hiding the sun.
A chill breeze
Rearranged
Dead leaves on the ground,
And the echoes of the words
Spoken inside, also
Scattered on the deaf stones
Of time-worn steps
By the cathedral entrance
As hurled grains of rice,
Doomed underfoot,
Lay destined
As today's fodder for the
Pigeons of the square.

- J. Sandy

I leaned over and picked up
the flower he had discarded.
The crumpled petals still soft like velvet
bore creases and bruises
from the punishing treatment.
I saw him walking,
red faced and somber
aimless and alone
as he was leaving the park.
She had told him she needed time.
He heard her say no--and
his impatience born of
self-absorption
completely belied his intent--
to express undying love for her.
The quarrel over, she retreated,
while the unsuspecting flower
bore the brunt of his aggression.
Pity him? Pity her?
It was beyond my power.
I only saw the flower.
And as I thought about it
through wet and thoughtful eyes
I saw the flower in my hands
loose its outer petals, one by one.
It's core untouched, like a miracle,
the once bruised and crumpled mass
turned into a beautiful bud once more
and smiled on me
with the last rays of the afternoon.

J. Sandy

In earlier times the destruction of a man was routine.
Harsher realities, physical labors, simpler medicine.
Today, routine is unrecognized.
Many toil in settings which prompt no alarm.
Gnarled hands are not in view, while gnarled souls are in review.
The class distinctions and disdain
Are replaced by a new refrain.
Drugs and alcohol are his fault,
No thinking stops the assault!
Don't you know that we each, were equal at the start?
Can't you hear our call as children, each playing his part?
Our pains, though different, are just as real.
Analysis of our histories nothing will reveal.
"They were all good people once."
Could they be still?
Who is that inside that hollow shell?
...
C'mon, let's go...

-- J. Sandy

Illusions come in many forms, many guises.
They often take shape, many forms many sizes.
A blank canvas or blank slate
our minds create
--children of our imagination.
Identities bulldozed by need
we rush to plant the seed
to quickly take its form,
tender and loving
or lustful and cunning
we miss the deception
see only reflection
and crassly miss the person
beneath its shackles.
The canvas a prison
is passive, not active
releases its captive
to our great surprise.
"I thought that you loved me"
"and how could you hurt me?"
with sorrowful tone
we cry "I'm alone."
The romance is ended
the love you defended
was never to be
you just could not see--
and somewhere we see them
departing in freedom
but often we miss the whole point.
True love's not possessing,
will not be repressing,
will not be demanding
nor will it be binding.
True love will empower
does not make one cower
it gives us the strength
to be happy and free.
And should you still ponder
the nature of wonder
be troubled no more
just open the door
let jealousy burn
And if they return
your joy will be great
for it is your fate
that they'll leave you no more.

J. Sandy

Alive and intoxicated
By the sparkle of your laughter;
Sensing, not hoping, I waited forever.
Telephones can be such cruel instruments of
Enforced distance–
But just now, I cradled mine, softly.
I wished you walks in flower-speckled meadows,
Near laughing brooks and trees covered with velvety moss.
I wished you warm sunny days, and lazy afternoons,
And diamond-splashed indigo nights spent counting stars.
I wished more than words which a phone could convey...
And I hurried to hush the fear in my heart.
I have been away too long.
I have seen too many sunsets.
I have been true to myself throughout my desolation,
And now, I tread the path between good-bye and surrender.

"He calls me a genius, and he actually means it!"
She calls me "empathic," and a "rare bird" at that!
It's all so confusing! When I'm only a misfit
Or so others call me, "the big scaredy-cat!"

Some people are's different as day is from night
But even these two share the same wondrous sky
So too we are different, and never in sight
Of one substance, two souls, without knowing why.

Each time these two meet they simply can't touch
The nearness is maddening, emotions will rush
In morning and evening their sky is too much
The witnessing clouds can do nothing but blush.

The gold in her heart speaks of soft-mirrored fall
The dream--she objects--is not where it starts
But still, she will listen to a heart-whispered call
As both find their haven in each other's hearts.

J. Sandy

I still see your smile bloom
In the afternoon sun.
Tall as a corn stalk
Nursed by rain
And gentle winds.
As peas in a pod
Or twin trunks
Of matching shade trees,
A boy and his companion.
We smiled at each other
With toothless relish
While causing harmless mischief.
Fishing in the brook or
Swimming in the lake,
We counted stars on our backs
While taking turns explaining
To each other all of
Life's inscrutable mysteries.
We were best of buddies,
At school and at home.
We shared our lunches
And our "girly" hunches.
We solemnly became "blood brothers"
And swore friendship
Honorable, sublime, eternal...
We were there for each other
With smiles, joys, and
Tender growth one only shares
With the most special of buds.
We were buds, and in due time
We each flowered into our
Respective summers.

We were inseparable,
And I still speak with you
Every day, past the flowers
And the iron gate.
For you will always be my friend,
Even though you could not stay.

J. Sandy

*In memory of a high school friend who died in Viet Nam.