resounding chords ascend   from lifelike paper notes
   augmented visions shape   curves in deepest space                      
       perceptions do portray     a storied truth of now
          branding this reality        mine and yours unique                      
            so often in agreement       *and so we co-create

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size  
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,  
The stride of my step,  
The curl of my lips.  
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,  
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,  
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.  
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.  
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,  
And the flash of my teeth,  
The swing in my waist,  
And the joy in my feet.  
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered  
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,  
They say they still can’t see.  
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,  
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my *******,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.  
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.  
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,  
The bend of my hair,  
the palm of my hand,  
The need for my care.  
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

He would do anything
               Just name the task, the mission
                              For his Beloved
                                    In deepest sorrow, as in death, She is alone.

                                                 Enfold her in your living heart.

Mothers day.
Baby's too.
Born to be a boy of blue.
Blues he writes and blues he loves
Don't greet the world with no kid gloves.
Courageous Bull he picks his battles.
Daisy chain and more he rattles.
Don't fence him in with no corral.
Just turn him loose and he's your pal.
I love this guy and who won't say
The blues be bust on his birthday.

truth will not be grasped
             it wavers beyond words
                 *so saturate with color
                    keep it wet      
                  behold explore               
                   a sacred path
                 mime the doubt
               dance and shout
                 sing deep sighs
                   be shining eyes
                     embracing arms
                      expanding heart
                      with pulsing groin
                     drumming feet
              *at cliffs edge leap 
                       fly  boldly  free

"All I had was a voice. Same melody I would sing when I was in the field--I just wail out in the woods and let the echo come back to me."*
                                the only pure act
                                       is express all I am
                                           essence alive filling void
                           receiving response of lovers and strangers,
                                  of walls which waver then melt and bless me
                                        unpredicted
                                            uncontrolled
                                                undulating waves of joy

willingness may
appear in the next space
as if she'd never left
but always breathing
any moment soon
still too far from sky or scent
mind runs where when I look
too fast to light to land
perhaps a stance
a choice
a body curve
a wish
a prayer
**for she is camouflaged beneath resistance
she whose passion overflows
she who magnetizes
she who aligns  
who embodies
all is well

when we might take comfort
                            we plan tomorrow
        feeling desire now and again
                  assured I am alive
               but later
         *perhaps
       later

know your trembling soul*
       gaze at the grave
           you now prepare
              but leap and see the hollow game
                 you now call what you need
            under angers
       bleeding wounds
   dare feel your hearts desire
      speak what you fear will just destroy        
          claim what you know to be lost
           be who you think you are not
                       *for creation is now
                           it can not be done
                       unless you make it so

So she said.
Upright and mobile, weary of this lonely arrogant stance.
For whom, before what shall I crumble, inhaling relief of the kneeling ?
Or fold all the way down, head beneath heart, tender child's pose.
Might that be beginning or ending ?
Might there be surrender salvation here pending ?

Loving
is one true thing
no matter what is done
past, present , future
Deep as breath, free as flow
sure as heart sparks dancing
as night enfolds day
and day surrenders light
our souls explore
sweet urge to expand...
**Fly, beloved, fly.

time no time reveals
     in neverland we grow 
          feeling tasting loving
          grasping dreaming falling
       to surrender in our turn    
     through stargates  
  death and birth

How can I write a life
     while running scattered swatting gnats
                        Grasping after dessicated joys ?
How then to draw my dream
          when focused on the **** and tats
                      Credence given unrelenting ploys ?

                  I'm concertmaster after all
                           Forgetting this
                    Direction is downfall.

and when kindling
    will no longer suffice
             those dried fragments
                 so easily sacrificed
   i am called to surrender my heartwood                
             may it burn slow steady and bright
          through the length of freeze and darkness
            until miracle tender brave branching
                     when blessed returns our Sol
               *burning Self that we may thrive
                        keeping vision fires alive

Every year we have been
witness to it: how the
world descends

into a rich mash, in order that
it may resume.
And therefore
who would cry out

to the petals on the ground
to stay,
knowing as we must,
how the vivacity of what was is married

to the vitality of what will be?
I don't say
it's easy, but
what else will do

if the love one claims to have for the world
be true?

So let us go on, cheerfully enough,
this and every crisping day,

though the sun be swinging east,
and the ponds be cold and black,
and the sweets of the year be doomed.