SEA GULL

Strange and wild
his laughter-silvered cry;
alone he navigates the heavy
silent blue inventing each
new hour, impaled on a ray
of sun.

On the doorstep of invisible,
he shatters nothingness --
a glide, a dive – he’s gone
beyond his presence behind
a dense gray cloud.

Then suddenly a splash,
a rupture of sea’s smooth
smile, then a wheeling
soaring swing and he’s
flung into the shouting
wind.

With easy grace he defies
the sanctity of space, rides
relentless tides, a fearless
spirit ever rising, disappearing
like a dream lost in waking,
like a mood forgotten in
the passing field of time.

BIRDS OF PARADISE

Flying wings of orange
forever in a take-off pose,
the pilot a tiny dot of blue.
Slender green stems,
their graceful dance
enhanced by every
breath of breeze,
pointed leaves’
aggressive message:
do not pluck, stand back,
admire, roots invisible,
anchoring each plant
to earth, each flight
a phantom, the eye’s
illusion, each bloom
a tiny fire, born on air,
beyond the pain of living,
beyond death’s denial,
their free infinities
expressing all our
hearts’ desires.

Early oracle of harmony
as a swift tide of rays
kisses the world magnolia.
The day is rinsed in purity;
breeze whispers its first song in
the tree’s opalescent sepals
where a colorful blooming
above is glimpsed by the
watchful eye of now.

Here mind is free to invent
its own ballet, a host of
feelings rising like a flock
of birds with each passing
sensation.

Here are depths of time
suspended in the stillness
of palm fronds as moist heat
lays its lazy blanket over
beach and sea.

This season is peopled by
idea ghosts haunting the
corridors of thought left
idle for too long, the ever-
moving tide of change
soon turning.

Oh, to be invisible as wind,
simple as air yet constant
as an orchestra of waves
rising, plunging, withdrawing
and returning again and again.

The year is old and ready
for re-birth. Spirit moves
on dawn-gray wing.
Wind is shaken in and out
of darkness.

Thoughts brim up from clouds,
rising among shadows, casting
starry beams on cold pastures
of the mind. Frozen grasses
tremble under the breath’s flow
like fingers reaching for the heights
of air enclosed in silent gloves
of prayer.

Across the distance and through
time, sacred song echoes at
the forest’s edge, a precocious
sign of what’s becoming.

MORNING

Pink convolutions of sky
blow faint breath on silver air-
Morning, a blank page,
a pale world stepping out
of the empire of night.

The first quick showers
of light shake sleeping
spirits awake as gentle
waves of motion wash
away final dreams.

Gray-coated fog mingles
with bright air as blue sings
in the eyes of early hours,
readying the world for
the first brushstrokes
of wonder.

Mist creeps low and
milky-white over fields.
Cliffs stretch white fingers
toward the heavens as tailors
of time begin to measure
the hours.

Earth’s heart pulses with
new energy, but morning
is a stranger in a foreign
land traveling alone.

SECRETS

They begin with phantom emotions,
perhaps of past moments dreamed
or a future not yet revealed.
They whisper soft winter music
in the pines, making shadow sounds
on the voice of air.

They are faint pencil lines
on a transparent screen,
a glimpse into the little sky
of mind.

They are sometimes sung
among the clouds or dropped
in silver words upon a soundless sea.
They are a moment breaking open,
a sip of understanding, an arrow
piercing the heart with a surprise
of unknown light.

IMAGINATION

Mind is blank before a white page
and imagination a new way of seeing.
It follows a pattern , coloring thought,
forming question marks like ripples
in still water awakening with a quiver
of heart, a soft and tender energy.

It lifts the momentary strain
of memories, the worries
of uncertainty. It lets us live
outside the darkness of our
inner world; it leads us to
the edge of earth beyond
nothingness, where was
and not yet hang in the air,
to a sensual moment where
self creates its own perfect
present.