the second time i found her
it was in the midst of the grand staircase
she sat at the far edge overlooking the ballroom below
where many a face spun in wild dance
where many hearts fluttered on the verge of dreams

she cupped a single rose in her painted hand
its petals were cracked and dusty
and its scent had hints of rain
but she clutched it to her warm heart like adoration
saying softly that if she held it for long enough she could
give it life once again
i knew this to be true
but i feared the cost to her visionary soul
would it blind her to the tigers among the lillies in the ballroom
are we all not blind to the tragedy of happenstance

so i swept her up and rode into the night
to the shallow waters of the coast
where the salt of the sea could wash away the rose
cleanse the mortal wound that is such loves
but it was made of thicker smoke than that
and still you could smell a taste of rain on its dusty blue petals

i built a forest house that fall
and there i sat her to recuperate
but she only wanted to once again dance in the ballroom
with the faces of grandeur and the voices of naughty leasuire
'only a friend can debate you this tale'
is how i defended keeping her from that fate
once again we strove to gather words from the skies
as they fell like leaves abandoning their trees

once again she left in the spring
promising this time to take great cares with her pen and heart
i gave her a tender friends smile of my own as she had once done for me
and after she had faded down the summer road
i made my own way to the ballroom
because in secret i too longed to be lost in the swirling joys
the abandon of faces and names
of tigers dancing in the field of lillies
in a ballroom of trees

the long moment holding her gaze in mine
and the oceans of worlds that passed between us
in just that timeless time
i lay down with her softness next to me
and spent the dark night
with the gentle dove of her heart
the quiet song of her lips
i spent years there in just that timeless time
the hours we spent laughing walking running
in summer meadows and country wood
hand in warm soft hand
for such a dream of timeless time
twenty years on she comes visits me
in my dreams
and i love her once again
for such a sweet timeless time
until the day i close my eyes forever
and i find her again

time moving....
twist the words into meanings
unkempt and strange
or simple and pure
twist them till you see yourself in them
then speak them clear and loud
speak in tongues if that spins your lily's
but make sure your heard
its not weak to be silent
but it takes strength to speak
to make yourself heard above the crowd
to get your point made
time is moving....
speak your hearts greatest dreams
speak the softest moment you once shared with a lover
there is such beauty in every heart
there is such beauty in every life
you only have to find it
in moments of compassion for the down trodden
in helping hand given to strangers
in the gift of a smile
like she gave me
time is moving...
but my time to write this poem has expired

beheld by the timid heart with hopeful intent
any life seems both bold and beautiful
seems to be the essence of perfection
desirable and meant to be bound up with true loves gifts
but such dreams are fleeting and swiftly abandon the dreamer
leaving the coarse and the cold reality's behind
but there is the crux of it
can the dream survive the dreamer waking
can the dream stand strong in the walking worlds light of day
when i held her as that dreamer i knew her
when i awoke her beauty still filled me
when i awoke my love for her overflowed my heart
such dreams heal our souls
such dreams give life meaning
i beheld with my timid heart a beautiful dream
and when i awoke that dream was alive
and kissed me
now my heart is bold
now i live

it was hot
makes you feel spent just breathin'
but she was comfortable as judas in hades
just like ice cool in the shade
you shout and dance about with all this jealousy
you are electric hot under the collar
but the winds are blowing in her favor
but the rivers are sweet on her lips
it was hot as death warmed over
not an ounce of inked shade to be had
and you got issues hounding your thoughts
beginning to feel like its a church to the
apostle's of rage
darken your horizons with her
like the universe is her little game
the wind walks its ignorant gesture across you
and that just fans the flames
after all she just acknowledged her divinity
its hot enough to cook my head
but you are wrapped tighter than a prisoner
all used up and jealous
key to surviving this day lay in her eyes
in them you see your forgiven soul
in them you see your salvation's way
if you can forgive yourself first
if you can grow that fast

he rides his bicycle in the the
torrential rain
plowing a froth quick and fierce
through the rivers created

the cycle once bright orange
has patches of rust the size
of cantaloupe
and has a blue hoodie wrapped
round the seat which smells musty

you can feel him panting
bathed in sweat
as each hill retains more and more of
his hard earned pace
but mother nature is kind to her
strangest son
and every hill has a
fly by the seat of your pants
whoop whoop laughing
breeze in you hair bugs in your teeth
downhill

shift to vision miles distant from
that smile
the cycle lay in the weeds by the river
broken
the night obscures
the riderless iron steed
its form twisted
it has expressions of pain in appearance
that paint cannot contain
pain for its own lost
freedom of the road
but pain for its rider

the years count on and on
from that downhill smile moment
that lives on in the heart

the shuffling men huddle
in the lighted room
eyes glue to shoes
the miles a man treads
are the measure of his soul
and these worn feet are
men to move mountains
with bare hands

tinge the conversation
with the propaganda of innocence
priesthood of crafted reality
puts good and true men prostrate to the
graven images of a better world
when all that is accomplished is the slow decay
rotting fruit of our collective wishes
our collective hopes

a man on fire
his hand to the road
that i must travel
like a cool drop of rain in the blast furnace heat
like a woman's smile after years of being alone
like the taste of real hope
after the road has come here
this strange strange place
at the end of the world

one hundred and ten men
in this dark hall
waiting for the storm to let
waiting for the sun
waiting for a better world

one man waits
in the rain
surreal in his mind the day has evaporated
and as the shadows of night crawl into his eye
he dreams aloud that she has come home to him
that things never went astray
that we could be our happy little family again

her smile
and tortoise shell glasses
her picture perfect
delicious curves scented by parisian roses
she steps neatly into the bustling room
and with just a hint of a smile
she stops the room cold in it tracks
as all heads turn
and i must stop and smile to myself
even the other girls desire to be in her arms
even they dream for a moment
of dancing in bed tonight
she leans down and places a tender kiss on my cheek
and the room slowly drifts back to its own dreams
she a tender perfection worshipful and giving joys
she sits with me and
her tight jeans are soft and warm under my hand
and i find myself fascinated by
how she fills up my senses in a moment
i make love to her essence on the air
and passionately tenderly kiss her presence so near
to me that it sets me afire
she takes me
as i take her

synopsis of trajectory type tragedy
the day after the dreaded day
and the meals limp leftovers now
stuffed into the bulging fridge
our new neighbour taps at the door with a
synopsis of trajectory type tragedy
she spills her daily story with soft sounds
all over the living room glass table
and plays with its entrails
while trying with halfhearted desperation
to pry certain monies from certain people
without being too specific cause then that'd be rude or something
her projectile vocal charade slowly subsides
into a vapour trail of trying to get her get well
out of the spare change the sing flier has left behind on
the last beer run of the night next door
he is passed acknowledging himself
her feet ignite the carpet
when the bag achieved is glory in her ***** pocket
she cooks her dinner in a spoon
and the night is
spent chasing the fluff across the spaces in her mind
and deep in bathroom mirrors
fascinated by the focus
and delicate operations it takes to get
the place into what it shouldn't be
she falls asleep with her hand in some old mans pocket
as the sun creeps over the lost horizon
she admits in a whisper
that we have become the lost children
that we have become shadows of what we once thought so grand
filthy clothes replace
the latest threads from the fashion house
and the newest thoughts are fresh off the press too
the defend the empire of the needy
and require the few to to fend for the many
but the reality is
we live hand to mouth
day to day
desperation is measured in moments
that you cannot answer the tears in her eyes
she rattles around the kitchen
making me coffee
and two eggs over easy
but her own breakfast she cooks in a spoon
the projectile tragedy was the last
thing i wanted to relive
but here she is on my living room carpet
my ex chatting with my current
and im in the other room
holding
out hope that someday you will cease
this and come home to stay
the candlelight denied its own shadows
it moved with the wind but resisted change
it was a late fall evening
and the wind had grown cold
with winters first touches
and there in the only light
she showed me her face full of trackless tears
and the troubled things that lay within her mind
the choice of changing words
never spoken clear never spoken quick
but the story they gave me was
a dark tale flowing from her past
the places she had been in the years
and how she was
hoping to come home at last

transient light begins to fade from the winter sky
i reach up with all my strength
but i cannot hold back the failing daylight
cannot cease its awkward stumbling into night
but as its last vestiges slip away a song comes to my heart
its words inked in my very soul
all the joys and true beauty of togetherness shared
that all of these loves iv know and nurtured
have not been in vain
that as i stand alone in the gathering shadows
i will never really be alone
for there are hearts out there who still cherish me
i am not forgotten
a rich tapestry of images my heart brings back to me
the smiling faces of the people in my world who have shared
warmth and love with me
are with me always, forever
tonight i may sail a dark sea
but i am anchored in the safe haven of another's heart's dream
so as the transient light fades from the sky
i have no fear
i have only love

revisit the lonely girl now in your mind
her alabaster face just a vehicle for those lovely aftermath eyes
her lips painted delicately like danger
she moaned a few wary words into my weary head
that i should fear for her fragile heart's dream
there are tears in unseen places of her innocent soul
that i should tread with angelic care in the gardens of her desperation
where she is tangled with unease and misgiving
she is lonely

visit your image of the lonely girl 
revisit her in her darkest hour
comfort her with your kindest words
she moaned a few wary words into my weary head
her forgiven lover an apparition of her yesterdays
but still carries her soft wet lips warmth
carries the dire need of her dark desire 
she is a woman of warmth
waiting for spring
waltzing with a winter rain
she is lonely

the days all seem to blend into one
long song of regaling minstrels of mixed temperament
and poets of a different tongue
all she can say to you as she shows you the door
is that she wishes you well
and hopes you enjoyed the ride
cause you know its the right thing to do
and she kisses your cheek
out into the night you shuffle
you wander the carnival of the city streets
and wonder at the creatures of night
who don't need a home to know who they were born to be
who don't need directions to know right from wrong

the passive shadow
retreats across the floor
as the day slips
my gaze rides the rays
out the window to
breathtaking panorama of sky
but after few moments
the skies silent awe evaporates
as day crowds back in

these are days in the length of my years
that i pause to ponder the small ripples
the slight thing that becomes a tidal wave
later in life
sets in like the worn heel
of favored running shoes
its bitter dregs taste sweet in comparison
to the taste of her eyes as she rejected the venture

its a fine gift
like a box of gold
like a treasure of the soul
but it is not real
it is not true
it is simply a feeling of comradeship
a heartfelt desire that things could be different

late afternoon sunlight
through the narrow window
falls on the burnished oak
bringing to life the the beloved scents
of childhood home
my parents library
of books spread through the house
and all that knowledge that once thought was so precious
has turned into a phone that dont ring

the passive shadow
retreats across the floor
as the day slips
my gaze rides the rays
out the window to
breathtaking panorama of sky
but after few moments
the skies silent awe evaporates
as day crowds back in

and i remember that i was once a footloose son
and once danced in the dust of a summer sun
with a girl wearing a rose printed dress
and all seemed so right and true that day
and it was
and it was

these are days in the length of my years
that i pause to ponder the small ripples
the slight thing that becomes a tidal wave
later in life
these days are long gone before they ever came
aint that just like her

the trees give way to large open space
with a road running its center
fields of wild grass and shrub border its sides
above the sky has forgotten the sun
under the swift grey silent river of storm clouds
it will rain any moment
the air is thick with its taste

a mass of small birds suddenly take to wing
moving as one swinging up into the treeline
the silence implied is full of birdsong
and the wood sounds
we walk hand in hand through the grass
to the cracked and **** strewn road
that has not see a soul in years
she stops to pick a wild rose
and we resume walking while she holds it with gentle care
like a kitten she is taking home to feed warm milk

thunder rolls off just to the east
we have crossed the road and plunge back into
wild grass and ****
passing the rusted skeletal frame of some car
engulfed by a small tree
i pitch a rock at the hood and with the rewarding metal retort
press on to the far side of the clearing
the large oaks looming in our path
seem like ancient sentinels guarding the gates to eden
we pause as we reach the treeline
i look back
i will never forget the beauty of this day
with my sweet lover
and this quiet peaceful place

a slow slipping into the dark abyss of thinking
such dark wicked thought twists
on the vines overgrowing the living breathing edge of perception
its hard white metal edge baking in ever present sunlight
like wine i am a drunkard of the softest touch
i am a ***** to the sweetest line
master of none...fool for some
its all a memory a moment after it happened
so why am i so glued to the window paine
staring into the brief bright glitter of passing time
staring into the abyss

her eyes slowly scattered across my form
as her words escaping in rapid succession
splatter the cold tile like breadcrumbs for the miserable beast
the trail of which is lewd in my mind like razors
her reservations slip back into her lips past thick gloss
her dire predictions limp hollow into the
heavy thick humid florida air
laughing like a mad mad woman
like a mad mad man

teeth gritted and hands contorted to the form
of the pill bottle long empty
the headache has returned to her lips
spew itself across the dim room
leaving splashes of hand wrought pain
leaving traces of hand carved memories
her tricycle broken and burning
her doll sitting in darkness
she weeps
i sleep

she pours me a glass of wine
and with overgentle hand caresses my cheek
tells me a tale from her long ago
in a strange voice like smoke
tells me me of a love that chimed like the bells of spring
rang straight and true
like carefully crafted glass slippers on the night dancer
like all the comfortable things that she keeps
in the closet of her heart

pulling out the decorations in dusty celebration
of the summer night years past
with the photographs sad with their smiles
that true love of her girlhood
standing in the dusk holding his hand
and the kiss like a king and his blushing princess bride
she was so nervous she left her shoes on the lake shore

and when he was gone to the distant winter gate
she lingered by the icicle window tracing with
a finger hearts with his name
she laughs with a ghost of a tear
over how silly she had been
her first kiss hadn't been with such fanfares
and flowing silken robes
but with some handsome lad
who is now lost to the vastness of years
but she still has the picture of her in that dress
standing on the lake shore with shoes in hand
while the carnival spun in the background like a drunken man
whos song has given way to his lament

never before let it blossom like
roses in such fairest sunlight
he was a man of wilderness
strong and sure in his way
a creature of knowing and doing
a stranger to this game of light and shadow
of loves falsely promised and tenderness teased
of loves true touch tenderness felt in unison with another soul
a man of the hunt for wild beasts
he sought to ensnare her in traps of logic
but any fool knows there is no logic to the heart
and its romances are all she knew
such is a fiery burning bright and true to the heart romance
such is the knowing a woman's deep hearts desires
he calls out in moonlight her name
and she comes to him
and they share wild hours wrestling
body and soul
this is the true spoken word
there is no life without love
a man of the world now
no man can stand without a woman's hand

the branches silhouette against the sky
spiderweb of leaves and wood
against damp cool air
languages spoken by the world around me
words in tongues of the mysterious night
the dreams that come into focus
are ones that vividly center on moments
never truly lived
conversations that should have been
love made but never shared
the branches silhouette against the night sky
watch slow procession stately and pure
as the web woven by branches and leaves
gives slow silent birth to a tree in dawns
revealing light
so it is with you and I
look at me silhouetted against the
darkness of her words
wait for dawns light to show the truth
you already know

hall pacers dominate the morning
sandle feet shuffle back and forth
eyes cast down travel the floor seeking the droppings
of the pacer before
the riches are in the mind
baubles of plastic and paint
the remains form a graveyard
bone thin white shards baking in an
imaginary summer sun
the unshaven huddle in the corner
watching with avid eyes
watching for the silence that follows
like a shadow... like a sad memory
weaving rhyme spoken at first attempt
he stands perfectly still in the midst of
all this random wandering
staring out into the distance of his mind
eye on the devolving thoughts
of her turning to go
turning to go
to go
go

twelve days in july
and i carry tokens of each of them
in the pocket of my filthy jeans
each has a face
each has a story and its own trail
of rages or tears

she danced alone in the room
of the redhouse bodega
a spanish tune twisting slowly from the player
its sound thin but the song robust
spinning spinning round and round
she was shadow and light
flashes of rich color
in her best dress and boots of leather
hear them still hitting the hardpack floor
like thunder
she was a goddess that night
she was the worlds that night
let her stay there forever in the limelight
happy in the moment

he waited dressed in his finest clothes
pressed and neat from head to toe
with a single rose
in the moonlight a mile down from the redhouse
in his heart he sings that song to her
in his heart he holds her in his arms
theres nothing that will stop us he says
theres nothing that will ever stand in our way
and his heart dances thru all the days with her
that he will love her
that they will share
there in the moonlight a mile down from the redhouse
singing a song in his heart for her
let him abide there forever
happy in the moment

i see dawn sneaking in the window
pull the blanket from my shoulder
shake off the chill
cough the sickhouse regret and
feel my lungs fill with  slow death
twelve days in july
but i keep dreamin of one night in febuary
a shopping cart and smiles
hope
i could use some
all the places i could have ended
did not see this one
alone in an empty broken room
an empty broken man
dont leave me here alone
in this moment

she lay in the grass
public park just before dawn
looking up at the stars fade
holding a small budda
rubbing the belly
smile on her face
but thoughts run deep and swift
with one finger she traces the edges of clouds
in her heart she paints masterpieces
she illustrates the world with a carefree hand
and is loved by all who behold
in her heart
the last sliver of moonlight is hers alone
on the road from the redhouse
an ambulance ride to saving
a quick journey to hope
on the road from the redhouse
she just wants to stay here where its safe
where nothing dangerous can get at her
in this moment of moonlight
happiness

twelve days in july
seem like years to me
where am i bound
will i make it
i just want that night
shopping carts and smiles
hope
just a glimmer of hope

a hurricane was treading on the world around us
sounded like it was gonna come apart at the seams
but all i could see or hear was you
as you held my hand laughing at the silly world
as you captured me and
held with tender embrace
your more than some mere force of nature

to look at you seem just like a girl
but iv climbed into the furnace of your heart
iv lost myself on the milk white sea of your warm gaze
iv wandered the echo of an endless summer night in your voice
your all the lost days found once more
your all the hopes
wrapped up in a tender kiss
more than some mere force of nature
you are natural to my heart

let your hair down my lover
breath easy tonight
as the sea rolls out the moonshine just for you
let your twilight eyes close to dream
cause ill have you safe here in my heart and arms
cause i know at long last that i'm home
with a woman who is more than a mere force of nature
you are natural in my heart like you always belonged there
my sweet lover

bobby's mind wanders
his momma said hes a good boy
but he has grown to be an old man now
and there is nobody left to gauge if hes still good or not
he gathers himself in the bus stop corner
out of the rain

he scans the ground for dropped coins
and his gaze falls
on a crumpled bright paper
one corner shows a crinkled face
its a sinister face
he unfolds it
and unfolds the paper too

all the years fall away from his eyes
troubles slip away into the darkness
all the things that
he should have, could have, disappear

the paper leads him to the tower
and the wretched machine spins slowly back to life
he takes his place
in the dusty room slowly turning the hand crank
unfolding two hundred sinister faces
unleashing two thousand bare feet knuckling
the threadbare carpet leading to sunshine

it isnt what you think that traps you
its what you feel
its the past you have not faced and defeated
its the things you fear
its what they make you feel

unfolding two hundred sinister faces
and they feed on his weakness
by making him feel strong
eats at the scarred surface of his soul

the two women sit in
absolute silence
worlds apart in the small room
they look at the polished wooden floor
and wait
she shifts in her seat
nervously looking at her watch
while the other woman plays on her phone
each had taken time to be here
each had a role to play in this daydream
she gets up
and like an obscene gesture walks to the door
a thousand eyes film her as she leaves the silent room
a thousand wishes embrace her as she leaves the silent room
the other woman flinches back into
the confines of her chair
and puts away her phone
she glares at the door
wishing for the courage to escape
knowing nothing would try to stop her
except her own fear
two women sat in absolute silence
only the younger fled
the older woman trapped by her own mind
waits for rescue that may never come
the mind is a dangerous place to wander
too easy to become lost in its maze of reality
she waits there

the unattainable girl in cotton dress with her untouched hands
her perfections body and soul are store purchased at trending boutiques
she illustrates the room into vivid colour with her casual presence
she becomes the motion in the still life drawing you live
she is the utterance of everything to be attained by dreaming
by hope
for you
the unattainable

she leads you through the broken gate
a backyard overgrown and
past the rusting skeleton of a child's swing set
night has rendered it life
and it looms large in the minds eye with terrible
wrath for its cheated years
inside the bare room
streetlight filtered by the boarded up window
sound is muffled in here
her voice strangely stagnant and heavy
as she clumsily removes her shirt
laughing a small embarrassed laugh
so unlike her cool and convincing hardcase appearance
the two of you rest a few hours cupped in eachothers arms
till daylight leeches your sleepyheads of dreams

but the tattered cover of your romance novel
is by no means a feat of strung out fairy's on a mission to condemn
they only want recompense for the time they spent wrapped in the
soiled leather sheets entertaining some middle aged naked man
and his sole desire to be pretty
she sees all this
she sits in the dry corner
eyes wide but unseeing
a song of terrors paused on her lips
the reality's of reality has not yet sunk in
but its soft spoken voice is whispering to her now
it sets its christmas card well wishes on her mantle
it lays its warm gifts on her bed
careworn toys of her bitter embraces
sit in the grey snow abandoned like her lovers
now that she found her nirvana

she will spend her days
in hard red leather and fishnet
plying the flesh pots and the mystery's exposed of naughty naughty
the unattainable girl is just a photograph now
one dimensional image of a four dimensional demon girl

fingers unchained by her frame of mind
do little dances on her skin
the soft hair
the thin scatter of line
slows me to ******
and it becomes honey to the mind
thick and sweet
slow and hot
and i cannot withhold
my heart thunders in my chest
my head is full of noises nasty and swift
full of things that overtake all my senses
and she smiles so wicked
she knows that without having to even lift a single delicate finger
she is the only picture in my gallery
she is the only sculpture in the hot garden
in the long night of
the beginning
she melts onto the bed
flowing out over me
golden dreadlocks
patchouli
and the musty perfume of her lust
i am hers
she is mine
unchained by her frame of mind
we sweat the sheets
bounce the kitchen table across the room
get the bathroom soaked
and laugh carefree
its a reason to
stay
stay
stay
just a moment longer
before you go back to your day
before somebody calls you away
nurse your man back
from the edge
strip off all that gear
come here
you are mine
i am yours

a fire breaks out in his pants
whenever she walks into the room
but she just laughs
at how quaint he is
she has eyes only for the old man at
the end of the bar
his beat era leather socks are just up her alley
his pocket protector lifestyle is just
the thing for her wedding plans
she could always see herself
with his type of narrow shoe smart fella

he leaves her and her lover
at the dark bar
and wanders the lobster cages
looking to trap the feelings
that made him feel like
unconquerable king john
with his magna carta series pen
but this night is too full of babe sweet
and her pocket protector cowboy
so he goes home
to lay on his bed on imaginary nails
and suffer all the trials that good men should
wants to be worthy for the pay off
wants to be in line for the pearly gates

babe sweet and her man
live up the coast now
they own a bed an breakfast catering to the insane
who write great novels
on the walls in crayon
and spend their nights
hanging out on the roof singing ballads
to babe sweet
and her cowboy who lasso's the moon
its a wonderful life plays on the tv
every night year round
cause thats the dream they are sellin
that if you work hard
someday itll pay off

jerry garcia's picture hangs
in the lobby
he looks out at the changed world
with the shocked expression
of how did all these people miss the point
as they just go on beating eachother up
and crashing the gates
he is in the back room of babe sweets place
hiding from all the gretchens
and trying to redraw the lines of reality
we all got lost out there
gotta reinvent yourself
before the gretchens and the hangers on tear it all down
gotta bend the road before it bends you
just like unconquerable king john

A single page of her
fills her lover's world
ardent appetite to be cradled like the  
adoration of a mortal unexceptional goddess
who sometimes has high-heeled shoes of clay
leaves her and her lover to waver among
joys shared blissfully diffused by tears shed quietly
A single page of her is written
with the fundamental spirit of a lust for love
an ambition to live loves dream
which is central to every man and woman's heart
A single page of her is provender for the soul
with a common language of immortal romantic notions

A single page of her
just a human being
a lover of another human being
just an exceptional love within an uncomplicated heart
a softly written cage open to lights of loving warmth

A single word of her
fills the canvas with brilliant colors
takes on the shapes of this feverish love affair
takes on the hue's of these hearts at ease
that wrestle each other's naked souls
then cleave to each other with a dire thirst
A single word of her statuesque illustration
histories and futures softly spoken in the animated night
expressions of this average celestial throne
this world of exceptionally average simple beauties
A single word of hers
that I have never actually heard
but knowing its there unspoken in her eyes
just a human being

A single picture of her
fills a poet's hands with rich verse
words laden with potent essence within their expression
as wild as the wind in the deepest part of the rain
as enriched as breathing exaltation and splendor
her photograph pasted to the mirror's edge
as if she were a reflection of dreams
as if perfection had a name
A single picture of her
embroidered by a light that shines
only from some souls
a warmth that greets every passing stranger
an intensity that verges on fire

A single moment of her time
leaves impressions upon you that will breathe within you
growing in the remembrance
like roses upon the vine
interwoven and lovely in the warm light
just a human being
but she will always be
just Kristen
© 2017 mark john junor all rights reserved

sweet summer thick with late day sun
all the the children running with laughter's an joys
the men plowing in the rich soil
the women hands to hips all the washin to be done
hear em singing as each stitch laid to cloth
hear em laughing under the beautiful sun
aint no living to be done till you lived
natural on the land....
sweet summer thick with late day sun
walking back now to gather for supper
hear em singing with joys bounty
aint no living to be done till
ya come live under a sweet summer sun
all the children sleepin under the night sky
all the folks dreamin wonderful lives
aint no living like under the natural sun