Morning breath of Winter upon the naked
Back of Autumn, as they lie side by
Side on the bed of ploughed fields
I admire.

Mist kissed and coloured by turned soil
The age of Earth herself.
I kick frozen, brown leaves from my boots
And look towards

The river.
It'll freeze up at the tips of its longest fingers
Soon, inviting children with ice skates and
Red cheeks to dance and laugh.

Winter turns his mouth towards his
Dying lover's face, and kisses her farewell.
Until next year, my auburn love.
Sleep until Summer's watch is over.

Up here, the seasons are so stark they form
Four shades of adventure.
A land so proudly unholy anyone can
Walk on water.

A poet is a nightingale
Who sits in darkness in the wood

He sings to cheer his solitude
With sweet sounds noone's ever heard




"In His Land of Dreams"

Fret Not!
Thou canst but read them all!

Hordes beset the pages now here-in
Contorting mental faculties to new and different bent

Perusal of Poetry in monumental quantities
is known to suddenly suffuse the brain with lusher thoughts, ideas

Behold! A new man doth arise
as a Phoenix from the ashes of despair

Continue on, my friend, to try to drink of all the knowledge here
While Eliot wafts his magic wand creating wonders in the air

But, ya can't read 'em all.............alas

If it's 63 degrees
in your town
in August

Don't ask me why
can't tell ya

You'll know you're in Texas
Believe me
Oh, Hell yeah