An echo of your breath,
softly sets upon my ear.
Lays within my very depths,
resonant words I can hear.

Softly, sets upon my ear,
the lyrics of our souls tune.
Resonant, words I can hear,
heartbeats join the gentle croon.

The lyrics of our souls tune,
sings of velvet bonds that bind.
Heartbeats join the gentle croon,
of a love that transcends time.

Sings, of velvet bonds that bind,
the essence of what we share.
Of a love that transcends time,
life has nothing to compare.

The essence of what we share,
lays within my very depths.
Life has nothing to compare,
an echo of your breath


Written in Pantoum Form

In coals, low and tame,
dance the sparks spellbound,
just as moths to a flame.

Hear their dieing sound,
as embers speak low,
whispers, as death is found.

Rising from the glow,
serpentine, the smoke.
A slow, pungent flow.

The sky, it does stroke,
a lovers caress.
Hoping to invoke

The Goddess Pyralis

Chase the sun in it's arc.
East to West, avoid the dark.
No matter the amount of light I keep,
my own darkness from within seeps.
To stain the brief respite I find,
deep inside my poetic mind.
From my thoughts to hand to pen,
onto  paper, then rewrite again.
Each revision a shade more grey,
all the colors bled away.
From a wound that refuses to heal,
taking with it my ability to feel,
anything but real anger towards ,
the world in general and what it affords.
At those times it's not me in print,
it's these eleven years in pain spent.
Pretending that I give a dang,
there are no apologies, it's now who I am

Beside the rugged beauty of weathered peaks,
Pines and Aspens, from its shadows, speak.
They tell of era's gone and of changing times,
the coming of man and his God he seeks.

The tranquil lake, that gives life to all.
The changing colors, from Spring to Fall.
The birds that fly, the deer that roam,
from the mighty Grizzly to ants so small.

Beauty surrounds, if your willing to see.
God, need not be such a mystery.
He is there in the mountains and in your heart.
Nature, is His way, of speaking to Thee.

The clouds cry for me once again,
expressing what I cannot say.
Helping release, from deep within,
a sadness that seems to invade.

Since it is my eyes run dry,
the clouds cry for me once again.
Falling just for me, from the sky.
Such gentleness upon my skin.

Upon my window, rain peers in,
just stopping by to say hello.
The clouds cry for me once again,
comforting me when I feel low.

So when it is my tears I've shown
and the healing can now begin,
so that I shed tears not alone,
the clouds cry for me once again.

Summers meant harvests of berries and such,
chores to do before play.
Running barefoot in lawns that were lush,
the smell of fresh mown hay.

Hoeing the garden to keep down the weeds,
cooling off with the hose.
Bagging up the dried Marigold seeds,
finding Ladybugs in the Rose.

Swimming holes, Dead Mans alley, long evening walks.
Picket fences lead the way,
as I walked with Grandpa and talked.

Summers were the time for Rights of Passage,
lessons in growing up.
When bravery or cowardice sent a message,
with buddies there for backup.

Warm nights allowed for camping out back,
fireflies aglow.
Lying in wait for a surprise attack,
until the lantern burned low.

In those hot Summer days of sixty five,
something in me changed.
Through my talks with grandpa, a calm came alive.

He taught me how to feed the birds,
standing quietly as you can.
They would come to his whispered words,
eating out of our hands.

Grandpa taught me the importance to truly see,
what was slipping past.
I watched the world, as other kids ran free,
knowing Summer wouldn't last.

As for me, I was content to let pass,
those Summer days in shade,
learning to whistle, on a blade of grass.


**Thank you Grandpa for all you taught me.