the improbability factor
attracts her
like a moth to the flame

am I bad?
what's my name?

play the music
make the song

the words go
solo
so long
singledom.

I am decaying
like Cesium on an
atomic table

if you think that wouldn't send you crazy
don't
because it does.

anyway they say a half life is
better than none
play the music
make the song.

~

rivlets form beneath his feet,
where sun-parched dust
begins to weep, as it has
ten-thousand times before;
water’s endless cycle courses,
to the valleys from the hills;
retracing paths from end to source.
how many lover’s bodies
have been washed anew,
in streams of cleansing flow,
in this flood that ever cleans?
how many runner’s skyward faces
turned to welcome cooling rain;
or young girl’s pretty dresses
river-laundered; or young lips
taste of heavenly wine?
how many farmers bent a knee,
to offer grateful homage
for a gentle early sign, of
this whispered blessing,
awak’ning slumbering seeds?
have you e’re considered this...
these refreshing drops so sweet,
distilled in heaven’s winery,
bear every moment sensory;
a show of nature’s finest.
drops and sprinkles carry
every tear of grief and joy,
humanity has every cried.
a cistern gath’ring mem’ries,
like the tide gathers shells;
awash in collected tears,
caught up in heavenly swell.
oh spring that ever cools,
oh well that ever quenches...
to water we are drawn to go;
our immersion deep,
in rainfall’s drenching flow.
to its sound we drift to sleep;
caress to calm and soothe the aches;
lakeside dip for tired feet;
it's thunderous roar the soul awakes.

~

*post script.

water... so many forms, all around us, yet none is really new... only renewed!

If I could be Bear Creek ,
free flowing ,
broad shouldered ,
calm in the heat of summer ,
ferocious in the midst of the storm ,
fluid in every situation ..
Marching to the love of the sea ,
in touch with every bird , every tree
Grinding stones to do my bidding ,
every grain of sand at my beck and call ,
my life's blood a cascading waterfall , enrapturing
the hearts and minds of lovers , firing the
imagination of the young , providing sustenance
to the evening dove , my thoughts are a
virtual flood before parched earth , relieving the dusty trail ,
filling the lowland with love , nourishing
the beast of the field , a living monument before my brothers*...

My muse , the springtime earth
The smoke of chimney
fires just as the daystar expires ,
with burnt orange goodbyes ,
'tis a diddy begging lyrics , a melody
in the moment , a dash of fleeting sunlight
in the Shangri-La forest ,
Copper , lavender , technicolor salutations
Mourning dove recitations* ...

The becalming music of night
Glittering sailboats amidst glorious starlight

The lake road spoiled ,
a pulp wood ravaged
landscape , the stench of
diesel , grease and oil
Clear cutting , soil busting ,
stump burning attack of the
woodland , roads turned to roil ,
black grass , untouchable slurry
Men in destructive machines
Hell bent detractive flurry of death
A wreath for a lot on Palmetto-Cascade Highway
today* ..

There's a gypsy in the heart of me,
that wants to run the road;
a vagabond is lurking there,
to the fields, my heart's been sold.
There's a restless soul that's yearning,
to wonder at the wild;
a carefree, urging spirit,
of an enchanted child.
There's a ***** inside my blood,
that never will be still;
to hear and see all nature,
until I've had my fill.
There's a traveler in my mind,
who hears the seashore's song;
to walk along the beaches,
to escape the cities throng.
There's a gypsy in my musings,
that clamors for the highway;
ever searching, ever seeking,
an endless, nameless byway.

THE SEA rocks have a green moss.
The pine rocks have red berries.
I have memories of you.
  
Speak to me of how you miss me.
Tell me the hours go long and slow.
  
Speak to me of the drag on your heart,
The iron drag of the long days.
  
I know hours empty as a beggar's tin cup on a rainy day, empty as a soldier's sleeve with an arm lost.
  
Speak to me ...

I thought of killing myself because I am only a bricklayer
      and you a woman who loves the man who runs a drug store.

I don't care like I used to; I lay bricks straighter than I
      used to and I sing slower handling the trowel afternoons.

When the sun is in my eyes and the ladders are shaky and the
      mortar boards go wrong, I think of you.

It was great for a time
*** and wine
Wine and ***
Then commitment and open and shut curtains.
Special delivery of child made the bond complete
Six months down the line
Breast feeding was action watched from a distance
Intimacy was a tired look
The neighbours cat looked hot
Killed the lonely nights
Killed the commitment outright
Got to know the lawyer through rapid bank withdrawals
Weekly child visit watched over by Brutus
Bar visits watched over by the world's condemned
Special occasion became a twice yearly treat
Birthday and Christmas, bit of hate thrown sideways.
Then the new man.
Felt good for her.
Maybe some pressure off.
Maybe missed that lobotomy bar lecture.
Years dragged the hate forward.
Time moved on.
One day I wrote her a letter expressing my anger.
She wrote back in triplicate.
I wrote back in double triplicate.
She sent a thesis on men and *****.
Suddenly without thinking, we had dialogue.
After a while, we moved on from the anger.
We became human again.
I actually liked writing her letters and receiving them.
We never got back together.
But the letters kept us close.
Sometimes there would be a kiss at the end.
The little bit of love I probably never deserved.
I would mention it to her in my next letter.
Even an *** deserves a solitary kiss now and again.
The bar room lawyers would probably agree.