You can see the sky is soft and blue
And the sun rises slowly, bringing up
The wispiness of clouds, just passing through
You hear a bird singing, its call a gesture
Of food, of shelter, of a limb softer,
A slight wind blows through the trees,
And you know the morning is here, again.
You’ve felt this love, this sterling feeling
This huge and wonderful crush, as day breaks
Your there, and your son makes noises,
And writings, and finds a way to incidentally touch
Your heart, with news; of his son, or his wife, or his day.
Your daughter is there as well, in the morning, awake
Because she wants too, because she does not, and
Her husband is on her mind, and you are, together
On the thoughts of both of them once more.
The morning breaks, beautiful this time, no rain,
No cold, no winds of damage, as you breathe.

Romance and desire, such a thin line
Falls between right and wrong
No fence sitters here, either is the call
With penalties built in to both.

Romance price; a life, most likely your own
With all you have given it
Forever you carry a piece in your heart
Never shed, can you be, of its grip.

Desire is more; you choose who you ****
Who will suffer from false hopes and whims
Who will make the mistake of false hung romance
And invest more than they want to give.

Desire is a shell, false throughout
An empty satisfaction at best
While romance can hold and comfort
And be the companion through this earthly life.

Masses move like clumps of weeds
Floating narrow outlets, making corners,
Pieces breaking off, sliding, new turns
Some stopping, disappearing, moving on.

The stream divides and crosses
It loops right then left, no seeming end.
The cars all dusty brown and wet and arrogant
Sound bleating cries, jostling to win.

Each one thinking they are the only;
Unconscious to all others, but having to.
Quick moves, sudden turns, ignore to negotiate
Serving a tiny purpose, finding a tiny end.

Above the rush and floating mass
Peering sharply down, closing in
The monoliths and testaments, providing each
One a burrow, and a fence, against escape.

The long branches hang down so softly,
From the great tree that surrounds us,
With many branches, yet unfolding, softly
Like a curtain, in the wind, that never closes
All the way, nor opens to the sides of the stage,
Leaving dark those places that seem rare and alone.
The hidden people look and watch from silent slumber
Their feelings gone and their faces blank,
As they watch the happenings there,
They see the tree as it grows firmly down and strongly upward,
Until the branches rest among the clouds,
And the grass grows deeper and darker
As the clouds fill the sunlit sky;
Making the vision soft and raining
And the branches fall downward, and loop their gazers
And the tree grows and stands tall
As the stage door closes...
The actor walks out of the scene,
The tree stands alone upon the stage
Its roots growing deeply, breaking the boards
It waves a gentle wave
As the wind finds it,
It becomes itself,
Slow.

The dawn still miles from reality
Distant still forefront of desire,
But evening is well for the soul unattended
Still waking in dusk soft touch.

Stretching the day can be obsession
For fears of the night door, waste of morning
Obsession the steps to panic and frenzy
In; to the black empty dark.

Fear is exposed, the heart rent open,
Falling in a waking dream, falling to no end
A necessary trial for survivors who learn
To spare the cold midnight.

The darkest door in the darkest room
Most often opens to some light, maybe gray,
Maybe shadowed, maybe sunshine,
But always, beyond the cold midnight.

With pleasure comes the grasp of Time's remarkable hands,
As they surround us with their touch and feeling and warmth,
Grasp us in their skin, wrinkled and old, some broken and tender
To those of us that have a feeling on the inside. They are cold and broken
To the ones whose souls have already served their time, and have died
Alive, to be something no one wants, no one needs, no one will have.

Scanning above the heads of the crowd, looking
Forward, ahead, never erring to glance at the feet
And risk a stumble or fall.  Crowns of brown and
Black and blond sprigs of grass on moving soil.
Stepping lightly from time to time, watching close
For another ones eyes to meet, rare though possible,
And when they lock it is an intensity, one of knowledge
That communicates, divines, sees inward, respects.
A downward glance can bring it on, and lift the
Other up to reflect the shine, and give so complete
A pictures, as though the minds close around one
Another and share the common bond.
Meeting eyes of equal height, a rare and priceless
Privilege indeed.  One savored, placed in memory,
And learned from.  The ultimate respect in knowing,
The others downward glance provided you the lift.

With mere bristles washed and head forward,
Across the glimmering water runs, the brow held high
And the feeling of being part of it all, while the
Wind sweeps slowly, but largely down the path, the water makes
The best of times, that cannot be the best of times;
For in this body lies the spirit that so overflows, and spreads
Throughout the lands, and fields and forever's pieces, and makes
Its wants glow, to you, to them, to all of them...for we are simply caretakers,
Not owners, we dare only touch those things that shall move on past us
Making life and love for someone else.  The love and life I desire.

a softness in the day, brings a flower of spring through a little rain, and in this coat of fine colors, one can pass the great things, or one can find the things so wonderful, that without them, life in itself would be bleak, but with them, it is within the soul.

You’ve Been Gone
There falls a feeling of being lost,
When one is lost without the pieces
When there are few, no, fewer than few
Who understand, or pretend to understand
Or who can understand, the selfless feelings
That permeates my soul, and my mind, and makes me
Lost; alone, feeling left behind here
In this feeling of those getting larger
And spreading their wings across more deserts
Finding the sun as it calls, the clouds as they swarm
The raw, passionate, beauty of it all
Leaving me to feel and find that which I have felt
Fought for, and so wanted to come true
Wondering the loneliness of it all
Bring me back
Here.

I
Cannot
See the number
As it waits for me
To come its merry way
Counting down the footsteps
As it says "come on, come on, and
Find your way down my face to where
You'll find the worst and best of me all in
One" and I hear it say it, but I cannot see it
For no matter what it says I am alone on the point
This pointed arrow, searching for the day time
Searching for the night time and it races
Quickly away, leaving its voice in the
Air, all the while covering it face
Making the feeling bad and
Creating the night again
While trying to find
The number so
When it goes
So must
I.

The hurried soul can feel small pains as time wisps by in rapid seconds....

The worried soul can feel great pains, as time moves so slowly and within its own terrors;

The comfortable soul appreciates the minutes that squeak by, so carefully, in just sixty seconds......

Watch the sky fall. Let the stars, in their unending time of life,
Find the reality of flushing crimson heat across the sky so black,
That it will glow in the reddish warmth, that all the fallen stars
Should bring, and leave their tracks and life is complete,
Over the darkness of this earth,
Found by so many,
Lost by so many,
Felt among those
Who know,
The black is filled,
With you.

Can you hold it close?
Are there things around it that make it impossible?
Or is there even a chance that something, some fragile moment should
Break open, for just that second, just that breath, that blows out
For that one tiny piece of time,
When you can say,
You held it,
In close to you, so that there was
No doubt, that it felt you
Holding it, if even for a second of time.
Can you hold it closer?

It
Cannot
Be
By itself,
It must
Be done
Together.

Does it mean the world
If there is no love, no feelings there,
If there can be no love, but only the guide where one is for the other,
But the other is not the one, nor for the one, nor can there be the one.
Time in all its tenure, can feel the moments slip by as if they were simply
The winds of the gentle breeze, passing across the skin, making the feeling
That they were once again, left out, to see, that the moment cannot
Be the lifetime, nor, if there is no love, be the minutes of space
Lost in eternity, lost forever.

I know the years seem rolling faster,
Our lives in constant change,
But through the days, the nights, together
We remain, still us.

Other changes could take place,
No one knows the course of direction
But of those things we can choose
Some need more time than others.

We have kept our lives as open books,
Reading one another,
This baring of our thoughts and dreams,
Are what keeps us; still us.

A little more time, to think and reason,
Together we remain,
Living and learning, teaching and healing,
Still us, together, are we.

Something has changed. Always, things change, not seem to
Nor feel like, but do, change.  In this grasp of feeling that, no those,
Changes, there are questions that come, come with it that mean so
Much today and mean so little when the thinking is changed again.

Each day there are so many things that remain the same, only to change.
The wind, the weather, the sunlight rips across the sky, making life hot,
Only to be replaced by the rains and the torrent of falling from the sky,
With winds blowing birds, people, white papers and blue.

The sun sets at five thirty today, five thirty two tomorrow, and it
Comes up on the like, but never the same schedule, and each
Minute, though sixty seconds of time, seems different and changing,
Minutes adding up to hours, hours adding up to days, never the same.

The food that is eaten, the touch of romance, the hatred of feeling,
The time of solace, and prayer, or thinking that makes each one
Feel they want to be a part, of this ever-changing world that makes
The solid one snap and break, the weak one be strong, the heart, beats on.

The hurried soul can feel small pains as time wisps by in rapid seconds....

The worried soul can feel great pains, as time moves so slowly and within its own terrors;

The comfortable soul appreciates the minutes that squeak by, so carefully, in just sixty seconds......

Roads seem narrow, but so are the cars,
Sitting on the wrong side, feeling like the whole world is coming toward me
Feeling at a total loss for helping, or seeing,
The best thing is to watch, and look, and see.
The day is crisp and feeling a little green, and different greens show
And over a hundred greens are there, on the side of that hill,
Above the green waters of the lake, each one soft, and bright,
Covered up moments ago by the mornings fog, as the boats
Lay within their moorings, each a white color, with a bit of the green,
And the trees seem delighted as the sun makes its way out,
The water lapping at the shore, kissing it in little motions
Seeing the bottom, with its growth of green,  looking back.

Right after my name,
There is a year there, the year of my birth, the year I have no memory of, the year that I was born,
Its there, signifying my entrance into this world
My spectacular entrance as a third child, born to a third child,
Destined to be without a destination,
That mighty bruiser who cries and whimpers, but will grow to be
No more afraid or chilled or concerted than the man
Who has little emotion, and can feel those things around him
As everyone does, but different in the way, that blue smells good
And bread blows yellow across the window,
To finding that the greatest salt earth driven thing
Is the love that one can feel, but not touch.
Tell me of this work, these years all past and past again,
Seeing those people around that aren't around anymore,
And figuring out that my life, when figured on a mathmatical basis
Is more than half way gone, no three quarters gone.
All this ****** work, and knowledge and love and hate,
And covering it up to be something, I know I am not,
All but the dash.  Look, it is there, on this page of poetry,
On these words that so simply tell me or tell you what is,
And there is that despicable dash, that will show two centuries,
Two hundred years to choose from, this dash shall be in collection
Of those years.
Leave it blank.

The long branches hang down so softly,
From the great tree that surrounds us,
With many branches, yet unfolding, softly
Like a curtain, in the wind, that never closes
All the way, nor opens to the sides of the stage,
Leaving dark those places that seem rare and alone.
The hidden people look and watch from silent slumber
Their feelings gone and their faces blank,
As they watch the happenings there,
They see the tree as it grows firmly down and strongly upward,
Until the branches rest among the clouds,
And the grass grows deeper and darker
As the clouds fill the sunlit sky;
Making the vision soft and raining
And the branches fall downward, and loop their gazers
And the tree grows and stands tall
As the stage door closes...
The actor walks out of the scene,
The tree stands alone upon the stage
Its roots growing deeply, breaking the boards
It waves a gentle wave
As the wind finds it,
It becomes itself,
Slow.

Carry me into the soft light of evening, let it fall on me
And make my eyes shine, and look on you, as those whose thoughts
Have meant so much to both of us, and the gaze seeing you,
As you smile your quick smile, and make your face, reflect the field
On which I, have been the one who wins, the one
Who almost loses; until I see your eyes, and the permutation that is you.

Carry me close to almost darkness, as the feeling of you takes hold, and
Sings its quiet song of romance, and feeling for myself, of everything
In me, that belongs to you, which in itself is everything that I am made of,
For you, the ceaseless-being who’s catching smile and feeling touch,
Pull us together; seeming to find the line of communication without speaking,
The pull of music played without sound, the completeness, of holding one forever.

Carry me into the black, the color that expels all color, by making it fade away.
Take me into your totality, to the expansive room where wind and air, and thoughts
And dreams, all come together, like cymbals crashing in silence, like warmth
Falling into coolness and the destiny finds itself as much a part of the beginning
As it finds itself in the peak of being one together, and finding the world a vapor around
That feeling, of being the one carried, softly by you, into the night.

Can you watch, can you see?
Everything you ask for is there,
It is just a little bit of stuff,
Reach out and grab it.
No, there is not anything in your way
Just your own self, and your own pride, busting away
At your resolve, making it all feel like little pieces of nothing
That came together and make something big, bigger than
What you have looked for, but still, just vapors in the sun,
A little bit of gaseous quality to those things that stop
You from finding things, that it would take, to make  you
Happy.
Then again, no, you wouldn't be happy.  You would simply
Have more, and then,
You would be you.  All over.
Again.

Faith,
Through all,
Means much
More than
Being buried
Alone.

A Poem
Ten words
In length;
How do I
Say…

It is there
      all those things
           they said would come
                  have entered and found us,
                         hovering here waiting on them,
                                seeing them for the first time, in here
                                      making the rest of it seem so simple, so
                                              mislaid, so finding of the feeling wrong.

There was
A man who
Peered through
His glasses
And saw
The
Light
Around him
Grow, and grow
And it all became
Larger, and soon he
Felt his life had gotten
Out of hand and there was
So little he could do and he
Thought, maybe if
I could bring this
Light down then
It might work
Out that I
Could
Bring
Myself
Down
And be
As little
As my foot.

Cold plasters blast on bare skin, feeling their way along,
Finding the difference in write and wrong and right, can
All lay forth with terrible meaning, across words type on the pages
So well, each checked for spelling each checked for use
Each used in disregard of the meaning, or the thinking, of it all
As it lays there, being so resplendent in its throw and touch.
Feel it words, each one losing shape before the last one, each
one taking the grasp of the situation at hand
Making it all look and smell and be so very wrong.
Sleeves too long, then too short, or paper thin in their
Covering, making the rain of the tile feel wet as down
From a droning pillow, all pasted about that face
And its mouth, and soul.

He felt the chest move up and down,
Like a clock, it’s moving was certain, one, then two
Then three beats, then five hundred, five hundred and twenty,
He could feel the pressure of breath, moving so gently out, so gently in,
And he could watch the soft slumber as it rested
Upon the face, the eyes moving gently beneath that
Fragile skin placed there, that made the eyelids,
A beautiful song; a soliloquy maybe, coming up from that
Glass-like face, lost in its own respite, lost in its mysterious feelings
Of day and night and all the time between wrapped into one.
He knew, that somewhere there, deep inside, maybe today
Maybe not today, maybe in the will of the sanctum,
He too was there, as she slept soundly, folded against his body,
She lies there, so soft, so gentle, lost in her own device.
He could feel every inch of her body, and never move his hands,
The warmth of her, the essence of her, pouring over him, consuming
Him in a soft, luxurious liquid, the essence of sleep.

I am afraid .  
Sort of an indeterminate, little , creepy, kind of feeling.

Looking off in the past distance, finding those years that have been forgotten, and trying to remember those things that are  memory.

Each day, or was it a half day? Or was it a month that slipped by, like June, no it was April, it seemed like Spring, but it might of been fall.... a day....maybe it was a dream.

Unbelievable how a dose of reality can seem to choke one down with a pair of hands that are your own, but at the same time carry enough strength to catch your breath, or my breath, or making it contextualized, the breath we all breathe .

Love.  It worked. Happiness. There were good times.

I am very afraid .