Greenery, like arms reaching out
Beckons creatures on wings
Amidst pink puffs of profuse petals
Cotton ball-like, full-blown blooms
Rows of roses in technicolor shades
Diaphaneity shimmers flash about
As powdery soft multicolored
Shapes like floating cut fabric flit
With momentary kisses given
As brief as a whisper or a shy peck
Fluttering beauty among beauty
Each to each, in a flurry of action
Breathlessly, we say, "Welcome, visitors!"

Out in the deep, they say
The octopuses play.
I stand desiring to see, but
Of course, it's hidden from me
So I dream, and I'm not even asleep.

I dream of an octopus garden
Coming clearly into view.
An octopus waves all 8 arms
Welcoming me and you.
Then we sit down to tea, wee!

"Feel free, feel free!" they chime.
"There's plenty here, you see.
We love the cracked lobster.
The sea cucumber sandwiches
Are divine!"

Come, join us in the garden, supine.

The sun is hiding from me.
From behind that building
It plays peek-a-boo with me..  
Before too long, it will move on,
And I will see it rise once more.

Seagull days
Ocean sprays
Blue-green sea
Glowing me
Crystal skies
Bright in eyes
Cheeks red
Hat on head
Toes in sand
Sunny tan
Cool breeze
Exhale, breathe
“Ah” I sigh

Watching an already tiny mind
Grow tinnier day by day
Treating other average humans
As simple throw aways

We lean in, look closer and find
Those with tiny minds too
Will one day thrown away
And all the quicker

Letting a snowflake melt on my tongue
Sitting for hours in the sun
Breathing in fireworks after they're done
In 2025, simply living in America

Lies are like the man
Who planted a briar patch
And sat down to watch it grow.
Night and day, he watched it grow.
It came up with tendrils tangling
And suddenly he knew
He should have moved his chair.

Daylight is rising,
Crawling the horizon
Like ivy on a wall.

Pushing and dragging
The glowing ball
Until it achieves

What Sisyphus never could.

He opens his teeth-filled mouth
And screams, “Bow or I’ll bite!”

One brave serf remains straight,
He does not bend at the waist.

So the mouth of the king swings,
Opens for a big bite, what a sight!

It’s only filled with paper teeth.

Yes, you’ve actually been lied to.
But ask yourself, “Can accept truth?”

Are you a truth warrior or
Only a warrior?

Doctor your wounds
And bind them in truth
Like a bandage that heals.

A secret spoken is no secret:
I've only one forever love,
one true love,
Foolish woman that I am.

I know his name inside and out.
As well as he knew mine,
And in the many other forms
It took as we lay in love-talk.

As each one forms on my lips
Even now, I say, "Yes, I knew it."
I used it like a conation chanted,  
"one true love."

Though all knew the secret
No one spoke it out loud,
But perhaps whispered.

And it remained
A silent secret kept inside
like a whisper
Desiring to break out at times,
yet kept.

One forever true love,
He was mine, and I was his,
silent in our hearts.

Divorce can be harsh.
Yet our children always knew,
This secret, which somehow comforted.

He spoke my name one last time,
Our children proclaimed.
Then took our love with him to his grave.

I lived on, grew comfortable with our truth,
In my old age, "We'd only one forever love."

On the wings of forever love
Your name passes across my lips,
And onwards to the stars it passes.
The brightest star absorbs it into itself
And it is all the brighter for it.

The muted softness of the pastels,
Soft enough to be an infant's nursery,
Gently filled the post-dawn sky.
I wondered what the sunrise would bring.
The warm glow began to simmer
Along the horizon on the eastern view
Like the start of the Smithy's forge
Blown from its soft glow into a blaze.
The sun came with its fire rising,
Arcing red-hot around the sun.
Within these moments, a new day, born.

Sitting in the clover among the grass
A peaceful bunny held its gaze.
I held my breath, and time was still.
It was the communion of creatures,
Each serenely in the rolling hills of clover.

You have heard someone say,
"That's going to leave a mark."

At the moment of impact
We know how they feel.

As I gaze out at the beauty
Of each day, in that moment

Its impact indeed leaves its mark.

May your grateful heart
Be filled with laughter, joy,
And the magic of each new day.
May the spirit of wisdom
Color your life through many years
Just as the mountains and the oceans
Cover our wonder-filled earth.
May your grateful heart be full.

This poem began somewhat biographical due to aging eyes.  
It took a darker turn.  What else can you do with an unruly poem but write it?

I have imaginings trapped inside my mind
Yet, I fear that I may be going blind
Because lately this is what I find
I get bleary images and flashes of light
I try to focus with all of my might
It is no good, you know, it became a fright
No matter how I try, I can't adjust my sight

I said to them, in answer,
It can be that way with small-minded people

My words in writing will sit with you, and
They will not judge.  

They listen when no one else listens.
They will hear what you wanted them to say.

Then speak them to your heart.

Her aching abdomen thumps with desire.
A universe resides within, waiting
For stars and planets to be born under a moon.

Ancestral entanglements wait for births
While weaving memory into a heavenly gauze.
It will catch the haunting inheritance of those

Before, present, and past.

The quiet ache of love
Beneath the bandage
Putrefies unless cleansed
That covered wound, which
Never healed from lack

I heard the whisper on the shore,
Walking along the hot, dry sand.
It burnt the soles of my bare feet.

The hot, humid breeze singed my ears.
Autumn, autumn is calling, it hummed.
We hear her chant from far away.

My friends in Australia called out to me,
It carried across the vast oceans and seas,
"We'll send her your way, friend, but

Only when we're good and done."

Seung-Woo, the fruit ripens;
Cherry, plum, gourds on vines.

I made the baskets we need.
They will last our lifetime.

Seung-Woo, I flowered;
You picked me among all.

Here in our little house
We will flourish and gather.

Seung-Woo, our fruit ripens.
Come the harvest season

I will give you a son.

I thought that I could fly
So I stepped off the edge
Falling, falling, falling,
Into his big, strong arms.

I didn't know, didn't look too close
To see, he was standing on a higher ledge.
Then we were falling, falling,
In love, which crashed in pain.

Did he mean to project his pain?
Or find someone to use for blame?
Did he think that he could share
And his pain would just stay there?

We were young, foolish, and both blind.
So, we flew on, clinging to each other,
You, ******* my sanity dry all the while
And I thought my love could heal you.

Here is a truth when flying through clouds:
The thing is that an addict will
Always let you down in time
No matter how hard they try not to.

If love were a seed...

I'd plant them all around my garden.
I’d gather them in the harvest
And package them up to give away.
I'd become an urban gorilla gardener
Filling ***** of dirt with many seeds
Then toss them grenade-style
Onto abandoned lots, at passersby, and
Into the hate-filled corners of our world.
I'd give packets of love to family and friends.

If love were a seed, I'd plant it in hearts.

The foreshore
is where
The mudlarks go
To search
For finds of the past.

Back bent, head forward
they stroll along
In quiet meditation
Lost in reflection
Seeking treasures lost, then found.

Bringing 'past' into 'present', and 'future'.

My life was formed.
My fully-grown adult feet,
Firmly planted,
And then the shifting sand.

History, a word that carries memory,
transformation,
success, and failure.

Though written in skewed remarks
By the victors of the time
The truth will out.

It is not until
The Kool-Aid runs out
That one can begin to question.

If you only knew the thoughts
Swimming through my head
In underwater bubbles in a brain
Floating around inside my head

I am inside and outside these thoughts,
Like fish jumping in a pond, they come
Suddenly, in and out of their environment.
Oh, if you only knew the thoughts

You might be amazed at my aquarium.

Just as those in days of old
These too shall fall.
The people said, "Let us build
A tower day by day, hour by hour.
And it will glow, and all will glower
Bringing us magnificence and glory!"
Where is that fabled tower?
Is it not gone, stone by stone?
Just as those in days of old
These too shall fall.

The foolish say, "It is far better
To make friends with the beast
Than to be eaten by it."

They never realize until it's too late
That the beast will eat them anyway.
In the end, they were kept alive

As food to devour in lean times.
Lean times come to all beasts
Because they consume everything, until

They must turn to the fool in reserve.

You are a papercut,
An irritant in this life.
A sting to the tongue
When licking envelopes.
Insane like the crowd
Shouting, "Do it, do it!"
To the one on the ledge.
Your only goal, it seems
To be a harm to others,
Of which you succeed
Often and repeatedly.
Somehow, it makes you
Feel like a superior man.
But only shines a mirror
To your inferior interior.

I have limits
For I am only human,
Imperfect in body
And with a feeble mind.
I reach for the stars
Anyway.

Some poems are like naughty children
Who have grown into their young adulthood.
They simply drop their clothes, a quick reveal.
Other poems are like the dancer of the 7 veils
Who peels layer after layer in the slow reveal.
A poem is like a beloved child, good or bad.

Some are happy, some are sad.
All are born from those who parent them.
Indeed, they are the fruit of our mental lions.
They carry our mental DNA 'til our dying day
And hopefully well beyond.

Claim them, love them, nurture them, train them,
Good or bad, naughty or nice, boring or full of spice.
There are no ******* poems for you; they all belong.
Each to its progenitor, each for its parent will long.
Boldly claim each one of them as your own.
For they are all our children.

Some poems are like naughty children
Who have grown into their young adulthood.
They simply drop their clothes, a quick reveal.
Other poems are like the dancer of the 7 veils
Who peels layer after layer in the slow reveal.
A poem is like a beloved child, good or bad.

Yes, I would come
And take it away with me.
But I know that you need it
To live and feel and breathe.
So, I'll leave it for now
As long as you remain
Next to me.

The heart of the matter?
The heart matters,
The heart of matter.
Plays on words, these.
Yes, I call your name,
Remain, remain, remain!
For your heart matters.

I would come
And take it away with me.
But I know that you need it
To live and feel and breathe.
So, I'll leave it for now
As long as you remain
Next to me.

The walls of this ragged world
Are too thin, and I, with ear hear,
Listening through the thin plaster,
Do not like what I am hearing.
Someone, please call a repairman.

Every day
Is special
When you
Love.

When the sun begins its rise
And as it moves into view
Rising higher in the heavens,
It grows in its spectacular glow
And it sprinkles golden dust
On everything it touches.
It is a magical period in time,
This golden hour, which belongs
To the sun and its glorious rise
And is then gifted to us.

We are
As ancient forests
Petrified through time
Flesh traded for minerals
Minerals turned into stone
We stand firm with no life
Isolated in our inability
To reach one another
We stand together
Yet alone hardhearted

Time does not shape her,
For she holds it like threads in her hands,
Weaving moments, stitching hours,
Gathering days, weeks, months, years
Into centuries to be rolled out like fabric.

She makes her cloaks from the substance
Of time and wears ancient stardust in her hair.
She is old and she is new; time does not shape her.
Never allow it to shape you, folding you
Like some worn-out garment to be discarded.

While it is in your hands to do so, you shape time.

A mantra-

You are the wind in the willows and the reeds.
"I am the wind in the willow and the reeds."
You can bend and move with this power.
"I bend and move with this power."

Take in the energy that the sun generates
As it infuses all things with power from its Creator.
"My Creator gives me the strength for all things."

It will be your wings to rise above and fly,
In these evil times with evil deeds.
"Let this spirit be my wings to rise and fly above
These evil times and evil deeds."

Your mind is clear in your healing purpose.
You become strong in spirit to endure all things.
"Amen."

When a hummingbird flies
Its wings sing in flight,
Chattering as it moves,
Briefly settles, day or night.
They are tiny miracles.

When a hummingbird dies
Because its bones are so light
They disintegrate in a short time.
They truly are ephemeral things,
Brief beings on fluttering wings.

Words are powerful,
Kaboom!  Like a bomb
Going off.
Writers matter.
We the people.
Books change hearts,
(Those that are reachable)
Minds, lives, the zeitgeist,
And the future.  
That’s why,
Big men with tiny minds,
Have sleepless nights.
Authoritarians
Fear advocates & writers.

How does renewal often begin?
With deconstructing.

I can't stop the feeling.
I'm breathing it in.
I'm mending already.

And I am ready to begin
Again.

How many times did the one requesting your secrecy
Fail to keep the "secrecy" you bound them to?

How many times have you been betrayed
By the one whom you would never have betrayed?

How many times was your innocence torn apart
By the one who should have protected it?

Should your loyalty not be measured by loyalty?
Be careful what you promise and then owe or vow.

Some promises are made to be broken.
Some promises need to be broken.

Do not judge love by its length.
How long is a piece of string?
Love is not a piece of string.
It is a spool of thread that goes on
Unwinding throughout all eternity.
It is untangling, all encircling for those
Fortunate enough to be entangled by it.

Oooo, oooo, the wind has a sudden voice
Ice crystals like trinkets hanging in the trees ******
As the stiff wind blows and mourns, we mourn

Banks of snow are built, torn down, rebuilt
The howl is haunting as it cries in distress, and we cry
New snow atop hard-pack crunches beneath bare feet

We have walked the soles off our moccasined feet,
No water can quench our thirst, for no water is given
We have dried up, blown away, like the husks of corn

Oooo, oooo, the wind has a sudden voice, we do not

Believe me, I was once vibrant and young,
Strong but lithe and slight of frame, and pretty.
Filled with love of life and with hope,
I felt nothing could match my strength,
And throughout much of my life, few things did.
There was this whole world that was for the taking!

I strove with gusto to grasp much knowledge.
And flitted like a butterfly amongst it at my will.
Trees and fields were my currency, and
I felt rich in nature, which surrounded me.
It was what I valued, wealth spent judiciously.

I renewed and burned through storehouses of energy.
I wrapped myself in cloaks of green, wore flowers
Like talismans, encircled charms about the head and neck.
And I walked carpets of wildflowers as my path.
Nature, treasured, is imprinted on my soul to this day.
It is where I long to be, here and now, aging.

To my beloved family, I ask, only this request:
When life is done, sprinkle me among the pecan orchards,
Which was my first school, filled with many teachers, where
I, in studious quietude, spent my formative years. Remember
What shapes a person carries a person forward in life, yet,
Time, which we cannot alter, has its way with us, after all.

It is often true that you
Must sink to the bottom
Before you can rise upward.
Swim!