My oh my
Look at those pretty birds fly

But here am I
Stuck on the ground

Sigh

Each to each
On tippy toes
They reach
Up and over
Into the
Secret garden
Creep

Like a mist
He dissipated
Like a whisper faded
I breathe in where
He used to be
With even that
I am sustained

They begin to sing before the light of day
When night has just begun to fade away
And it is a new day.

With dawn's light they take to wing
And begin the day with many things,
Morning song, bugs and seeds.

Wings spread
Wonder flies
Into eyes
Across faces
Into hearts
Minds explode

Swallows soar
Insects hurry
Into beaks
Savored flavor
Swallows swallow
Each Sustained

Though we may suffer
We see not death.

Heart be cool, it is not yet.
Heart be cool, perfectly.

And heart, be calm continually.
We suffer, but not death, as yet.

A voice, as if afar, speaks
Sweetly to me, "So, be at rest."

Viola, with suddenness the cry,
"It is spring!" they all sang
In chorus oh so sweet.
They spread their wing
And as sweetly they sing
Opening wide their tiny beaks,
(Yes, some even stamped their feet!)
Singing loudly, for all the bright world,
"Spring has finally been reached!"

(Formerly When Love Goes)

The night is a silver cage
Containing the dry bones of love.

But my heart bleeds for you for
I wish I had been able to flesh you out.

Yet here we both are
Barely human, anymore.

Glass bottles and other whimsies,
Sparkle in rows on windowsills.
Around the world there are tchotchkes.
These little booms of whimsies live
As blooms of plants die.
Is that their secret?

And so it begins, the greening of spring
On still as yet cold ground.  Shoots bursting
And unseen buds developing in hidden places.
The greening first begins in the sheltered spaces
Along the walls, in unnoticed corners.  Nursing
Its offspring that had clung to life, it is given wings.
The greening of spring now takes its annual flight.
Thus, soon this secret work will bring all delight.
Yes, how could I not extoll such an inspiring sight?

Winter leaves in its wake its own form of beauty,
But eventually it gives way to the greening of spring.
And birds will sing, and flowers will bloom.
What of our love?

Criticize me if you will
For the brevity of my succinct verse.
I try to say what is needed in few words.
For I am a lazy poet not wanting to labor
Unending, nor burden you, dear reader.

Time cannot accumulate
It can only be spent

Time cannot go backward
It can only move forward

Time should be treasured
Like the gifted jewel that it is

Cherish every second
For it cannot be relived

Who decides what beauty is?
A trend-setting, shallow puff of smoke?
Here today, gone tomorrow narrow thinking?
Taking with them what ideal supposedly is
As volumes of Truth go unread by the self-appointed.

Judges are too often bought, paid for by industries.

Each ones true beauty is purposely hidden.
For corruption is a filthy film over minds,
While truth is purity, bright and honest.
Rub fists into blighted spheres to clean them, then
Go, let your mind's eye begin to see more clearly.

Just sit and bathe in wonder.
And as you breathe,
I mean really breathe
Let wonder bathe over you
Washing your dusty soul,
Cleansing the murkiness
From your eyes, then just smile.
That will be gift enough.

An un-dam-able tide
Cafeteria Christians
Blowing on the embers

Uncomfortable truths
I grieved the fall long
Before the step to the edge

The monkey has a monkey
Which rides its own back
Really?  W.W.J.D.?

What about you?

For the sake of good fun
She came along, and
You decided she would be
A sort of a plaything
Slipped onto a keyring
And fondled when bored

Beautiful things
Do not always
Remain

Shiny and new.
At times they
Become

Seasoned into
A thing special
And true.

Just like my life,
Of living & loving,
Aging with you.

Memories are like tears
Shed in times of joy,
And in times of sorrow
As though kept in a bottle
Until tomorrow.
When opened we can
Feel its fleeting power.
Memories, they mix
And blend until
Even sorrow is diluted
Into unmitigated joy.

If you are down and feeling blue,
Then this thought is meant for you.
Always remember . . .

Love can mend the broken

My Sun,
You were my perihelion
But I got badly burned.
In the rarified air I fell.
My crash to earth, dramatic.
In time scars thickened,  
Desires weakened.  Yet,
The damage was done.

Lov-v-v-ve, the word on the tongue
Vibrates as a bee does before it stings
"With love's light wings
did I o'er perch these walls."
Then, the fall.

Deat-th-th-th, an imagined voice of serpents
"Th-th-th", as it slithers upon the dust of earth.
O, precious love & life!  O, sting, life's dearth.
Did those lovers prove Love's worth?
When oft you straddle walls you fall.

Lif-f-f-fe, even the sound is ephemeral,
A mist.  Just as the object is itself.
Not unlike a mystery book on the shelf
There is death within all of us.
Though for some, early, the fall.

O, these remaining echoes of you
My distant Bell, calling me to worship.

All things turn golden at sunset.  It is
The nature of daylight at day's dawning

That the start & end should be mellowed.
Yet, that distant bell reverberates

And echoes on through time
As I kneel at your alter,
Straining to hear echoes of you.

Author Raymond Chandler left a poem
Only found after his death.  It read:
“There is a moment after death when the face is beautiful
When the soft, tired eyes are closed, and the pain is over.”

The Psalmist said, "For he well knows how we are formed,
Remembering that we are dust."
And, Job cried out, "Remember, please,
That you made me out of clay,
But now you make me return to dust."

Did not Isaiah give insight?
“Your dead will live.
My corpses will rise up.
Awake and shout joyfully,
You residents in the dust!
For your dew is as the dew of the morning,
And the earth will let those powerless in death come to life."

Indeed, there is a certain beauty in the release at death,
And, in the remaining echoes of who we were.
Yet, there is greater beauty in life.
Regenerate, oh, you dust!  Live, again!

Ah.  There is so much uncertainty in life.
Jobs come and go. Kids grow up and leave.
Friendships form and fade,
As we all walk towards the grave.

Yet, you are here, now, and
I can count on your presence tomorrow, also.
When you are here, I know everything is in its right place.
At least at the end of day we will share this space.

Spires of dreams, space,
Time, to see beyond the seen,
A fourth dimension,
Daily we take a quantum leap.
Spacetime is just a mathematical object.
Who can escape the hanging pendulum?
Back and forth it and we go.
Does time flow at different rates
At different points in space?
Time relative to beyond the known,
General relativity predicts
What is yet unpredictable.
Is life itself just a mathematical theory?
In spires of dreams all is possible.

Help me to first see the blessing in all things.
Help me to show appreciation for even the smallest thing.
Help me to know the satisfying feeling of sincere gratitude.
Help me to rise above adversity and show true grace.
Help me to know the happiness of hidden good works.
Help me to know the bliss of helping when no other human is watching.
Help me to know the joy of giving in ways that no one else may see.
Help me to win over the dejected, the downtrodden with only a smile.
Help me to lift-up others, especially the depressed & the lonely.
Help me to smooth, sooth, and comfort the frazzled ends in others' lives.
Help to listen quietly more often even when I've heard it before.
Help me to find lost souls seeking to be found as they are ready to be.
Help me to be truly kind to each human and to all other creatures.
Help me to show that even the most lowly among us has value.
Help me to see beauty where others are repulsed by appearances.
Help me to always appreciate that there is amazing beauty in human diversity.
Help me to acknowledge and see the value of the cultures of this world.
Help me to not fear touching others, whether the heart or the hand.
Help me to do these things regardless of reward or acknowledgement.
-Sherlene

It is the little things that get broken
China, a glass, toys,

A heart.

It is the little things that get lost
A button, your car keys,

A heart.

It is the little things which bring joy
Touching your hand, you touching me,

Love from the heart.

It is the little things which remain unspoken
I love you more than life itself.

The scent of new snow
To Inhale exquisite
Hints of other worlds

Under the burning cranberry sky

I 

Sat and watched
As sherbet, which I so love,

Developed

With its raspberry, orange, fading

Into

Peach.  I want to dip a spoon
In to gather a large bite of

Wonder

I wish your feet were little again.
And I could kiss your chubby tiny toes.
Then watch the flutter of your butterfly eyes
And kiss your sweet pug nose.

The scent of new snow
Exquisite
Hints of other worlds

You were not Captain America.
You were not Captain Hero.
You were my downfall. 
You were Captain Undertow.

If one cannot heal one's own heart 
How can one heal the heart of another?
But power does not dwell in a vacuum.

I thought it was my duty to heal you. 
I tried so hard; my mission taken seriously!
It took me many long pain-filled years
To see that you did not want to be saved. 

We could not heal our own hearts, could we?
How could we heal the hearts of one another?
The power vacuum continued to dwell in us, lovers.

And yet, we needed each other.

Bright tambourine shaker, where are you?
Shake over me, shake.  Fill this desert!

Sift the sands around my lonely oasis.
Dig up all its well-hidden treasures.

Come into me unfurled, unfettered.
Find the delights, measure by measure.

Searching hands seek to interlace
As vines, among a secret grove, this garden.

The arms of a mighty cedar, you 
Are still strong, though grown old.

Never mind that.  Come home.
Dwell here and stay forever. O, stay!

My nomad, become the vine that wraps me
By the heat of day and cold of night, stay.

Become my incidental canopy of full cover 
For your every whim and unspent pleasure.

I make the music, give the bursting springs
Within this isolated place of treasures.

So, it would seem, yes it would seem,
My fellow, you have been caught
Between the wings.
Between the wings, my lover,
Like some flitting thing.
A buzz and a hum
Between fingers and thumb
You are such an amazing specimen.

A taste, a sight, a sound, a smell,
A touch, a feel, a thought, a breath,
A life, a death, a being, or nothing at all.

Within a mind almost devoid of thought
These begin to swirl and paint the words
On the canvas of a mind.

At the water's edge
A crow keeps watch
For what I do not know,

Yet it calls out
Every now and then
As if to give a warning.

The light tides
Rising and falling
As though breathing.

I hear, feel, the waves plight
As they struggle to move,
To gain any kind of momentum,

A sound like gasping.
Then with sudden stillness
All is quiet except for gentle lapping.

There is gold in the wings,
This Gossamer, which floats and stings
Hanging as if on invisible strings

Suspended in nothing but air it seems.
My mind tries to catch the wonder of this thing
But it sips then zips and always eludes me.

A watchful cat sleeps
The small mouse skitters forward
The sly cat smiles knowingly
He soon will have his dinner

A woodlouse strolling
The spider watches from strands
Vibrations are gone

1-13-2020

Cherry blossoms fall
Pink carpets my bamboo hat
Smiles float on lips

Your hate throws large rocks
My hope is greater than fear
I go for a hug

On the dry and empty ground
Covered in stubble brittle and bleached
Nothing exciting could have ever happened
In this barren place.
 
Yet, there, beneath them lay clues all around
Pointing to the ancient just within reach,
By an inquiring mind who goes out to seek.
They were men of that sort on bended knee.
 
The wastes between the Dead Sea
And beyond the Gulf of Aqaba pleaded,
"I am lost, come find me."
So, they unpacked their shovels, brushes & trowels,
At the foot of sandstone cliffs and started to dig.
 
Together with the Bedouins, the group slept on
A ground covered in their robes.  Strewn about lay
Piles of black ****, byproduct of copper smelting
Beckoning.  So, they ate the unleavened bread,
Just as did the freed Israelites who were fleeing Egypt. 
 
But then, of course.  Nothing ever happened here.

Seeing you once again,
So very much makes me long
For that sweetness of your sting

And the heat, which throbs bright red
Pumping out an intoxicating cocktail
To rush throughout my skin.

Who knew such poison could be 'friend'?
Desires now past are to become craved.
I **** my throbbing wound going to the grave.

Yet, I do not mourn, I do not rage nor rave.
It is done and I am too satisfied to die
With you upon my lips.

My memories, like lightning bugs,
flash then disappear from my imagery.
Redundancies of an aging mind; an hourglass
with only inches left.
“We become contemporaries with our own ancestors”
and taking a close seat,
We listen for lessons, for understanding and,
perhaps, forgiveness both ways.
Time like a sunflower, which slowly dries,
blown by winds singularly drops seed.
Birds flock, open-beaked, break open substance,
leaving random survivors to sprout.
In a dark field clouded by time my eyes try to focus
to read the code flashing
As grains drop among this tall stand of acres
and acres of glowing sunflowers.

This is the true format which gets truncated on this site.  Drives me crazy, LOL!

Secret-sharers
My memories, like lightning bugs, flash then disappear from my imagery;
Redundancies of an aging mind; an hourglass with only inches left.
“We become contemporaries with our own ancestors” and taking a close seat,
We listen for lessons, for understanding and, perhaps, forgiveness both ways.

Time like a sunflower, which slowly dries, blown by winds singularly drops seed.
Birds flock, open-beaked, break open substance, leaving random survivors to sprout.
In a dark field clouded by time my eyes try to focus to read the code flashing
As grains drop among this tall stand of acres and acres of glowing sunflowers.

With the tide, coming in, going out
The boat rises and falls
Like our gentle rocking.
Rising and falling
Like your chest does now.
I lay my heard on you,
Listen to a heart that pounds
Afterwards.  You cradle me
In the warm ocean of love.

I grew and it made more room for me
But it also made more room for you.

Did you actually think you found love
After me? You left for her, after all.

If I could I would tell you what I know:
Love expands, it lifts up, it wants the best,

It guides our paths through darkness.
Love illuminates the way as it opens up.

It does not implode after you have died.
True love never dies no matter how one tried.

We climb the stars
Make honey in our hearts
Mad as a jack rabbit
We leap into dark holes
Walk among winged creatures
Quiver in our skins
And swear that we can fly
Feather light on love alone

My trust is left as fragile as a spider web,
Yet, my love was as strong as a single thread,
As strong as a steel girder in one of your buildings.
When you hurt me, it seemed that the dark night
Would never stop trembling within me.
I was left to sleep outdoors with our children.

My heart lay in my chest bruised and wounded.
For a while it was black and putrid with hatred.
This was not the man that I knew so well,
Fell in love with, happily married.  No, some
Evil "other" put poison into the vein to overpower.
As the fang bites deeper and they secure the grip.

The bite perfected with each attempt, at first
That which was only a snag of a fang held until
Both fangs could drip a poisonous brew into you.
Threads of the web slowly broken by her design
To envenomate and poison a "forever-bound" love.
She said, "Let me free you from the web.  

Here, taste this."

Through lessons learning, at times hard,
The young man makes note within his personality,
Files it away for later days to work on.
And he continues with life with only a flicker of recall.

Sometime during his 60s he flips through the files
Seeking to amend some deficiency there in
And finds the file on his lack of patience, his lack
Of understanding, his deep-seated prejudices.

Thus, he sets to work.  By the end of his lifespan
He is at long last a decent enough human being.
So late.  But too late?  Those who come to know this man
Think only of the loving, patient, and open-minded man
Which they see before them.  Redemption is sweeter than pride.