And in a moment, it is done
It has passed like the rising of a sun
Like a season full-blown or a flower
In its last few hours

Like a frozen waterfall
Or a stopped river impeded
Or an ocean held within bounds
Only the mind can replay its reel

I borrowed a fabulous line used by Meira Love and changed the tone a bit.

Between a season
Warmer than autumn
Softer than summer
More temperate than winter
You lie ahead

No one is beyond the reach of your mercy
Not soiled tiny birds bathing in mud puddles
Nor slobbering drunks, nor fending addicts
Not angry ones who hold the weight of abuse
Nor those who suffer the pain of life here and now
We are all the little sparrows searching for seed

Inspired by Marc Morais' comments on his poem, Lily and Moon

The night hovered, a dark sheet of a night.
The moon spotlit my terrace despite.

One flower-face exceptionally bright
Turns upwards towards the light.

Shyly glancing up at such a great height
We in glorious slender stay in our respite,

And wrap this memory like a cloak of beauty
About us forever, so very tightly.

When I see who you were back then
And who you are now, I am confused

Not born with a silver spoon, yet refined
You rebelled, then, and craved my family

We were unabashedly affectionate and kind
And your spine was tired of the iron rod in it

Being told you disappointed them daily
Eventually took your joy away, and you too

You met a man at college that they loved
Who could give you nice things, them prestige

You had finally caved to their status quo
Now who you are I simply no longer know

And I am left to wonder, did I ever know you

I would eat my own arm
To sustain my life
In order to sustain yours

I would feed you
My own flesh to sustain yours
And stay with you ignoring my needs

Until you are grown and on your way
And then, with my life's mission done
I could fade

She is new mown grass,
A butterfly’s gentle caress
On a blushing rose bud.

She is the scent of fresh pine
Wafting through warmer climes,
As refreshing as morning dew.

She is like the yellow-green shaft,
Blades of picked sweet grass
Held within one’s teeth.

Sweeter than a baby's breath,
She is the sparkle in lovers’ eyes,
The essence of every beautiful song.

The last stanza is inspired by Mary Huxley's poem, If You Return

Your needs are calling, and I should go

Yet, I cannot this moment, for
I must write while the words flow

The pain of losing you
Before you're even gone

Is too acute for me to carry on
Yet, we all must, for in time we all go

And you will soon and so must I
We cannot turn to look back

Yet, when you return, no need to knock
For my door has memorized you

Birds come and go
In earnest flows
A rhythm, a cycle.

Just as

Flow the flowers
Blown in drying fields
Fly on ephemeral wings.

So, flow all things.

If it were possible
I would choose only
To outlive you briefly

To give you succor
In your final days.

Then I would wither
Like the brief blossom
Of wildflowers in a field
To stop my heart's pain.

On stormy days,
The balcony door open,
I sit listening, watching,
And feeling an electric air.

There is the sound
Of seagulls crying out.
The wind whips in uproar.
Pregnant black clouds overhead

Churn with birth pains
Wanting to release their burden
Onto the earth beneath.
I watch and wait.

Clouds billow and bellow,
Swirling above the house tops.
With the temperature's sudden drop
The sweat from their brows

Begins to drip in relief to all.

-inspired by Vianne Lior's Dove in Bloom

Somewhere between
Reality and reverie
I see, and it becomes

The birds bloom
And fly in flows
Pinions full-blown

I could scarcely paint
A more beautiful picture
As they with sinew

Strive to stay ground-free

You always know
When the birds feel
Spring is near

They fly in loopty-loops
In a sky filled with swirls
Of wispy clouds

They play tag with mates
Look for the best nest spots
Fights for territory break out

As I watch with glee
Joy is plain to see
In their every hopeful motion.

If you are like me
You are a thief
Who steals words,
Concepts, ideas.
That is no crime
For you cannot arrest
A mind that "borrows."

It is still cold outside.
I step into a warm patch
Where the sun's rays caress.

You reside in those spots
Where I begin to feel, again.
Then the warmth of you returns

And I feel your loving touch.
But I must go on, as do we all,
Making and collecting memories.

She was just crazy enough
To compliment his CRAZY.
They had a decades-long love
Which did not mean devoid of drama
And the pain and suffering drama brings.
Yet they were safe and secure
Within their own crazy kind of love.
That in itself, I always found to be crazy.

I watch a line of birds move in sync
As if they are sketching an eyebrow
Across some heavenly maiden's face.

As the sun slowly rises on the horizon
Its color daubs on her face and cheeks.
The clouds become her apple cheeks.

The sunrise palette paints her pink
And a fiery sun rises to becomes
The tint for her pouty full lips.

Higher the sun rises in the sky, and
Filters streams in waves of golden hair
With long locks about her comely face.

So long as we keep that child-like quality
Of the innocence to see the things unseen
We are enabled with a sense of wonderment

And the ability to see the world anew,
To imagine, to dream, to continue on
In the persistence of hope.

It came flapping in
On great dark wings
This angry pain of a thing

Like a black vulture to peak
At the center of my heart
Break my bones for marrow

Getting at the depth of me
I am not afraid of death
Only at the thought of yours

Let my every ounce
Of love and courage
Build a steel wall
Around my heart
Around my mind
That it might become
Scaffolding to support me
Then I can say, "Lean on me."

A fearful thing
Has taken wing
And flown straight
Into my heart

The place it pierced
Will forever sting
A bruising wound it creates
Will always leave its mark

And my heart will never heal

upon my daughter's visit, yesterday

The day I felt you swimming
A little flop inside
Was the day my heart-bird came
Within to reside

The day you came crying
And kicking your way into this world
Was the day my heart-bird
Built her nest sure

The day you told me that for you
No more could be done
Was the day my heart-bird
Burst through my chest

And headed for the burning sun
Never to return

A feather is not a bird.
A rock is not a mountain.

A petal is not a flower.
A seed is not a garden.

The true nature of desire
Is not "want" but "need."

A thread like a river leads,
I follow its course in this weave.

My garment is woven to hold you
In my heart like a precious gem.

I open the bag as I open my heart
And see love gleaming within both.

You are the thread woven through
The warp and weft of my life.

What a beautiful fabric-

A taste upon my lips
Fears of poison's bitter
realized

Just as forked tongues
Are cleaved in dualities
flicker

Thoughts gather
Like drops of venom
glimmering

You are a tightly
Coiled serpent who
lingers

Poised to strike a bite
At my forever-heart
wounded

I was done for
The moment I saw
danger

Never mind that
Lovely snake come
strike

A slow poison
Will eek into flesh
dying

Touch my lips
With your fervent
mouth

Taste what I taste
Poison upon my tongue
waits

Let us die
From the sweet
poison

Together

Have we gone from the land of the free
to the land of the fools?
I ask the question.

Have we gone from Camelot  
to the land of Scamalot?
Again, I have asked the question.

Have you?

The crow calls out to say,

"The sunrise is on its way.
Hurry do not delay.
Go, look, and see.
The beauty of a sunrise is free.
You do not need to pay."

I no longer go to the museum.

The morning sun struggled
Against the bindings of the horizon
Until like a newborn it was ground-free
Up and out, it went and came into the world
Pulling hopes and dreams along with it
Like lovely streamers on rising balloons
Flowing in the hopeful breeze of day
A brand-new day

In which to hope and dream

I took each flower
Given me by you
I placed them in a jar
To dry and to keep true
Forever thinking of you
Who knew  
That love could be
Like a dry, brittle flower
With no longer hope of life

Whatever the wounds of heart
Regardless of the pains
Whatever heart-wound felt
Whether bruised and purple
Again, and again

Though it can be likened to
Walking a mile
With a pebble in our shoe
And a burden on our backs
We are assured we can rely on you

It has been said that empathy is "Your pain in my heart."

Before we can have empathy for others, we must first recognize a couple basic truths.

1. They are human beings
2. They have the same feelings as you or anyone else.
3. They are deserving of the same basic rights as you.
4. They should be given the same dignity as any human should.

By showing empathy, you may help someone stitch their lives back together.

The lament of a maiden
Cried to the night sky
"Sweet lover,
I will pluck your heartstrings
And sing my call out to you
Hear that my heart is true:

May the mist carry
My words of love
Swiftly to you
On its vaporous hue
Causing it to arrive
With the morning dew

As I look out on my morn
My lonely heart is torn
If I could send you my arms
Across this large divide
I would embrace you
To be your guide

What starts as a mere mist
Will soon envelop you with
A thread-woven protective bag
Filled with this song.  So,
You can trace your way back
It is on its way to you

Let our love be the compass
That guides you home to me
Following the many lines
Of our love and life on our map
The lines of which can be seen
By only you and only me

Follow the line leads you straight
Across this distance home to me
Across these vast seas remember
Our life is more than a mist,
More than a mere song
Our love will continue on and on

I've left footsteps
And breadcrumb for you
Should you find me
Please return me to myself
For the path and the terrain
Becomes more unfamiliar
And difficult to walk

You could be my lungs
For you give me breath.

You could be my heart
Because it beats for you.

You were already in my head,
Now you are in the heart
Within my chest.

Our hearts were thumping,
Adrenaline pumping, time racing.
And we knew, we just knew.
We knew there was something
Miraculous, magical happening.

In the dense misty forest shade
We had lain with evening falling,
My head on your cradling arm,
Peeking through canopy leaves.

As a heavy dusk covered us both
We had lain on into the night
While watching the stars rise
And night clouds rolling by
Clinging to each other with deep sighs.

Their eyes
Are glazed over
With their hate,
Thick scales formed.

The voice of reason
Becomes hoarse
Stripped raw
From strain

As sanity died.

It’ll soon be gone.
But don’t get me wrong
I am so very thankful for
The wondrous memories made.

And grateful for the beauty
And at seeing children play
In a world suddenly pure
Under snow’s blanket

Of wintery-white.

Inside a warm domicile
Cover up, hunker down.
Stay awhile, don't venture out
For the great black cloud
With an icy fist will come
To steal the sun for everyone

Du coeur je demande:
Of the heart, I ask
"Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas chez toi:
What is wrong with you?

Du als Objekt:
I asked you a question.
Du als Reflexivpronomen:
"Why aren’t you looking
at yourselves in the mirror?"
Pourquoi ne vous
regardez-vous pas dans le miroir?

"Vous n'avez pas l'air bien!"
You do not look well!
Du mit einem Nomen: "You idiot!"
"Les malades du cœur"
The sick heart,

"Ce cœur, notre cœur"
This heart, our heart,
de la regarder:
Look at it,
mon Coeur: my love.

Of the heart, I ask:
"What is wrong with you?"
I asked you a question.

"Why aren't you looking
at yourselves in the mirror?"
You do not look well!
"You idiot!"

The sick heart,
This heart, our heart,
Look at it, my love.

Can you feel it?
It started some years ago,
This bloat and rot.
And it is about to infect us all
With its putrid mass.
For you cannot put back
The fetid tissues in the corpse.

Relentless, Time’s tide
As it flows onward ever so fast.
Each second slips away,
Creating a moment passed.

This world turns, yet my heart
Stands still, a hollow echo
That your laughter used to fill.

The sun will set on another day
Alone in the sky, it will happily stay.
But not I.

The stars explode with brightness
But still, I feel alone, no longer known.
A page will flip as the calendar burns;

Each season changing in its hue
And with every breath, I think of you.
For life can no longer be the same.

(Inspired by a poem posted on FB without a title or a credit to who wrote the one I used for inspiration.  Do any of you recognize the premise?)

Tragic poets were often mocked
By comic poets during dramatic festivals.
Some travestied more than most.

They write to record.

Frequently shocked by the heresies
Put into the mouths of powerful men,
Many, too frightened to begin again

Commit political suicide.

Though racked and broken,
Bringing words of wisdom spoken
Like a prophet crying out in the wilderness.

With a reputation for cleverness, lo,
Thought to be vexatious by some, numb,
Carry on in a wasteland, with hums slow.

Hail the great lyric poets, those actual,
For the rhythms of an old poet, practical,
Are somewhat freer, more natural,

And filled with absolute truths.

1st draft
1.
She was like a juicy red apple unpicked
He could never resist

Each time he rode by he'd bite that apple
Reaching way up high

He returned, again and again
Until the day when

Nothing was left but core.


Final draft
2.
She was like a juicy red apple unpicked
He could never resist

Each time he rode by he'd bite that apple
Although for him hung way up high

He returned, again and again
Until the day when

Nothing was left but the core.

The scent of my love
Was rose and sandalwood
Placed in strategic locations.

Yours was patchouli,
Which you rubbed into
Your mustache and beard.

And with each kiss;
Each time we made love
We created our perfume,

The Scent of Our Love.

The scent of my love
Was rose and sandalwood.
Yours was patchouli,
Which you rubbed into
Your mustache and beard.
And with each kiss
We created our perfume,
The Scent of Our Love.

It started to rain, and a wind blew
It put me in a mood, I started
Thinking of you, a thing I never do,
Really.

I could hear the rumbling heavens move.
Do you remember how good it was
To make love during a thunderstorm?
I do.

The leaves on the trees rustled loudly,
A few sticks fell and hit the roof of the house.
I can never forget the pecan tree,
Remember?

It was heavy with its fruit in Autumn
As it stretched over our bedroom.
And every time the North winds blew
Nuts would hit the roof.

You would say “I love you”.
With each clank or bump, rumble, tumble,
They would roll down and I would get
An “I love you”!

And we would lay entwined cuddling.
Do you ever wish it were still true?
Now that we are both older,
I do.

The blue of his eyes swims and mingles in a deep sea of love.
A love that knows no bounds inside my red velvet heart.

How poignant it is to be punctuated with such drama and passion.
A full round moon smiles down watching lovers do what lovers do.

It is made to blush.

My love and I would bask in the sun.
And we would make love out of doors.
We would, under the grape arbor.

Love’s knot loosened, my gossamer bow,
In a sea of light our love voyage would flow.
It would begin and end under the grape arbor.

Based on a poem written in the mid-1990s, more than 30 years ago
I see myself, poor old soul;
Pages upon handwritten pages
Within dusty tattered notebooks;
I caress each word, each syllable,

“This one was for him and this one.
And this one, what passion then!
The pages burnt in his hand.  
Remember?  He often said so.

My thoughts then turn to the disks.
I knew back then, as I carefully
Saved each cherished line of
Our fluid dialog, I knew back then

The day would come when ‘they’
Would be relics from the past
Refusing any longer to give up
Their treasure.

This age-spotted wrinkled hand
Now resorts to albums in which
The printed pages were bound
So many years ago for this reason.

Any flames that once set aflame
The page has long been doused
By the wells of time, time whose
Spring is but a trickle now.

O, sweet honey-dewed words drip
From these pages, sticky, still sweet.
Drip on me for I desire to feel!
All need to be revived!

For we are now all old with time.
The pages yellowed, you dead,
The tech I used to save the writing,
Gone, no longer any use.

Yet, embers deep inside
Glow warm still for you
Within this withered womb.
And it can never be quenched.

I speak this to nothing but air.