You are like moonlight in a jar,
The reflections, on water, of stars,
Soft strumming of acoustic guitar,

A cool breeze on a sultry night.
The thought of you sparks life,
And causes one to indulge in dreams.

Tiny, almost minuscule. Hollow *****,
The weight of petite feathers, silken sinew,
Sown into tensile strength, beguiling.

Beauty in song. Greater than giants.
Chirping out lovely textiles of golds and silvers;
Strong enough to hold universes in place.

Sweet like sugar. Sweeter than honey, elixir
Of baby's breath.  It ***** in air, exhales
Through an ***** the size of a raindrop,

Pushes out sucrose-laden vibrations
Which pour into my ears, my brain, my heart,
Until we both pulsate in an oscillating Self.

Under a canopy of dense and heavy clouds
She gazes out onto the familiar.

Gathered within a tiny sheaf
She carried dried flower and leaf
Gathered from their special place.

The wounds of a heart with glittering clarity
Contemplated with complacent resign, she

Looks inward hoping to know or to find
Whether her heart could find a space,
The space where happy memories can live.

I'll meet you at the statue of the boy by the stream.
You know, the one of the boy who is peeing?

Oh, that's not what I intended to say!
But you know the one and what I mean.
.
Well, that's where I'll meet you, anyway.
I will be there, then we'll both be seeing.

At times I'm consumed by oceans of words
And the many grains of the sands of notions.
All of which I desperately want to set in motion.

Other times, I might go to the water and it be dry.
But perish that I should sit and wonder why.
I dig like h-e-double-l letting dirt and sand fly!

Because you see, exploration makes one wise.
So, I'm not worried.   After all, hey,
Hakuna matata ends with a TA,

To be announced. . .

Her clothes are tatty, ratty, and soiled.
He needs a haircut and a shave.  Hair grows down his neck!
They are talking, but to who?  Themselves? An unseen being?
They grow unkempt in a forgotten garden.  They are not weeds,
They are wildflowers.

How long has she sat there, jam spread across her face?  I just looked
in!
The ice cream, there in the freezer has two deep finger marks dug in
it.
I don't even have to guess.  I saw, in the middle of the night,
By the light of the fridge a little girl who thinks no one sees.

Having been caught she says she didn't do anything.  I know what I saw.
"It's all right sweetheart, because it is all yours.  Whenever you want.
Anytime."  I buy her any and everything I think she might want.
I just want her to be as happy as is possible, feel secure, and loved.

I lead her to the bathtub, instruct her to clean, knowing
That I will have to wash that sweet face that I love so dearly.
After all, she made cobblers, cakes and pies for us when we visited.  
She wiped my face, washed my bottom, did my precious, Granny.

I saw strange things in my dream last night.
A book read that "life is more random than we think.
And, yet it is not so random that we have no control."

A woman (she was random) said to me, "Nothing
In dis life be random."  I guess other than her.
There was a door randomly appearing leading out.

I took it and saw many random things strewn about.
I began picking each one up, turning them in my hand.
"There are so many random aspects to each", I marveled.

Life and sameness are just controlled random abstractions.

“Learn to see. Realize that everything connects to everything else.”
That is a quote from Leonardo Da Vinci who saw connectedness.

All things connect to one another.
That means I connect to you, you connect to me.

The sun and the moon connect to each other,
The stars connect to the sky and all of this connects to the others.

Not only should we "see" but we must feel this connectedness
For it is what opens us to love and life.

Your plane through pink clouds,
At sunrise, my sinking heart.
Heart breaking, you, departing.
Your plane through pink clouds
Departed, and the sky
And I am empty.

And just like that…
Here in my space
I write you into
Existence

Overly expressive
An amped up mind.

I have to admit,
At times high on
My own supply.

It’s not always
Tangled, recessive,
This grind,

It is only my
Overly expressive mind.

That brief smell after the long dry spell,
Earthy richness released in sun warmed soil.
The scent emanating from rapidly drying grass,
These are the incenses from the ground.
Traces of the earth on which we all ride.
One of my favorite sensory sensations.

The union of the sun and moon
Brief embrace, a kiss, departing too soon

A coming together, energy exchanged
Infusing us all, causing eloquent reframes

A phenomenal show eclipsing us all

breath
life
color
elements

you
me
the sea
a thousand shades of blue & green

I love the sky, sunrise and sunset, so much
That at times I can hardly breathe.

Only when we’re brave enough to explore
Do we find the breathless moments.

I love you so much that I am forever breathless.

You left a trail of breadcrumbs
That would lead back to you
Hungry little bird that I am
I ate them one and all.
Every one led me back to you.

You make me ashamed
to ever write a line
and call it poetry.

Exquisitely, you drag
my heart from my chest
caress and replace,

Forever enhanced,
improved, and more pliable
at the experience.

When does your spring come,
Calendar Slave?  Only once a year?

Listen to this precious secret of life:

When true to your authentic self
Spring can come every day.

You are frozen in time,
As though a bug in amber.

Awaken from your slumber
Before you run out of rhyme.

For Rumi us reminded to awaken!
Dawn's breeze is not to be forsaken

Because it has secrets to tell you.

Roethke said
That deep in the roots of flowers
Sunlight is kept. It is their sweet secret.
Truly we will reap what we sow, thus
Make your garden filled with light & love.

You wild thing,
You spread your wings,
As you flutteringly fly away

Sunlight strikes your feathers.
And in such lovely weather
You shine like day.

To smell the lilacs in first morning light
Dew descending and shaking free from the tree
Splashing sweet infusions and splattering on me.

Even the fog rising is perfumed.
Fists full, I make my way back inside to find a vase.
A home perfumed by wafts of flowers is a heavenly abode.

It is a beautiful notion, but lilacs don't actually grow here.

The day is under way,
So, here, just let me say,

Good morning moon
And good morning you!
Good morning sunrise, too.

Good morning skies above,
Good morning flowers that bloom.
Good morning to all that is loved,

All that is true. So, gratefully I say
Good morning to you.

I feel the heat of the morning sun on my skin.
A new day has begun.
A new day to begin again.  We are all renewed.
The day, me, you.  So, start again.

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.