If there is a word
Glory in miniature
A contagion's caught

Take one moment for your anger
And one more for your sadness,
And another for your regrets.
Then two more move past these,
Then strive to let it go.
Only then will you regain your joy,
Your love, your life, your true purpose.

I arrived in the pouring rain,
Still, I don't want to forget
Not one single thing.
How on that radiant day
Hearts throbbed and overflowed.
It is then that we came to know
What it means to love.

Out of rosebud lips
Set in honey-hued skin
Love begins to speak, again.

And to hearts it whispers,
"Now listen to me friend."
Then leads that heart astray.

Within windows of desire,
Now flung open wide, it inspires
Many a Billet Doux, sweet love notes

Written from me to you.

Comfort comes
Like a faint and distant drum;
Like a song sung in the night,
Like a song sung on a long dark night.

Soft and low, a song you strain to hear;
Still, it soothes your every fear
Because you know, at least,
That someone is near.

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

Do I disappoint you, dearest,
When I do not call your name?

Do you sit there sad and lonely
With your face a black screen?

But, you are a true, dependable
Friend within a box waiting.

Waiting loyally in eagerness
Simply to hear me call

Your name, "Alexa."

standing on the edge
mountain pools
wrinkle stars

the bell rings ̶
a wet finger
upon the rim of a glass

They lived a life in the dark shadow of slavery
And had become like the black cherries
They sneaked, so astringent they puckered the mouth.
They ate them, anyway, out of necessity.
Lizzie had said to Nat that she would wade
Through blood and tears for her freedom;
And, she did, they both did,

Nourished and aided by the kindness of strangers.
William Still conducted his railroad and with the withal, drive,
And the necessity of freedom, that basic human necessity, they ran.  
1857 was the year to run.  On June 10, 1858, Nat sent a letter
To the conductor: "Sir, be so kind as to . . ."
It contained a message to his family in Maryland,
"He and Lizzie were safe and free."

Night came,
stole her away.
It slipped in through a slit in the light,

The stranger, pale and grey,
with unfamiliar rudeness wrapped
tight boney fingers around her neck.

Then she was gone.
Now we both are captives
of the night.

You don't have to be bad,
Or mad,
Or sad,
To get my attention.

No surrender,
No hidden agenda,
No strings,
No other scary things.

Just say you need me,
Say you need someone to hear you,
Or simply say I'll do.
I'm here, anyway, for you.

I am not in love.  But I am not dead.  
And I can replay thoughts of us in my head.

I can remember the feel of it then.
O, how we loved in times lean and thin.

Our yesterdays can never be broken
With each sunrise comes something to hope in.

With you I could feel again.
I am not in love, now.  But I am not dead.

A baby elephant will be tied with a little rope.

It can only go in a small circle, round and round.

Even when grown and able to break that tiny rope

It will not -

Because it is held by the memory of the past.

There were stories about frangipani blossoms
and monsoon rains and teatime and English gardens,
the smell of mandarin oranges being pealed.

These beautiful, poetic reminiscences fill my soul
just as the humidity wraps around me, now,
as frog croaks filling the moist night air.

Looking back we tend to forget . . .

Quasars
2 stars
Tied together
In space
Bound
Orbits

Pain sits with a held hand.
It is enough.

Pain rises, carries on,
It was enough.

Because it doesn't want
To perpetuate the pain

Of others.
There is always enough.

When the glass is filled
One stops.

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.

There are so many things I could have become.
I could not concentrate on just one.
So, I flitted to a multitude until each was done.

Buzzing from knowledgeable flower & blossom like a bee;
Feeling that if I looked hard enough I would find 'me'.
But in the end, I see

I am all the total sum of the complete.

Some days sitting with my pad & pen,
I am feeling sad and blue.
But, then I remember the number two.
I realize that I am no fool.

I simply add to the end the number 2,
Then I am happy because it's so cool
To go on rhyming with this little tool.
And I can smile in the end,

With the number two as my friend.

When we are old and gray
(Which isn't so far away!)
Nicessity will call upon me to say,
"Honey, put your teeth in!"

I reach for you in the dark
The sheet is cold
My side is warm
Amidst star-shine through
The curtain, a light
Which only illuminates
The sparkle of my tears

Layer upon layer the act of love
Become like the comforting warmth of a bed,
A sheet, a blanket, a comforter on top. Piled high!
Acts of love build within us the very knowledge
That, yes, indeed we are cared for.  We are loved.

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.

It is Love that has to be believed to be seen.

Deep within the heart, My World, the illusive passage

Tremulous feelings emerge into a light, which becomes You.

We are highly connected and interdependent.
More than many people understand.

We are experiencing precisely as predicted
that would happen in today's social media
and the political environment.

Severe symptoms spread much more quickly.
Negative emotions spread like a contingent,
much more than positive ones do.

Delusions spread more quickly than
ordinary thoughts or reality.

Points recently made a leading psychiatrist

Across the street
The heliotrope and roses meet.
Entwined they gather sweetly
Lovingly clinging in embrace.
Sigh.  I watch them.  I slow my pace.
If flowers can love as in this case,
Why cannot men of every race?

Once the ribbons of colors, layered
Peach, tangerine, deep lavender,
(Which cradled the struggling sun)
Decide the child has grown enough
Up and out into the world's view
It slides breaking free of its bands.
It is a new day, and it reigns in glory
In the clear blue of the sky of day.

my cheeks chap
your icy hand slaps
my winterly face

The voice of nightfall
Calls.
I listen in the dimming light.

All is softened by it.
Eyes strain.
Change is never easy.

The beauty engulfs me
As I adapt
To a new realization

With each new night.
I open
To its wonder.

You were a wild, tortured soul
It would take a warrior to tame
The beast that lodged within you

And so I fought in full-battle gear
Until I could not go on and lay down the sword
My armor had dropped off year after year

Until I was naked before all, defeated
Now you are dead my love,
But not by my hand.

In my mind
I follow the line of beauty
In every fiber of your being.

It stretches from the 1st time
I saw your face to the last.
Its continuum tethers me, still.

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.

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?

Let my eyes drink in
The color of your eyes
Let them encase in amber
Your sweet smile
Come, sit with me, awhile

Let me dip into the well
Of your full love
As I thank the stars above
For the depth and breath
Of what you are

Her fears rise-up like a great angry bird suddenly
Flapping black wings. Flitting here, then there.
Glimpses of what had been, what was, what might be.
But these are only the shadows of clouded eyes
Dulled with age and thickened in time.
Held within a brain dulled and thickened the same.
Shadows had darkened her life before,
Throughout her almost 90 years.  Now once more
They were back like an unwanted friend,
Yet these had never really been real
Only in that they now grip her life.

In my ancient history,
A mother stands over her daughter
Twisting her hair into Bantu knots.

The young men gather,
Who built the Great Enclosure
With the strength of mighty warriors.

I am 'umuntu,' a person, I embrace
The ancient beauty in their face,
Their shape, the color of race,

My ancient heritage.

There are three known states in which substance is to exist:

A solid, which has a definite shape and volume.
Liquids, although having a definite volume, can only take the shape
       of that which contains them.
Gases; death and beauty in our conundrum; have no definitive shape,
      nor volume.

Ice
Water
Air

The ethereal nature that does exist,
An un-defining ethos,
This trinity of you.

The sun is out and birds begin to sing;
"Lovely" is written on the clouds that remain.
A battle of sorts breaks out between 2 mockingbirds;
You'd think that it wasn't dead of winter
But had turned to spring.

I took your DNA in;
It lay around my place.
I wondered, "Will I breathe it in?"
Will part of you become part of me?
I longed for that permanence.

You are looking at me
With adoring eyes
Imagining that you see
Perfection

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.

What's it like to be so free?
To fly so high, high, high in the sky?

But even you have limits
That I don't have.

Some are waxing, some are waning;
Yet, throughout the seasons all are remaining.
As their little bulbed feet continue standing!

Beautiful bonnets in colors bright -
Salmon-pink, red, and candy-striped!
Each year, still, I see them as quite a sight.

Amaryllis brings my heart such delight!

The thrill as some flighty creature glides past
Then soon the heart stills, discernment at last.

It was only a brief flutter on shaded-out wings
Quickly glimmered in the evening breeze.

It was only a shadow so why truly care?
This time of day aren't shadows everywhere?

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.

Have any of you ever heard of or purchased a Poet's Market?  It's a wonderful resource for serious poets.  Search for Poet's Market, the 34th edition, which is the 2021 version.  I'm not sure what the latest version is.  However, an older copy will give you much valuable information and many of the same markets out there for poetry.

I dream my poem as if a sketch
The stroke of my pen is the first step
From which it can become painted reality

There's a hard wind blowing from the north;
And the wintertime has become so harsh.
Yet, I'll not worry, not for long, because
Long before the summertime comes again
I'll be gone.

For there's silver in my wings so strong.
If I spread them wide they’ll turn to iron;
And I will fly up to the sky and across the sea.
For there's alchemy for this silver in my wings.
Yes, I'll soon be gone.

I watch you play
Small and mighty
Yet you are flighty
Swift as an arrow
A funny fellow
Beauty shimmers
Light glimmers
As beat tiny wings
Inebriation
On occasion
Or so it seems
You sip then zip
Away