I wanted to see it plainly
So I typed it out in Consolas
Only then could I understand
You really were gone

As evening falls a cricket creaks
On the crisp crest of night alone
And waiting in the moonlight.
His heart listens.

My heart listens.
I hear a frog singing on the bank,
See the sunlight filtering down,

There are miracles all around.
Who needs mysticism in life?
For life is miraculous enough,
And therein lies the mystery.

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.

You ask why I do not come around, anymore.  Because
    the sun won't shine with the darkness in your eyes;
And, I love the warmth and the glow of daylight.  
    I wanted more of it.

All the while you kept blocking the light from our lives.  
    Perpetually, all was darkness,
Though, you refused to turn on the light,
    step into the brightness of day, I had to.

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. . .

Grape kisses
On eyelids
Purple shimmers
Across the cheeks
Button nose aglow
Eyes that sparkle
Mine and yours
We walkthrough
An exquisite tunnel  
Cascading with flowers
Of wisteria tunnels
I lead you out
You want to stay
Forever, you say

My wounds were generally not self-inflicted.
Most represent lessons learned, many from people that I love, still.
Now that I am older, at times, I will locate the scars,
Seeking them out, reaching into uncomfortable regions
To feel the now smooth flesh-covering,
Wrinkles in the brain.

For miles the white path
My nose and feet are too cold
Silent crisp air fills spaces

Inspired by Bulletcookie and William J Donovan

Laborers and bees
Swarm in simple ignorance
Dancing in sun-dreams.
The owner's laugh
Among giant oak shades
Is very bitter.  He sniffs,
"A day off, is barely paid."
Striped to their waists,
Glistening in bright rays
They float like lovers in a bath
Wanting nothing but wages.

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.

Ah, that stolen kiss. Motivated from the purest
Innocence, which turned to secret delight. Captured
On friendly lips. It was not your intent

To steal an electric moment. But, oh, the shock
Of fleshly desire. We could speak
Of it. Never.

I see the hint glinting in your eye
To repeat mistaken affection.
I will offer only my friendly face.

Give ear, and I will speak, my love.
Hear the words of my mouth, my love.
Let my words trickle as the dew.

Let them refresh and renew, my love,
As gentle rain upon the grass
And copious showers which come at last,

My love is like that.

She has a kind of magical thinking about her life.
She sees her name written across the sky, in stars,
In clouds, in sunbeams, written in the sunset.

She finds a penny, knows it was placed there, especially for her.

In her magical thinking, the universe is cheering her on,
Setting her up, leading her to somewhere she doesn't know.
In her magical thinking, she finds the delights and she goes. . .

Leaves in wind
Acrobatic life
Tumbling death

I want to transform you
Making you like new
Sparkling with a pink glow

Difficult things tainted you
Turned you almost blue
With a sickly pale

A bad smell clings
A smell of death
I want to make you live

But as the French say:
“Il n’y a pas plus sourd que celui qui ne veut pas entendre.” -
“There’s no one as deaf as the one who doesn’t want to listen.”

If a thought is as good as a prayer

Then I pray for you often
Throughout the day.

You are in my heart and mind
In so many ways.

If a thought is as good as a prayer
Then you should be very blessed.

Thoughts of you, dear friend,
Ascend from me to the heavens, themselves.

Thoughts are as good as a prayer, aren't they?

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.

Just as the moon shines
Alone the bright emanates
Within your deep tomb

If we pick something apart
Can we really love it?
Do we throw out
That part which is picked apart?
Can we really claim love complete
from the start?
If we love, truly love,
The substance of a thing or being
We must love
The ins and outs, the very fabric,
The whole of the thing,
the who of the person.

The swallows fly out to catch the little eddies of spring;

I close my eyes to the sun as the clouds part above
And let the warmth gloriously take me.
Days, weeks, months, my balcony of interaction;
Lone people occasion to pass by, my chance to greet
High above the dog walkers, trippers to the community bin.

What is isolation if you allow your soul to fly out with the swallows?

Suddenly the singer is unmasked,
And in the end, it's all clear:
It was always about where the bread was buttered!

Then it hits you!
You are in need of a shovel
Because this stuff has gotten too deep.

I carry these memories
- in a golden vessel

For each of you to sup
Take this cup, drink it up

And be imbued with
The sweetness of life & love

(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.

I came to believe thoughts that you poured into my head
Grain upon grain like so much falling sand.

You tied a cord around me then pulled me to your bed.
Yet, I thought that I could fly as long as you held tight
The string that you had tied around my hands.

I fluttered just above the ground
Never truly understanding that I was bound.

Each time that I sought out some new height
You would tug hard upon the string;
Each time I gained some altitude you screamed.

And I would be awakened from my freedom dream.
I must not fly too high was the lesson taught me.

But, you eventually tired of holding to the string;
That string which continually you held so tautly.
And so you took a stake, I heard the sound

As you began to pound and pound.
I failed to get the concept.  

This time, when I left my perch
As I leapt skyward, I felt a ****
Then tumbled to the ground.

I had thought that I had 'freedom'
While flying just above your head.

Yes, I was wrong, so very wrong.
When I looked down you were gone.
But, you would not set me free,

Yet, the tether had remained
And you came back to feed me grain by grain.

I begged, "Let me spread my wings." "Free me!  "Free me!"
You could not trust nor cherish, jealousy had made you deranged.
If only you had let me fly, forever at your side I 'd have remained.

Of trees
Of blades

Of green
Of gold

Of life
Of change

Of letting go
These are the things I know

Of leaves

Mouth on mouth
Resuscitating
Pounding chest
Breathing for you
Until pale skin
And all is lost

Sudden spark
Then faint pink
Tiny thumping
Vigor renewed
Again I breathe
For you

As the sun colors flowers with an
Outward gold on leaves and petals
Bright and pastel like hand-painted blooms
With inward greening, they stand on delicate legs.
Time holds us in their exquisiteness.  As they
Gather us into the security of their beauty
We are warm and safe within this moment.

I'll start with this example of the titles of some of my own poems published here.

(One of 2 new possible titles for the new creation, but neither title from a poem already written.)
What It Becomes / What I Become

Sheltered in A Desert
Moths Like Stars
After The Storm

It Had To Be Said
I am Like a Strong Tree
The Halo of Day

Exercise 2:
Sheltered in A Desert
there were Moths Like Stars
across the sky After The Storm.

It Had To Be Said, afterward,
I am Like a Strong Tree,
like The Halo of Day.

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.

A chance encounter.

So precious and fleeting is this brush of one life against another
that we may never realize the impact it has on our life or theirs.  

The impression is, nonetheless, left.
A chance encounter,

How fulfilling it can be when it is brought full circle.

How do you capture
A moonbeam,
The mist on the lake,

A baby's breath,
The exhalation of a lover,
Or glance from a stranger,

Smoke from a wildfire,
Fog on a chilly morning,
Attention from another?

The glimmer in your eyes
Tell me these are meant to be
Ephemeral things.

Even amidst a hard-scrabble unfair life
Joy finds its way into hearts, onto faces
Within the laughter of families, and children.

They are the loved.  

Joy embraces love of others,
It is rocked and cradled and nurtured.  And,
It is reflected in the love of the loved,

And resides with those loved.

Hot
Like a summer rain
Which sizzles
When it strikes
Heated pavement
Dripping wet
We step out
Of the water
Honeydew
And watermelon
Dribbling
Down our mouths
Going down
An orange sun
Hangs briefly
Then dips
Beneath
The horizon
Heat is quivering
Across the grass
You brush aside
The damp clump
Of hair stuck
To my cheek
And it is mouth
On mouth, again

Grapes flew like amethysts across the sky;
Blood sprayed and drops fell like rubies in my eyes;
And diamonds of tears will flow, that cannot be denied.
But, it was only alloy, not gold, the setting was a lie.
Where, now, are your pearls of wisdom?

You by my side
You standing near
You next to me 
You I hold dear
You are a need
Which I fill
As often as possible 
You are sustenance

Flow water eddies
Glide on oily surfaces
Blossom you will die

Getting to the other side feels pretty good
Let love rule

Slowmo though fast enough at present
Lifts love up

We will join hand in hand
Loosening hate

Rise with me

I can smell the rain coming
As the Texas heat and humidity
That had me held like plastic wrap
Around my face and body loosens;
And the cooler air sinks down to fold us.
I can breathe, feel exhilarated, want life!
Then the downburst!  Like a cow relieving itself
On a flat rock, large drops scatter, loudly, until
The tin on the roof tinkles a melodious song.
In a Texas summer, we live for days like these.

The past is a foreign country.
They do things differently there.

Those things are there,
We are here.

We do things differently
Presently, see.

Words mean what they mean, I ask?
But, ah, they can be nuanced or veiled.
They can be soft as cotton, feather-light,
Or hit like the proverbial ton of bricks
Dead on the nail head hammering
Their impact home.  That's the power
Of the weight of words.  Weigh them carefully.

When in life you reach dead ends
Listen carefully to me, friend,

Stop to enjoy the view
Because in life we have too few.

But, here's the message that I send,
Simply turn around and start again.

The journey need not end.
To start again, turn around my friend.

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

What is beauty?  Personality?  Flash?  Flesh?  
Limbs and legs and mounds, the way one is composed?

A nose, a mouth, hair short or long, none at all?
Is beauty the way you came from the womb and grew?

Purity is beauty to some, but others markup their skin,
And it is their beauty, drawn in lines of ink.

Or, can we be beauty personified?  Perhaps in how we love?
I am told that I am attractive, pretty, some say, "Beautiful."

When I am dead and just so much dust or ash,
I don't want my life summed up by a fleshly container.

Please say, "She was a beautiful person in her love."

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

Accepting the moment in which we find ourselves
Allow reason and meaning to regather as we turn away
From the unacceptable things we find we are sinking in
Reconnecting to the truthful, to the beautiful.
Aspects of goodness you saw once in others.  
Aspects you know are deeply embedded within you.

Reconnect to the good in others we know is there
To find some heart recover yours in the shining glow
Of love, of goodness, of that which you've known
Tarnish must be polished away from other heart
Cleanse own's own heart if we are to be of any use
Have the courage to live another day.  

Enjoy what you can as you can.
The healing will come from those regions
Which the core foundation remains and can never erode.
How did you learn to love?  Who initially gave you hope?
You did when you decided to love, to be loved, to reach higher.
Trust that a higher power unseen will guide and will lead.

Follow the breadcrumbs that you know were laid for you.

Dream about it,
Then pray for forgiveness,
Why shouldn't you?  I do.

Just a bite of the forbidden fruit
And the poison would rush in
Throughout our veins

This is a study in futility
For neither of us will bite
Even to die in one another's arms

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.

The infinite sound of poetry
So infant-ly a part of my brain;

I lie down to read one of the multitudes of books
Collected over the years.

They will not tell me how to write or what to write.
But perhaps they will help me recover

That part of the old grey cells which always thought TV
To be the scourge of it.

My brain pirouettes in realistic shadows;
The sunniest of days have passed;
Here am I in a broken body trapped.
Filled with counts, movements, of time tapping
Until it is only me and the dance;
Out of the shadow and into the bright lights.

Your black heart will rot in your chest
And worms will eat your body;
Your name will be whispered in hushed tones
By mouths too ashamed to give it full voice.