the fire of life
crackles ever fiercely
But hope snuggles in next to me
as I finally let my walls burn
hope is the only barrier I need
between me and life's flames
She's warm and smells like Christmas

Tides continue to turn
Though Rome has changed
The sun still circles as people pray

Prompted to pace
Echoes of rage
Darkness seeps in the shadows
of her longest day
Still we afraid

Little bubbles rise from the fireside
Frustrations heard on the mount
Count in reverse internally and observe the confusion or clout
Why do you serve one of the two when collision rules for the powerful

That crackling conversation by the fireside
on a hopeless winters night
led me to sipping of cognac from the pools of your eyes
and there you were weaving dreamy spells
to effortlessly entrap my heart

i had no hope
you knew.

Though many moons have passed, I still see
those roses pressed between the pages of a book
reminding me of  the thorns we pricked , when we were young
it was also the time you said you would never let me go…
and you never did.

Today,  the aroma of coffee is wafting in the air
drawing me out to hear the guitar
strumming to my heart on a Valparaiso sunset
ever so slowly at each cord…

So you hold my hand
and enchant me in nostalgia once again
as those childish waves splash playfully on the shore beckoning us to come and play

and we do... we always do.

Match the sleep up to the fire,
Words alight in bareface glow.
Take your knees and hold them tight,
Tonight's the night that Dragons fight.

By the river lives are woven;
Fabric soft and hugs the skin.
As the shadows dance about,
Throw their arms and scream and shout.

Froth at the shore - take care!
Who'll hold you back from the tale?
Don't lose any grief.
Each story's a thief.

Break out of your mind now
and don't you ever cry
There's no need to feel down
I'll be right by your side

and even if it seems to you
That everyone tends to leave
Disregard those in the past
You mean much more to me

a commune back home not hippie
buy 300, no 500 acres great land
in Codroy or misty high hilled Avalon
built great big house wraparound porch
beset by rocking chair by the sea yet
in the woods at end of road all brown dirt

growing gardens, herb and vegetable
pulling weeds but keeping good green ****
brewing beer by own hand
group work but not always group think

friends lovers writers growers givers
all come to stay
making great pots of stew and strange brews
awakening brought far from Peruvian Torch homeland
telling stories all somehow great fables and anecdotes for life and living and love and everything that's good in the long run

at night over bottles on beaches by fires
we worry these are funeral pyres
for our great little social experiment
fear of leaving loving womb
of isolated salt fish by sea commune

real world so crass&brash; an unctuous affair
where here instead guitars, ukes
silly screaming little buddhas recite poems
by gleaming eye fireside