It’s like walking on Pebble Beach.
Everything is perfect.
Except they didn’t clean up after any of the wild animals.

Those come before
Were training wheels
And those after
A lesson in purpose

And now, I can say
There is love, where
Only despair and
Disdain once grew

Soul mates can mean
Many things, perhaps,
And I'm sorry if
This applies to you:

We could have been
But you were never
Quite ready for
More than just yourself

The winds blew north
for hundreds of days,
but one day,
the winds changed.

They started blowing south.
And everything in their path
started going south as well.

I want to see the northern lights
but I cannot say why

it is said that sometimes
if conditions are right
you can see them from here

but it never seems to work
for me

even if the sky is clear
I cannot see them
when I am told I might

others say they have seen them here
I don’t think I believe them

some set a camera
on very long exposure
to take their picture

I can’t stare at the sky
for a very long time
all at once
like a camera

maybe I want to see them
because I haven’t seen them before

there are other things I want to see
but never have

like the life I was meant to have
with you

maybe if I’d had
a better camera

Who is he? Will give us...
When he has a candy on
His hand in the year 2023

Northern Lives Matter

Note the fine flowing plain lands
One where peace and order reigns
Residence to historic cultural affluence
That chaos admired from afar with pains
Homing the abiding partisan patriots
Entrenched in now ravenous blood hovers
Rustlers, insurgents effected their domains
Notorious bandits we once heard in fables.

Lives lost cruelly to obdurated elements
Imprinting images of guns and deaths
Voices raised; are our leaders ritualists?
Establishing innocent crime-made orphans
Spreading evils, afflictions and destructions.

Many a religious shrines turned death traps
And markets, farms; ransacking poor villages
That barely know governance and her benefits
Turned into flowing river of blood and tears
Emptying plangent hearts to quixotic elites
Rich in thoughts; gliding us to precipice.

The great pines stand
Laden with heavy snow
Waters flow unseen
Hidden below thick sheets of ice
I caught a glimpse of her once
Or at least I believe I did
That woman long golden hair
Who walks barefoot in the snow
Signing her odd melodies
I have heard nothing like it
In all my many years
Oft I sit at the end of the woods
By the wide river bank
Hoping to hear her
Somewhere off in the distance
On but two occasions in my life
Were my ears so lucky
To be graced by her voice
I was in awe of her
And yet I was fearful
For I know she was not one of us
The old stories say she came from heaven
From a place above the sky
I do not pretend to know
Nor do I care, I simply wish
To catch a glimpse of her again
To lock with her peircing blue eyes
Brighter and fresher
Than a spring time stream
To witness her one last time
And to hear her song in full
A faint Aria in the snow