At the bottom of the ocean
It is so quiet, there is no motion
You to disturb, it’s so serene
Amidst the corals red and green;
Can’t see no light,nor one you need,
For to the herds of water steeds
The light is nothing but a snare,
And so are you should be beware
While treading bottom of the earth,
Where of the fuss is such a dearth,
Bur what a pleasure ‘tis, indeed,
To be devoid of vicious greed
Of those who tread the the earth above
Knowing naught of Earth’s true love

Another day and things are the same.
The sun shines through lace,
Obscuring my view to the chaos outside.
In here, it’s serene,  no pressure
To perform or produce,
Although I do.
No expectations of talk
During the day.
Everything I need is around me:
Books and notes and discs
With the record of my thoughts
And flash drives with feelings.
I have filled my rooms with
Things that fascinate and inspire,
Even after many years.
A red chair with printed pillows,
A prayer rug from Iran
On the wall above Buddha,
Brought a century ago by a lady
On her Grand Tour of the world.
My little, golden friend
Laughs at this excess.
Her photos of Florence and Venice
Cause feelings of nostalgia,
As if I was there in 1910,
When duster-clad ladies bought them
In Saint Mark's square,
Hand-colored by poor artists.
And on the other wall,
My young father gazes at me,
From the distance of sixty-seven years.
There are other houses from the past
And streets in my town
That almost look like now.
There are dark-finished tables,
Gracing the space between
The walls and the world and me.
Brass lamps glint out
Like beacons in the shadows
That trail the creeping evening,
For I am a mental traveler,
As Karen Blixen said.
She told her tales to Finch-Hatton
And Berkeley Cole,
On fire-lit evenings,
Like Scheherazade on her carpet.
I have no adventurers as my guests,
But instead, send my stories to a virtual world,
Hoping someone will listen and be inspired.
But even if the words remain unread, unseen,
I am content to write, to spin my tales
For my own ears and the future.

Out seaward to the  horizon I see Forgiving hills where lessons fade,
Projections of my desirous plea
Patiently await their farewell to bade,
Look now for at their peak the sun is setting,
With an orange hue caressed blue sky,
And white clouded streaks like thought forgetting,
Senses renewed—our demons die.
Can you see that place where intrigue resides,
Beyond those hills ‘neath the sky turned red?
For there the heaven and earth collides,
Pervading all hope in our angels stead.

When I am among the trees,
    especially the willows and the honey locust,
    equally the beech, the oaks, and the pines,
    they give off such hints of gladness.

    I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
    I am so distant from the hope of myself,
    in which I have goodness, and discernment,
    and never hurry through the world
    but walk slowly, and bow often.

    Around me the trees stir in their leaves
    and call out, “Stay awhile.”
    The light flows from their branches.

    And they call again, “It’s simple,”
    they say, “and you, too, have come
    into the world to do this, to go easy,
    to be filled with light, and to shine.”

White jet stream splits the blue sky
Serenity, I ignore what they say to me
Maybe daying be’s, laying fading beneath swaying trees
Dawning years a tease, burn away the grease
Wipe the grime away, I’m searching for signs today
Pried myself outside the lines, you stayed behind it’s okay
Thought grenade, cicadas and bees serenade,
Peeling back layers, the sour tang of marmalade
Garments handmade, dip my toes in the bluing lake
Vibrations I feel a wake, a dip in the curve
Butterfly stomach I can’t help but squirm
Serenity, I saw a white jet stream split the sky
As I wandered, I wondered why

A picture perfect serenity
of waves crashing at the shore.
The reflections of stars so bright
giving a new lease of light (life).
You see the wonder of the world lay out in front of you;
how I wish I could see the world through your eyes, even if just for tonight?

We are nothing but marks in the sand
waiting to be washed away with the tide.
The black abys of nothingness the sea offers up,
tempting fate between life and death.
Do I dare to risk being washed away in wishful thinking?
Or, do I let the cripplingly cold waves take me under?

A picture perfect serenity
of waves washing troubles away.
The reflections of a million dreams illuminating the night
providing quintessential peace never experienced before.
You see life as if it were a painting unique to us all;
everyone sees the beauty, even if not always understood.

We all leave our marks across the sand,
basking in its never ending beautiful optimism.
The unknowing views of opportunity amiss,
the most sacred, forgotten hearts finding salvation.
Do we dare to try taking risks into the unknown, no-matter the price?
Or, do we hold onto what we know, always playing it safe?

It’s so simple and sweet
To savor the simplicity
When you let your mind retreat
Surrounded by serenity
With a sense of feeling complete
Minds can be messy, cluttered, and muddled
Do yourself a favor
Center your attention on the explanation most likely to be
Occam’s Razor
Clarity is the key