#springtide
She came like springtide,
She left me enticed.
What secret she used to hide,
In her heart deep inside.
She was beautiful per se,
But her eyes were deceptive.
She was beautiful per se,
But her eyes were deceptive.
Her lappet she used to hide,
She came like springtide,
She left me enticed.
Tell me oh my heartbeats,
Oh my heartbeats.
Tell me this much oh my heartbeats,
Who was she that showed me dreams,
The one that came like springtide,
But left me longing and enticed.
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 10:17 PM UTC
As children, in this springtide of the year,
my two brothers and I would venture deep
into our woods, exploring all that had thawed.
Walking along, there was little need for talk,
absorbed as we were in the scents and sights
of lovely nature, awakening all around us.
Following a line from the artesian well that fed our home,
we listened for signs of an undiscovered, woodland stream.
There, we heard it. That secret, lovely gurgle, somewhere
hidden under soggy brown, deciduous leaves.
Excitedly, we used sticks of hickory and oak
to dig down, to free the living water.
Once we had found it, clear and singing,
we leaned in, working together to ease its path.
Time disappeared from our minds,
this self-appointed team of junior engineers.
Somehow, though we wouldn't have known it then,
that freshly springing water was life itself to us
surging forth once more, finding,
like each of us, its own way home.
Now I understand, remembering
our common sense of purpose,
the way we worked together,
with single-minded focus, why
freeing it really mattered to us,
mattered so very much,
and always will.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 8:44 PM UTC
Oh ferocious angels,
lionesque children of Eden
on narrow streets and polluted alleyways
whispering cruel things to each other,
you're radiant in your belligerence
and as my enemies you are virtuous.
Beside me in this carpeted rectangle room
a faint glow exhales
from the tall alpine ivory lamp illuminating
firefly wings of blossoms
alluringly exuberant in the afternoon sun-ray
diamond shine and shimmer.
Dusty tin roofs billow
firewood smoke in the thick violet shade fog over-top cabin potted
mountains and hills sprouting firs and rose bushes abounding.
Spectrum cast chandeliers echo staircases which
jot up and up arduous ruby landings,
hardwood floor cracked
and stacks of novels ballast the senescent hallways
of bookshops where poets works and journals diaries and memoirs blur
the serpentine walls with memories.
Angelic the soul which is too often contaminated with
avarice rebellious to concord living
harmonious midst dew grass and calm waters in residential lakes
empathy equanimity, far from Bodhisattva.
Few kinds of darkness transcendental
subduing other darkness to a weak shadow.
There's an importance to admiring the delirium of metropolitan roads on roads
this intricate unspoken connection to those who
rest by stoplights and crawling traffic metallic molten aura of
cars in July heat.
Paying attention to the open window of adjacent apartments
where Mr. Norris waters his tulips and shares this moment
modern meditations practiced
finding a balance in such an anxious
volatile world like this.
Oh ferocious angels, impetuous
forlorn seraphs,
sing! sing and soar!
Boundless is our ardor
and our passion.
Unenclosed is the lion
in it's bloom.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 3:09 AM UTC