“Epistle at Noon”


Steam curls from the chipped mug—
a psalm rising in arabesques
against the sunlit kitchen tile.

My spoon taps a rhythm
like distant temple bells,
calling memory from its slumber.

Between the coffee’s warmth
and the hush of half–read pages,
I find an unexpected covenant:
mercy in ordinary motion.






.

Vastness on high
In a troposphere of sky
Delicately blazed
And so intricately phased.

This cavalcade of cirrus
With a slash of errant wind.....
Then, behold, with bravado,
To let the stampede begin.

A clash of hooves at gallop
Across a turquoise sky,
Joins the thunder of the passing,
With the scream of equine cry.

There's Mare's Tails in the Heavens,
In a symphony of song
And the Gods roar embellishment
At the righting of all wrong!

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

the rain won't lift.

it moans a low,
lonesome sound,
gives no mercy.

a window opens.

"i'm a little lost lamb," she tells me.

and I look up and she smiles at me,
she always smiles,. "Maggie," I sigh.

"what are you doing out on a night like this?" she asks.

"i long to dream in black and white
of deserted city streets
to waltz down at night in a cold rain."

it's summer and Maggie's
hanging out the window,
streetlight in her eyes,
her long ***** blonde hair
getting wet from the rain
hangs down around her face.

the dreamer of all the good dreams.
i have to tell her, "Maggie, you're
so beautiful."

"come up. I'll tell your future."

I shrug my shoulders, "I know the future. you die."

"not with me." she laughs softly
like a summer breeze
and her smoky voice whispers,
"your getting soaked, come up
the fire escape."

"so you're the lost lamb," i laugh,
"then what am i? the beckoning scarlet knight,
the golden moth drawn to your fire?"

"there's no music, Jack, but you know
the song too well."

"who chooses who we are,
what we become?

"no pity for us lost lambs."


whether lost or found,
the way a bird knows the sky.
i always know that where ever
I drift
or whoever I might become

I'd can always
find my way back to Maggie's window.

The best, moment,
  in this "Old" man's
     life, it's True.
When, I took your
     hand in mine,
        and said,
            "I DO"
     Happy "52"
        Love You!

i don't know how old i was, 8 or 10.

I climbed out the window
onto the roof of the garage.

it was summer.

I lied down
and gazed at the stars for hours.

i reached to touch moonbeams,
and with my finger
drew a circle around the north star.

i dissolved into the hush of stars
free of want or need.

a single heart beat.
I, the wind, moon, stars.

I long to lie on the roof, again,
gaze at the stars
and filled with wonder.

Peeing's easy
When I traavel,
For five days to a week.
I can piddle
While you fiddle
Dancing down the street.

But things do change
When I roam
For five days to a week.
Suffice to say
On those days
My bowels work best
At home.

The experiment,
   of life on Earth.
In the perfect Brew,
   found it's Birth.
With the eons, that
   would be known,
      as time.
Superior life forms,
   would fall,
      and climb.
One would come
   forward with
       it's claim.
With its, superior
   *****,  known as
      the brain.
They would break
    into tribes, to
       numerous to
           name.
Inability to share,
   would bring, strife,
      to the game.
It seems, the fall
   of the "humans"
      will "Be"
What can I do
   that's best
       for "Me"
Not, what's best
      for "We"