The red light of the sun
Slowly descending
The sky is all I see
It’s never ending
We could fly
You and I
On a cloud

Music on the hillside
Piano in a villa over there
Violin below
Fireworks above
A beat – a beating heart
Someone begins to sing

The red light of the sun
Slowly descending
The sky is all I see
It’s never ending
We could fly
You and I
On a cloud

Is this place real
The ocean below
The red sky above
The music
Romance on the wind.
Sing with me

The wind plays with the leaves
The weather turns colder
But as long as we believe
Love doesn’t get older
We could fly
You and I
On a cloud

Only after one leaves
Does this place become real
A crown jewel midst a rocky cliff
A place so beautiful its
Memory etches itself into your soul
Food to die for
Drinks to fight for…

On a journey of the heart
There’s so much to see
When the sky is dark
You’ll be right here
Right here with me
Good morning I vow

These things that we masteringly cover
With layers of wrinkle free sheets -
Covering the warmness that never was.
A weighted depression left behind
In a never ending circle of hidden desire.
Tightly tucked, pillowed and shammed -
Soft coolness inviting remorse.
Spirit of lighted darkness awaits the unmaking,
From dawn to dusk dreams plunder
Molding obsessions into sleeping reality.
The comforter only slightly moves,
This place made up for now tonight becomes…

Haloed in darkness, dreaming real.
A breath resounds hidden
In the softness just before twilight.
Listening for a whisper
Calling out my name.
Dare I to open my eyes
In fear of loosing all again.
Through closed eyes I gaze
Upon the eyes’ crystal hue.
Hair vivid with no color
Inhaling tender features – thy very essence.
A dreaming splendor anew.
If reality can come but in a dream
Then in dreams I shall reside.
Ever mournful of the morning light while
Caressing dream’s eye covering
The warmness that never was.
Dream weighted impressions, asleep
Tightly tucked, pillowed and shammed.
Dreaming in splendor of …

I had never heard any remark by anyone in my life
Who stated anything good about such a necessary place.
Therein the stretched miles of eyes and smiles being much
Un-pre-processed on the grounds of an unaccountable nature.
But in the old folks home the goddess of good nature
Seems almost as merry as she is wise.

As I oft do I carried in with me a hand truck loaded down
With doughnuts of every kind – 14 dozen in all.
Oh the smiles that permeate from the long faces each
Time I travel down the long hall.
Bertha, Martha Sue, Betty and Clare to mention a few.
Old Tom, Billy, Bob and Jacob too.

Like the pied piper they follow me all smelling the air.
“Ummm they smell hot and fresh,” Jacob whispers to Clare.
Pushing the double doors all the way back to lock open
I place one box of 12 on each table with 6 chairs.
Each box marked with a table number as I know
Who ordered what, and where tis they sit where.

Bertha always gets powdered with strawberry crème,
Martha Sue is the true classic with her original glazed dreams.
Old Tom decided it was time for a change with cinnamon and sugar
While Billy, wild Bill ordered chocolate ice with crème filling.
Betty, Bob, Clare and Jacob said simply to make of them a surprise.
Eighty four people in all get two each as it's the golden rule.

Oh there’s many more people to talk about but
That’s not what I’m here to do.
What good is life is if you have nothing to measure it or do?
The old folks home can be melancholy with lonely walls.
All that’s needed is a smile and something to look forward to.
Especially when oft the size of a gift is so extremely small.

I watch the room as they eat, smile, laugh and talk.
Life’s more about the connection we make and not about much else.
Dark faces full of light, quick eyes smiling with delight.
Long noses turned up on the end.
Teeth no longer white now sugar coated with a childish grin.
Prominent jawbones chewing away remembering where happiness begins.

“I think I must be incapable in properly saying
That which honors the concern you show me.”
With that she placed her hand in his and in her
Best broken French she continued….
“Marcherez-vous avec moi avalez-vous mon chemin?”
(Will you walk with me my way?)
He replies, “Naturellement fe veux mon cher.”
(Naturally I will my dear.)

There is a time when a virtuous convention,
Once created betwixt a woman and a man,
Sanctifies even those most private of walks.
This walk being as it was – in the dusk of the evening
Had within it their roads laid out the same way.
Hand in hand in a shared silence both of them
Admiring the sky’s crimson closing.
With a small tribute to such as this toward virtue
He felt her cold fingers clutch together in his and
Just then she broke the daunting silence asking,
“La beauteu ciel est-elle suelement vue par ceux
qui choisissent de la partager?”
(Is the sky’s beauty only seen to those who choose to share it?)
His answer, “ Pas plus que l’amour, moncher. Pour garder
de lui est juste comme imutile. – Quel but est-il eoins
qui ‘il soit partage.”
(No more than love - for the keeping of it is just as useless.
Of what possible purpose is it unless it is shared?)

She seemed much affected with what he had said giving it a low sigh.
He was incapable of inquiring after the sigh so
He said nothing more ‘til they came to the corner of
Tomorrows' Road and Yesterdays' Pass.
That was where they were to part today.
Waiting for the path to clear he asked, “Est-ce
Que je dois vous server le reste de la mania?”
(Shall I attend you the rest of the way?)
She replied first with a look to his hand
And then to his eyes, “Pas du tout, monsieur.
Vous pouvez cependant me server toute la manua.”
(Not at all, sir. You may however attend me all the way.)

With this he seemed to loose his French verbs for a time
And it was not until they were steadfast alone in her
Bungalo that any French returned.
Yet the French that returned said not a single word.
She was most capable though the question
She answered was never asked.
If he had to have asked he would have asked,
“Cue ferai-je avec vous ?
Devrais-je vous aimer de tout mon cœur ?
Je crois que dans la route que nous prenons,
il cause l'intersection d'entre nous..”

Only the little French in her knows…..

Sometimes love sets sail on some distant journey
To get farther and farther away from me.
I see the journey going round the world
In the most vivid color – as an apparatus
For its own painting – or at least so I presume.
I long for love's conversation but
It is too far away it seems.
What wretch is this that hazards this life?
What thanks is this nature capable of returning?
This wretch will be repaid only with
Insults and injuries.
Any blessings in store for the meek and the
Gentle heart might be disinherited by it.
If hope is that which keeps one alive
Then I should by my hope be kept afloat
Both in spirit and in looks.
And in love's journey, would it ever know me again?
Would it know me as if my pleasure is left
Behind in a kind of resigned misery which arises
From this situation where a heart is unsupported
By everything but its own tenderness?

We all owe love much and I will have patience.
For love's journey – it does round this Cape of Good Hope.
It will undoubtedly begin the long trek home again –
Sooner or later - the least I can do is to hope.
The demand – it is equal – for I owe it as much as love owes me.
I watch as its treasures float away making of it
Conjectures upon each part – all the while thinking that
The distance is but a little ways off and I know
That I could venture after it – I’m sure that I could –
Were I to only understand the reason for the distress.
But what if nature has chalked out another road?
Must we go on with so many a weary step?
Each in a separate heartless track till nature
Takes this journey’s course wherever it will?

Love asks me why – why do I say this?
Why do I write such a somber set of words?
And yet – it knows I follow it alongside its journey.
I beg of it to return while the heart of love
Tells me why I do this – as with everything that I do.
This journey does make a shadow of love and if I am
Good for anything I must remain true to the mortal part
Of its agreement – but that mortality does allow for me
To think and talk upon everything, does it not?
I rally my words, my powers and my alarms not to
Send ill winds to push love's sail farther away from me
But rather hoping that it will meld them all into one.
With the hope that within my power
With the most ardent of affections – they will triumph
Over all these feelings.
Standing aft on the vessel of love with its spyglass in hand
Look closely at me – I’m just off its bow.
I’m in its wake paddling trying so hard to
Keep what is left above the waters edge.

I wonder what infection it is that passes in this
affected crisis?
The contrary winds and currents leading this track
Could be the engine of nature working it together –
Or apart.
Tis true, it know it is – or should I just continue
To leave nature to her own destination?
But the language and the embodiment of love
Should not be left to mere chance.
If I swim harder toward it would love at least drop its sail?
Maybe I should speak no more - whatever the currents carry
May they carry the gentlest illusions through
The spyglass – and I suppose somehow they will.
If the remedy is but a cold philosophy then
I shall remain here undaunted by the distance – frantically treading water -
While love carries away with it the balm of my existence.
If so – somewhere round the Cape of Good Hope
Is where love can find me if it should ever choose to return.

I am here treading water as best I can in love's wake
As its vessel sails ever further and further away from me.
It is love who must decide my fate for I am doing all that I can.
I flail my arms side to side hoping against hope
That this Cape of Good Hope is not where love abandons me.
But I refuse to drown and I refuse to give it up
Just as ardently as love fails to turn around and see me.
Please don’t turn around unless you too understand
That our fates are indelibly tied together.
If this wretched thing does take full possession of love
Then it too has possession of me.
Like a baited hook I swim here watching and waiting
For the shark to come and swallow me up.
And all this time all love had to do was to – STOP.
It’s almost too late for that – the distance is so great.
I cannot swim that far.
I close my eyes and dream.
My tears flow into the ocean around me
So I know I’m still here.
Swimming for my life –
Somewhere just off the
Cape of Good Hope.

I dream awake and work while I’m sleeping.
I sit on the floor and stand on my couch.
I open the window to let out the air.
I pour out my drink because I’m thirsty.
I eat the apple peeling and throw out the apple.
I wait till something is rusty before I paint it.
I shut my mouth when asked what I think.
I close my eyes so I can see better.
I scratch my nose when my *** itches.
I don’t throw out the bath water or the baby either.
I put my foot up – not down - whenever I’m angry.
I cry myself silly and laugh myself a river.
I don’t dig ditches, I fill them.
I don’t get thirsty, I just get wet.
I am never early and I’m always late.
I sleep under the bed so I don’t have to make it.
I am not an eager ****** – I’m more of a Billy cat.
I do my homework at somebody else’s house.
I don’t pick my nose - I poke stuff in it.
I don’t punch a clock – I wear it on my ankle.
I don’t have a wedding ring – I have a wedding rung.
I cannot sing anymore because I forgot where I left my voice.
I am ugly as a picture and twice worse than nice.
I park on the parkway and drive on the driveway.
When I jump out of an airplane I yell ESKIMO.
I fly on a plane but I’d prefer to be in it.

But most of all

I wish I hadn’t started this silly poem cause now I'm out of periods

Find your abundance, your radiance, your nourishment,
For in you lives a God or a Goddess lying dormant.
Be reverenced – that is the key of life -
Dance on your grave in your own behalf.
Do not live in fear for fear is like death.
Fear will return you to the soil without a breath.
That death, a compost for the new generation.
We hold the key to eternity in our outstretched hand.
Be courageous and face yourself and be annihilated
By your own light – your love – and be not rested
For rest is a kind of death absent of your essence.
Whatever death can take it will take – so be salient
And find that which is unborn and undying.
Life will knock seven times at the door to your heart,
Searching for the indestructible part of you to impart.
We are the King and the Queen of our own desires.
Dancing together with the world as our Kingdom’s choirs.
Rejoice in the world for here we are - we have come.
Let laughter be the nature of our bodies’ home.
A home where laughter defies death and love defies reason –
There our consciousness sits broadened
By the dance we dance – forcing death to be dethroned.