BRAND NEW DAY

the morning came up
roaring for all
it was worth

like a lion
but despite my voice
being all rusty and everything

I tamed it
with whip and chair
"Down...down I say!"

until it became
the MGM logo lion
sitting on a stool

roaring for all
the world
like the newest of mornings

announcing
the film of my life
in celluloid black and white

throwing popcorn
into my open mouth
dazzled by the silver screen

was that really
me up there
thirty feet flickering high

and I wondering who
was going to play me
for that day

Hi robin its so nice
to see you , you are my drop
of heavenly warmth

Her offer of herbs
would soon wilt in the sun.

A few soiled notes
if she may gather at the end
can make her come back
every morn
with the garden fetch.

Sixteen rupees,
she raises her doe eyes,
our palms blush in the exchange.

She smiles, you are a rupee short.

Love is never short of script.

THE MAP OF NOWHERE

shipwrecked
on the tiny island of self
sends a message in a bottle

to her future self
who maybe can
rescue her

if she ever passes by
in the great ship
of memory

will she know herself
when the time comes
to step onto that horizon

balancing
like a tightrope walker
between heaven and sea

when life becomes a burden and your heart is torn
wishing there inside yourself that you were never born
everything around you seems far away
sunny skies you knew   now have all turned to gray

depression moving in as you begin to crack
life is at its crossroads no way off turning back
find someone to talk to help you with your plight
they will sit and listen help to put things right

take away the hurt lifes bestowed on you
bury all your past start again a new
turn it all around hold your head up high
the burden that you feel will all pass on bay

Orchids wilt and rot
in time.
Roses have thorns that
***** to bleed.
Seeds bring life that
ultimately dies.
In lieu of flowers
give me your
eyes full of
heat and desire.
Surrender your heart of
passion, but most of all,
water me with your
love so that I can grow.

I enter the sanctuary
my hand traces the brown skin
of the smooth wood
atop the last pew
where Saint James sits every Sunday morning,
his slender body planted in spit-shined shoes
that reflect the light of that sacred space
the light that pours from each tortured soul
that sings the praise, joy, pain, and love
inked in the green hymnals
that we open, feeling with our thumbs
the edges of pages
gathered over ages
from the fervent hearts and minds
of our faithful progenitors.

I will hug and touch
the shoulders and backs
of my fellow believers
who will grace these pews,
beating hearts scattered like red pearls of love
in the perfectly aligned rows
where each of us broken
beautiful brothers and sisters
will sit and listen to the Word
stand and sing
and breathe in and out the same Spirit
that cracked open his heart
and bled the universe.

I myself broken
and opened
am here where finally I belong
among my fellow travelers
pilgrims one and all
living our salvation
among each other
shoulder to shoulder
heart to heart
cheeks traced by tears
of joy, sorrow, faith and hope
we, tied together by Love.

Almost tattered with oil spots and all
when it was gifted I really can't recall
the colors are faded the surface rough
but in my possession is no better stuff.

The smell is old with layers of years
wiped bath water, sweat and tears
rubs me tender whispers sweetly
in love with you please don't leave me.

My old buddy without a name
hugs my skin covers my shame
post the showers it's been my muse
still not useless from years of use.

Why it's so special why can't I leave
the torn old thing holds love I believe
the touch of love that's never really gone
in a parting gift from the father to the son.