Light has shone, light as death,
Sunset is gathered in fishing nets,
Like a twine of leafy stems.
~The coldest sea is the blood
Of the murdered and aggrieved~
Scaly Autumn of lost fires and dragon plumes,
Lanterns in the fog, graverobbers of the moon,
Light has shone, suckles at the tomb.

Murmuring in the forest
a lonesome wolf howls
the machinations of Man
reach far into the Universe.

Vines and their tributaries
climb the wall overtake
and name of our neighborhood:
hidden canyon.

Four decades ago
we explored the woods
and found the rocky canyon
etched into the landscape by ten mile creek.
Our limbs were limber
muscles young and strong
adventure coursed in our veins.

But now no woods
just houses and streets
our jaunts into the wild
with woodsy small creatures and critters
are gone.

The mystery we found there
now supplanted by novels, poems and stories
of children, young explorers and writers
and I traverse the thicket
of my small universe
searching the hidden canyons of
mystics, dreamers and poets,
combing a terrain deeply inscribed
by the hand of the divine.

Guzzling Joe
black 'n strong 'n unsweetened as it ought to be
to kick a little something into you
and a drag of a smoke in a quiet place while there's still some morning silent grace like an embrace awake
under a pastel smudged dawn
as dew clings on to another moment forlorn in its dissipation
it gets you ready for the slow deliberate walk into another day

As I begin another desultory day
In what will be the rest of my life
I search for a metaphoric nail
On which to hang my tattered hat of hope.

Some pile of needs disguised as leaves
That need for me to rake them up
And leave the yard a little better
Than it would have been before.

I look around and hope to see
Something more than yesterday
Reflected in the nimbus clouds
That hoard our badly needed rain.

No one has urgent need of me
Though I live to know I’m needed.
I couldn’t devise a shining goal
That would point me at tomorrow.

With eighteen years now looming large
I have to come up with a purpose
That’s gonna make it worth the trip
To reach my final destination.
                 ljm

Welcome it, everyone, with open hearts,
from feathery wings of angels;
Its clarity washes away each tear,
and blankets us from all angles.

The evergreens swathed in oyster white,
exquisitely aligned with holly berries;
Which light up the yard in rosy glow,
and comfort us from our worries.

No longer alone the cardinals fly,
and meet their mates high above;
Cheerfully sitting upon the branches,
nestling together with wintry love.

Gracefully floating through the air,
like delicate lace from times long ago;
While we watch this glorious solstice scene,
enchanted by the sight of first snow !