Wayward curls shine in silver
New strands each day I see 
Nothing will ever stop these waves
From greying furiously  

Why then be lost in troubled thoughts 
And hurry those tides of white 
Breathe in and breathe out instead
Let little things delight 
 
Sing of the joys of nascent spring
Dance to a happy summer song 
Paint trees in burnished gold 
Spin tales of leprechauns

Embrace brazen winds that breeze
The earth that holds well-walked feet 
The canopy of light and dusky night 
Where the sun and the moon come to meet 

No tarot reading
No fortune teller 
No crystal ball I see 
Why riddle the eyes with endless thoughts....
What shall be, shall be

In the afternoon
Below a grey blue sky
I hear the chatter
Of the magpies.
And they talk in bird talk
In words unknown to me
As they bob their little heads
By the amaltas tree.
Glad I am to hear them
I listen carefully
Happy to be in their -
wondrous company

The copper bells glisten
Swaying in the sunshine
I pause as I listen
To the tinkling
Of the wind chimes

In the distance, they ring
A gentle melody -
I hear their songs
The unsaid words they sing

How sweet is their music
Sweet the joy they bring
Such is the wonder -
The magic of little things

How would you now,
If you're favorite line in a poem,
Was nothing but a tiepo,
Your favorite writer forgo to catch,
Maybe I'm a typo to,
Just a random squigigle on the page,
A little piece of see glass in the waves.

The migratory gathering of northern aquatic birds have vanished,
only local ducks, geese and other fauna hidden in reeds, remain.
A sun, so bright, has taken to the skies; buds have swollen.
Again, looking out over this lake of talking waters, its symbolic gibbering
of what winds have brought to shore in subtle story breezes.
Near the shallows Barrow's Goldeneye dive to bottom salads,
Harry Houdini's escaped magic ducks; now you see them, now you don't.
What seem empty branches yield flowers and small feathered streaks
red-lining a sound frequency of bird chat, twitter or colloquial colloquy.
One more afternoon walk with easy stride and free association's couch.

-cec

Oh sea, oh sea, oh great blue sea,
I call to you, come speak to me.
Your waves that dance, your winds that sigh,
Your endless depths, your open sky.

Oh sea, oh sea, oh wild and free,
I send my heart, now send to me:
A gift of foam, a pearl, a song,
A treasure lost, yet loved so long.

Oh sea, oh sea, your voice is deep,
You whisper secrets, dreams you keep.
You rise, you fall, you take, you give,
Yet through it all, you teach us to live.

Oh sea, oh sea, my soul you know,
Through storm and calm, through ebb and flow.
I love, I love, I love the sea!
Oh, thank you, sea, for gifting me.

Oh sea, oh sea, oh thank you sea,
Oh thank you for your gift to me.
To me To me Oh Great Blue Sea
Thank you for your gift.

The words slipped out-
"I don’t want this anymore"
Had I blinked,
I wouldn’t have said it.

And just like that,
they took shape,
sharp as thorns,
wilting his smile
as they struck.

And just like that,
I stood alone,
Had I blinked,
he wouldn't be gone.

Another sunrise and sunset,
another pair of eyes filled with regret.
Who’s waiting for hope and luck to arrive at their front door,
but even if it came who’s to say they wouldn’t still expect more?
And would we even cast any blame,
if you’re angry that tomorrow came?

Time is cruel and time is no friend;
half were in school; the rest trying to meet an end.
As a sun will set a newborn life will fade,
with moments you can’t forget
and one’s you would never trade.
It’s hard not to feel the same;
to be angry that tomorrow came.

He said take a note and give me five
“no one gets out of here alive.”
Who do you want to be for the rest of your life?
“Just a reminder, you don’t live twice.”
They tell me to grin my teeth and bear it
soft demeanor but eyes like a knife.
It’s clear they don’t want me to share it;
my collection of troubles and strife.
They’ve got closed eyes and plugged ears,
talking over each word I try to speak.
While it all feels like endless years,
in truth it’s only been one week.
And the reality of it is actually quite tame
but still you get angry that tomorrow came.

It’s a hazy afternoon with the sun in the sky
and I’m standing in the gloom of someone else’s goodbye.
And I could paint a thousand pictures
and never get the landscape quite right,
just like adjusting and fixing the fixtures
but never obtaining the perfect light.
It seems so insanely mundane,
but I’m trying to not be angry, that tomorrow came.

You can’t cleanse the bad from the good
there will always be residue permanently,
and it’s not so simple to gain some wood
you’re always going to have to cut down a tree, eventually.
Make sure the earth will burn, with an untamed flame
The world continues to turn, regretful that tomorrow came.